Editor's Note

Have you ever felt a close affinity between yourself and a mountain veiled in unimaginable snow and mist?

I have. More intensely at the moment. Therefore, the name: Misty Mountain.

In Misty Mountain Review (MMR), we celebrate sweet and sour, lived experiences, including insights or philosophies, of course in poems, short poems.

That said, let me present to you the inaugural issue of the journal.

I had received a large number of poems out of which I have chosen only twenty seven by twenty one poets from around the world. Personally, it was surprising for me (because this issue is not a themed one) to receive many poems that dealt with ‘coldness’ of human culture/ civilization. Consequently, there are more such poems in this issue. Others speak of some fractured memories and unfulfilled dreams and desires. And with them too, exasperation comes along. Some other poems are even critical of modern tech-culture and many other grim social realities. In other words, very few of them are jovial in mood and tone. Perhaps this is because we, in the present times, have more to do with damage and decadence?

I welcome you all, readers and critics, to read and have your own interpretations. I also welcome any suggestions you could give in making MMR a notable journal. Finally, and most importantly, I would like to thank all the contributors who, with enthusiasm, said ‘yes’ to this springtime…

Happy reading! 

Haris Adhikari

One poem by Gordon Hilgers

Innocence

I am tired
of the curdled milk
of Heaven

how it bleaches
bones of the days
without nurturing us.

I am tired of your breasts
drawing me to suckle
under patchy sky.

Hold closed my eyes.
Bathe everything in white.
Blot-out the horizon.

Let me sleep again.

Gordon Hilgers began writing early, at age nine, and has continued writing. He has published poetry in several magazines including The Red River Review, Texas Arts Review, Detour Magazine, Deathlist 5, Every Reason and others.  He is the author of "Refugee Clouds" (1995) and "The War Against The Alphabet" (2001). He lives in Dallas, Texas and walks to the grocery store every day. 

One poem by William Ricci

Fracture 87

dusk nears above the

decaying faded red barn.

smoky orange clouds

diffuse streaming light

and for a moment I remember

another time, whether before or after.

William Ricci is the poetry editor for The Edge magazine and founding editor of Stone Path Review.  He is a writer of experimental poems and essays about nature and awareness with publishing credits that include: A View from the Loft, The Edge, Whistling Shade, Paper Darts, Primalzine, Whispering Angel, and Seven Circle Press. 

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Kerry Furber, aka Kezz, is a 54 year old writer and musician from Bath, England.  He has had a number of poems published in anthologies and journals by Forward Press in the UK. 

Two poems by Howie Good

Red Wings

Words require more words to interpret them.

There’s a tornado somewhere as well,

obsessively rehearsing what it’s going to do.

I’m flecked with exclamation points

and long, unexplained absences.

So much so, two red wings on the porch

are all that’s left of the cardinal the cat killed.

A Death in the Family

A kitchen chair

sits empty

out under an enormous

chestnut tree

whose right hand

has lost

its cunning.

Howie Good, a journalism professor at SUNY New Paltz, is the author of the new poetry collection, Dreaming in Red, from Right Hand Pointing. All proceeds from the sale of the book go to a crisis center, which you can read about at the site below. He is also the author of numerous chapbooks, including most recently The Devil’s Fuzzy Slippers from Flutter Press and Personal Myths from Writing Knights Press. He has another chapbook, Fog Area, forthcoming from Dog on a Chain Press.

https://sites.google.com/site/rhplanding/howie-good-dreaming-in-red

Two poems by Luke Prater

Hue and Cry

Collapsed

a deck chair
face to Earth
bleeding salt

envelop me, Mother
offer your breast, succour

craving redeliverance of
ignorance; the impurity and
inconvenience of Adulthood

worn like a suit fashioned
by a hue and cry of enraged
madding seamstresses

drip
tears
sweat

impregnate soil, your skin
let a bird fly, or

swallow this man in
dark damp pulsing utero

Soft Fall

soft fall, 

upturned hands;

luxuriate in let-go forget.

the relief trust brings 

the falling leaf, held aloft

with an exhalation

of cobalt firmament; 

ephemerality taken 

with soft, upturned hands, 

and held.

Luke Prater writes in many styles/genres and on many topics, including candid social/ geopolitical statement, sexual politics, the dynamics inherent in human relationships and personal/spiritual growth, amongst others. He lives in rural England with a Mac, a guitar or two, a silent fridge and a brain that won't switch off. His poetry has been published in several places online and in hardcopy. 

To read more of his poems, please visit his website: www.lukepraterswordsalad.com

Two poems by MH Clay

Little

We are little men

Standing small

Against our massive concrete sprawl

Little lives

Lived in turn

But little matter to the Great Big

Little ideas

Little words

Piece them together

Little grunts and gasps

To make a big noise

To be a little big

But still little

Little time to be here

Little years to be noticed

Is no little thing to bear

On the way out

Have a little fun

Exit with a little laugh

Leadership

Only the torn ones

            Those who struggle in the mind

Will take the lead

Those who pass from white to black

Endeavoring to hover in the gray

Who venture to step out

Straight into where black conceals

Where feet may hold or quickly slip away

The timid will follow

Would rather hold back

            Not walk into unknown cold

Would have the warming light against their backs

And move in steps that others took before

For these

Some guarantee of comfort must avail

But the conflicted

Each step they take

Each passing place

Brings questions

About what changes would have made

What other paths might have pulled

To weigh the reason right or left

That always must abandon one

To take the other

What implications of each choice

What love to keep, which pain to bear

And doubt to ponder

Especially the one that questions

Whether we were meant

To walk into the light instead

MH Clay is a poet and playwright residing in Dallas, TX.  An active member of the Dallas poetry scene since 2003, he has performed as a spoken word artist in venues throughout the D/FW Metroplex.  His one-act plays have been produced by various North Texas theater groups.  He is the Poetry Editor for Mad Swirl at www.madswirl.com and co-hosts Mad Swirl's monthly Open Mic every first Wednesday at the Absinthe Lounge.  Find him on FaceBook at http://facebook.com/michael.clay .

Two poems by Richard Doiron

En Route to Nothingness

Like a film rewinding,
Going back in time,
I reclaim my kisses,
Withdraw myself from you,
My promises denied,
The man in me no more,
A little boy instead,
And now undelivered,
Somewhere deep inside,
The throes of ecstasy:
Another place, another time,
Another someone there,
But now that, too, nebulous,
Another reel rewinding,
Another reel and still another,
Crossing line after line,
A creature now that crawls,
Now in darkness with the void,
Now en route to nothingness.

The Being of Poet

The being of poet
is not in the yelling
of it from off
the mountaintops,
that it should echo
into the valleys,
deep and wide,
but in merely
the whispering
of it into the wind,
which will then carry it
to the mountaintops
and back again.

Richard Doiron, 65, poet, Moncton, New Brunswick, Canada. He is the author of 17 books. Twice nominated for the Governor-General's Award; work read at the United Nations, the 4th World Congress of Poetry & Cultures; winner of several International literary competitions; an estimated 1000 poems published in books and anthologies; recipient of the 2012 World Poetry Lifetime Achievement Award.

One poem by Dale Patterson

That Monkey

has feelings
knows more
than you think.
Look at the mud
in his eyes
heavy in volume
the air on his lips
cussing you out.
See as he rattles
his cage.
He's watching you

laugh at his antics

your superior 

point-of-view

that sneers 

at his love

his poem
that he writes
with opposable 

thumbs.

Dale Patterson is a visual artist and poet living in Indiana. His works have appeared in Black Heart Magazine, Right Hand Pointing, Clutching at Straws, Main Street Rag, Iodine Poetry Journal, Bank-Heavy Press and Four-and-Twenty.

One poem by Sreemanti Sengupta

Sounds and Silences

Silence hung from the clothesline

Hung there to dry

The tears of the housemaids

Who toiled and soiled in the kitchen

                        

Stretched evenly out on the sunny terrace

Silence dripped of stale gossip

And made a rude face at the harems

Where the maids retired to have their due

Silence sedated the iron gates

Silence rung of Silence

Sreemanti Sengupta is an advertising copywriter based in Kolkata, India. She has been writing in her vernacular (Bengali) and English ever since she can remember. Her poetry and prose pieces have been published previously in various anthologies and online journals. She celebrates 'the word' as a tool for profound change in all planes of existence.

She blogs at:  www.weareideating.wordpress.com

One poem by Lee Evans

Demolition

Sledgehammer blows:

The timbers crack and bend.

Glass shatters and time, too —

But not space

Time’s fragments

Reconstitute themselves.

But if space were to split apart

From the blows of the Will,

Well, the debris of our works and days

Would slip through the fissures —

Coins for wishes

Into a bottomless well,

Never to redeem the moments again

Lee Evans lives in Bath, Maine, and works for the local YMCA. His poems have appeared in such journals as Contemporary Rhyme, The Christendom Review and Decanto. His five poetry collections are available on Lulu.com.

One poem by Arun Budhathoki

Shortage

Everything is in shortage here

Everything I say

Electricity Petrol Transportation

Food Constitution Love

Everything

But we live adjusted happily

Together Separate

We don’t care about shortage

Simply live living

But it’s too much

Fed up

With this that this that

Shortages

Shortage of Mind Peace Education

Richness

Why are we poor? I ask

But why did this happen?

The figs flutter

Faces grumble

They stare

Buildings flash

Memories break up like wooden sticks

Twart! I guess the sound is

Love is ice-cream

You eat more

Don’t care – Diabetes Death

Love is sweet I’m sweet

She said

That’s not shortage

Love is not!

Arun Budhathoki (Daniel Song) is from Nepal. He has recently published his first poetry book – Edge. He currently runs the journal The Applicant (http://www.theapplicant.org/) and mostly writes poetry.

One poem by Caroline Nazareno

Pandora Escapes Unto My Hands

time exists in my hands
as dreams escalate to wilderness
born from the ages of prodigy
where wordsmith come
in the breathing dawn
to the free cycles
of wind, of water, of fire
saving the hourglass of all-giving
on the day i become
a reality.

Caroline Nazareno, a.k.a. Ceri Naz, a contessa of her dreams coming to reality, has been reading at World Poetry New Westminster and a featured poet at the Word on the Street (WOTS) Vancouver. Her poem “The song my heart sings” was featured in KIRAZ HABERTRAK Magazine in Turkey, where respected Turkish poets, writers, filmmakers, musicians and literary editors were featured monthly.

Two poems by Marie Olofsdotter

Shadows

The full moon gives birth

to the brightest shadows.

Stories

The ocean carries

stories to the shore.

When she arrives,

the grains of sand

open their eyes

and sing.

Marie Olofsdotter is a poet and painter. Her awards include a Minnesota Book Award, and grants from the Minnesota State Arts Board and the Jerome Foundation. She was a Loft Mentor Series Winner in Poetry, 2007. A native of Sweden, Marie now lives in Minneapolis.

One poem by Fiona Clements

Lost

The same words play over and again.

Yours comfort me.

Mine are lost in limbo-land,

tossed around by the chaos

in which no order can be found.

No drug induced madness reigns here.

The fury of lies, the struggle to remain wise,

when all around me is lost.

Fiona Clements lives in Ireland and has been writing poetry for about four years. She loves nature, animals, her friends and family. She wishes for world peace and end to war and hunger.

She blogs at: http://fiocle.blogspot.com/

One poem by Mark Windham

Listen

listen

did you hear

the light created

before the sunrise

intake of breath

before the bird sang

blink of the eye

before the tear fell

flush of the skin

before the kiss

did you hear

listen

Mark Windham is a writer living in the suburbs of Atlanta with his wife, three children and three dogs.  His poem, Chapter Closed, was featured as one of the five winners of the M:/P Mag "Page Turn" Contest. His other works have appeared on Postcard Shorts and The Book Times.

One poem by Suzanne Parlee

Little Boxes

Inside myself

Tiny puzzle pieces

Interlocking

Disassembled

In their box

Inside myself

A looking glass

Mirror images

Cutting and razor sharp

Distorted

Inside myself

A box of stars

I'm afraid to open

Just wishes

On days gone by

Inside myself

Odds and ends

Little parts

To keep and hold

Me together

Suzanne Parlee is a poet living in New Brunswick, Canada. Her poetry has been included in the novel "The Jealousy Game" as well as in various anthologies. Her novel "Melody of the Mind" is due out in print in June.

One poem by Amy Barry

A majestic beauty                                                           

  

She lives and breathes in the mountains,

she touches the sky, holds her crown

above her head. Clouds swirl and dance

around her, a prodigious sight!

Sleet beats against the hostel window.

Alas! Alone, I plunge into this backpacking

experience, a glimpse of her

creates a magical joy in my soul.

Sagarmatha!                                                     

She hears me say her name and smiles,

a beauty of elegance, supremacy;

triumph in her eyes, rejoicing in my spirit.

I stand on the hills of Nepal,

silent, still, absorb the unruffled ambiance,

I suck jaadh, it sinks into my soul,

cries euphoria in blood.

I hail those who have scaled her,

and reached the peak!

 ‘A tribute to a true wonder of the world.’

Amy Barry writes poems and short stories. Her poems have been published in anthologies, journals, and e-zines, in Ireland and abroad. Her works have been read on radio. She loves traveling and trips to India, Nepal, China, Bali, Paris and Berlin. These places have inspired her work, too. She lives in Athlone, Ireland.

One poem by Jennifer Habana-Abastillas

Timeline

          Archieved you

                                  again

          Unable to find

                                  your familiar face

          Your vacant , scarred eyes

                                 elusive

           Yet sailed in my island of dreams

           Where our river flows

                                  clear

           Grasping our unspoken meaning.

           In this transverse universe

           Where my moonlight meets

                                  meets your sunlight

           I wil linger

           To share the youthful grief of

                                  my winter nights

           And summon the promises of

                                  my forever whys

           With the sonnets and haikus you left

           In this shadow of

                                  timeline.

Jennifer Habana-Abastillas resides in California and works as an Emergency Room Nurse. Aside from writing, she likes to run and hike with her husband and 2 children. Some of her poems have been published in Nursing Journal, Requiem Magazine. Her recent poem has been included in Poetry Book of War and Peace by Brian Wrixon.

One poem by Satyn Bulchandani

Kaleidoscope

To go through life as if it were a colorful haze,
shapes and shifts, curls and swirls,
that may dance across the screen with a twirl of a knob,
absorbing deeply only the flashing lights –
ignorant that you've got one eye looking through a lens,
fascinated by the roses, of several shades,
and the other                          in another realm. 

Satyn Bulchandani is a 19 year old aspiring writer. He has lived his whole life in Bangalore. His interests vary from writing to music to photography. He wrote his first poem when he was in the 2^nd grade and since then has been occasionally dappling in narratives until about two years ago when he began his journey to become a prolific writer and poet.

One poem by Maeve Heneghan

Kindness of Strangers

Old woman,

Stranger in a foreign land,

Sits on unforgiving ground.

She looks you in the eye and says,

“Hello, Big Issue lady?”

She knows you won’t reply.

Unnoticed by the hurried mass,

One man goes against the tide,

Makes this faceless woman, human.

He cups her weathered hand in his,

Holds out one silver coin,

Maybe, just for a moment,

She sees the face of God,

In the kindness of a stranger.

Maeve Heneghan is a native of county Dublin, Ireland.  After spending a number of years teaching English in China, she returned to Ireland and now lives in the Midlands with her husband and daughter.  She has been writing poetry and short stories for several years and has had some of her work published online and in print.

Two poems by Rachael Stanley

The Middle Ground

I recall a voice from years ago,
a yoga teacher sharing wisdom with his pupils,
‘Where there’s freedom, there’s balance
and where there’s balance, there’s freedom.’

In the middle, between two opposites
like a weighing scales measuring out
an even measure,
or like a rider on a bicycle

who does not lean to either side,
but balances in the middle,
or like a special envoy on a mission
of peace between two nations at war.

The whole of life strives towards this balance,
‘Where there’s balance, there’s freedom,
and where there’s freedom, there’s balance.’

Words Part 1

                                                           

I looked at the hearse

as they slid the coffin in

and later, I looked

when the coffin was lowered to the ground.

Words first appeared in the newspaper

to announce the death.

Then words were used at the funeral rite.

More words were spoken in the church ground -

Noble words that she'd never heard when she

was still around.

Rachael Stanley is from Dublin, Ireland. Her recent publications include poems in Writing4All, Best of 2010 and Static Poetry II and III.  She has also published haiku in Haiku J, an Irish online journal. Her other work is coming up in Issa's Untidy Hut.