I will be at the following events in September; I hope you can join in.
This clip if of Sherry Duggal of her poetry book on the different shades of an Indian Bride entitled Shringar. She will be captivating the Holy Wow Poets Thursday September 6th at 6:00pm
We will gather at the Pitt Meadows Golf Course at 13615 Harris Road in Pitt Meadows. At this dinner, we also have Open Mic. I will be reading later in the evening.
I will be one of the poets at the West Coast Tagore Festival 2018 on Saturday September 8, 2018 at the Gateway Theatre, 6500 Gilbert Road, Richmond, BC
I am going to recite a translated Tagore poem along with others in languages of the world. I will read in Arabic & in Kurdish.
FREE Admission (donation welcomed)
Facebook Event Page: https://www.facebook.com/events/399023257286046/
Website Page: https://www.vancouvertagoresociety.org/festival-2018.html
Cultural Performances: 6:00PM – 8:15PM
Doors Open: 5:30PM
Audience Seating: 5:50PM
Indian Classical Music by Naad Foundation
Woven World Tapestry of Words by World Poetry
Tagore Songs by Vancouver Tagore Society Workshop Series
Bharata Natyam Dance by Alex Parappilly & Ashvini Sundaram
‘Raindrop: A Quest for Love’ – A musical theatre by Vancouver Tagore Society
The story of ‘Raindrop: A Quest for Love’ revolves around two parallel plots of love and nature. In one, the dance-drama presents Dhora, the protagonist, as a young woman furtively questing for love. Looking from outside, she rather seems to be a happy single, even though her Fear, the antagonist, does not allow her to follow her true emotions. In another, Dhora portrays the village soil getting dry deep inside and silently yearning for rain from Shyamal, the Dark Cloud; but her Fear does not let her welcome the changes she must undergo to embrace and enjoy the cloudburst. This dance-drama brings forth awareness of climate justice in an aesthetic way.
The Festival is presented by Vancouver Tagore Society and funded in part by cultural project grants from the City of Richmond and BC Arts Council.
I will be the host of (( Tellers of Short Tales ))
Our feature Author: Nasreen Pejvack
Date: Wednesday Sept 12, 2018
Time: 6:00pm to 8:00pm
Location: Anvil Centre, Room 413A, 777 Columbia Street, New Westminster
Open Mic Sign Up will be available for writers who would like to share their stories.
More info https://rclas.com/recurring/tellers-of-short-tales/
During the evening, I will read a short story of mine.
I will be performing Arabian Dance and will also gather the crowed to teach some basic dance moves so bring a hip scarf and come join me on Saturday September 22 at the Haney Farmers Market in Maple Ridge, BC between 10:00am-2:00pm
HANEY FARMERS MARKET 2018 Market Events
Memorial Peace Park on 224th in downtown Maple Ridge
Every Saturday from 9 – 2, May 12 to November 11
firstname.lastname@example.org 604-467-7433 ext 2
At 1:00pm pm Saturday September 29th, I am one of the feature poets at the Strawberry and will be reading poems from my 2 previously published books and read from my upcoming poetry book. My books will be on sale as well during my reading.
Hills Library 7399 122 St, Surrey, BC V3W 5J2
on Sunday, September 30, 2018, I will be reading poetry at the Vancouver Public Library in downtown Vancouver during the annual WORD Vancouver. http://wordvancouver.ca/
I am feature poet in Port Moody on October 24 🙂 Stay tuned!
On Thursday August 9th from 6-8pm at Guildford Library in the Fireplace lounge there is a poetry recital event hosted by Surrey Writers and our host is Alan Woo. I am one of the poets on Open Mic. It would please me to see you there. Come and enjoy poetry at:
15105 105th Avenue, Surrey, BC, Canada V3R 7G8
T 604.598.7371 | www.surreylibraries.ca
What Suddenly Happened?
~© Lozan Yamolky
Did a flock of white doves
fly above your house
with all their pure white feathers glistening
while hovering in blue skies
on a cold October afternoon?
Did a kaleidoscope of butterflies
flutter past your window
in a brilliant display
of incredible colorful theory;
appearing and disappearing out of nowhere?
Did a team of horses
dash by in a straight line
neighing and snorting as one,
rumbling past your front door
and carrying on until they disappeared
in the distance?
Did a herd of deer
stand outside your window
peering at a reflection of you
lying in bed
that made them stand motionless?
Did the songbirds in your garden
suddenly stopped singing
for no apparent reason
at that precise moment
you took your last breath?
Did a white rose petal
gently fall off the flowers
onto the night table next to your bed
distracting those in the room
for only a moment?
Did the people who love you
let their tears flow
when the nurse covered your beautiful face
with the white sheet
pronouncing you were gone?
Did all that happen
when your spirit departed this life
Yes, all that happened and more
because you are so precious.
The universe felt your departure
because you left a space
that can never be filled;
because you left too soon.
Forever, your memory,
and your love
will remain in all who knew you.
You have touched us all
with such kindness,
There’s nothing much left for us to say
but, rest in peace dear mother;
rest in peace
until we meet again.
From my second book of poems ( Counting Waves ) published by: Silver Bow Publishing in 2017
A Refugee’s Escape
~© Lozan Yamolk
Get me out of this sadness;
pull me out of this darkness.
Rid me of the miserable never ending bad news;
pick me out of the crowd of desensitized beings who no longer have empathy
for a suffering humanity.
Do something with me!
Launch me into the sky.
Shoot my body,
from the tip of my nose
to my toes,
up to the heavens.
Watch me fly away;
just let me go
until you see me no more.
Let me breeze past a flock of flying birds,
through the clouds,
past a flying aircraft,
and through arctic freezing air.
Let my body feel it; let me be consumed
by all what I am surrounded by now.
Up above the skies I go.
I will not look down
until I am up … up … up there
where no one can see me:
into the infinite deep;
into the glittering universe;
into that place shimmering
with spectacular endless spots of light.
I see nothing above me or around me
but the sparkling
I will not stop until I get there.
When I arrive,
I will float weightlessly.
Nothing is happening here:
not a sound,
not a motion,
nothing moving but my arms spread like wings.
I am here.
I am free.
I am flying.
I am at peace.
I look down and I see the peaceful blue planet.
Here, I forget the pain:
the darkness of hearts
and the cries of innocents.
From up here:
I do not see blood.
I do not smell gunpowder.
I do not hear the explosions.
I do not feel the lifeless bodies of my people scattered around me.
Then I remember those who are in the dark;
not from lack of light,
but from the lack of love in their hearts.
For those blinded by the idea of harming others
believing it will somehow bring them peace;
it will balance this world;
it will bring them victory.
Oh, how I wish I could take
some of this peace I feel right now
and transport it into their hearts.
Oh how I wish darkness would
peace and love
which will make them lay down their weapons.
Oh, how I hope the darkness
does not pass the shadows
to their offspring,
or the offspring
of those they harmed.
I hope they all search
and find how easy this is:
I opened my eyes
to the feeling of cold mud beneath me,
rain pouring though our torn up tent;
my wet clothes
and a soldier pointing his rifle
into my face
while ripping our tent wide open,
shouting at us:
“Get up and move out of here.
~© Lozan Yamolk
Poem from my debut book: I’m No Hero
Published in 2016 through Silver Bow Publishing
Contact me to get your copy.
Photo of one of my beautiful sisters, Viyan Janela from Kurdistan 1992
Listen to: http://www.worldpoetryopenmic.net/ archive file of March 23, 2018
I called in and spoke then shared a poem @ 40:00 and called again and read my new poem 54:00
Listen to the show and let me know what you think of my poems 🙂
If you also like to be sharing your poems on the air for the world to hear, call them on Fridays (not this coming one Friday March 30, they are off) but they are back on Friday April 6th, 2018. Call from anywhere in the world and you can also listen live.
Heads up: Have a tissue nearby!
She was always busy her work was never done;
I’ve seen her go so fast yet I’ve never seen her run.
The list of her daily duties were tedious and endless;
even with disability she was anything but careless.
She endured his abuse and never rolled that dice,
she brushed it off as she searched our heads for lice.
She didn’t repeat ‘I love you’ much there was no time for that;
caring for us was what her love was all about.
We tried to follow the rules, breaking them, we didn’t dare;
whenever we were threatened, she turned into our mama bear.
All that ‘when you have your own children you will understand’,
I wish I knew what it meant, oh wouldn’t that be grand?
I appreciate what she has done fold over folds now;
when I try to do some of what she has done, I say ‘holy cow’!
I am a good mama because I learned from the best;
I hope no one is keeping scores, I hope this is not a test.
Let the entire world hear me, let them all know,
the love in me she planted continues to grow.
I love my mama until the day I die
I sure hope my poem won’t make her cry.
——— ~©Lozan Yamolky
*The meaning of her Arabic name Shafika is: compassionate, tender, the one that eases the pain
This poem was published on the online Royal City Literary Art Society eZine May 2017 issue. https://issuu.com/rclas/docs/may_2017_rclas_ezine_issue45 See link.
Graphics are done by our wonderful, talented and beautiful Janet Kvammen 🙂
© Lozan Yamolky
On the bark of the mighty banyan trees,
inscriptions of a hurting native soul
send shivers down your spine.
Near a high-end eatery,
a homeless man lies in deep sleep,
covered with a blanket.
On the sidewalk of the famous Honolulu strip,
an elderly woman walks
with all her life’s possessions
in a shopping cart.
In the most prestigious hotel a single mother works,
barely getting by;
yet she smiles so sweetly.
In the most pristine, ancient forest,
tourists toss trash with little regard.
At a beautifully landscaped intersection
cars wait for traffic lights to turn green;
while a beggar in a wheelchair,
with his head down, holds a sign that reads:
“Iraq war veteran, please help!”
The massive, spectacular waves cannot talk;
if they could, they would tell stories
of how many took their very last breaths
seeking the thrill of just being in the waves.
Mountains higher than skyscrapers stand tall,
allowing only a few to reach their peaks;
others were not so fortunate.
Yes, even in paradise my friends,
there is trouble!
© Lozan Yamolky
From debut book: I’m No Hero
By: Silver Bow Publishing 2016
No More Poetry
She ripped and tore all her poems from her note books.
She removed all poetry books from her shelves;
tossed them all with the scattered torn up papers
into a barrel; lit a match to it all.
She vowed to never write another poem as long as she lived.
She watched the poems as they were consumed by the fire;
turned her back to the burning inferno,
and walked away slowly.
From the bellowing smoke,
a figure in the shape of a poem appeared.
It looked as if it almost touched the ground by the barrel,
and just stood there;
then turned around and looked at her.
She turned to look at the burning poems,
saw the figure then slowly walked towards it in disbelief.
The poem bowed its head in sorrow
and begun to speak.
She listened as the figure,
the living poem spoke to her.
“You need me!
You cannot live without me!
What are you going to do?
When your heart breaks?
When you lose someone you love?
When you see innocent people suffer?
When you see injustice in this world?
When you fall desperately, hopelessly in love?
When you hold the tiniest newborn in your arms?
When you are in such pain no one can understand?
When you witness the unspeakable, heartless cruelty man is capable of?
When you hold the lifeless hand of someone whose spirit just crossed to the other side?
Tell me, what are you going to do without me?
You need me!” the poem said.
They both sat on the ground,
watched the fire burn…
and they both cried.
Your Life’s Journey
© Lozan Yamolky
Unless the city sidewalk has
even once, been your bed,
try not to condemn the homeless.
Unless you lived countless days
and countless nights
sad beyond words,
try not to pass judgment on those battling depression.
Unless you have been betrayed
by a person you trusted,
try not to be too quick to criticize
those who have difficulty trusting.
Unless you have felt
the deep anguish
of a woman terminating her pregnancy,
try not to hatefully question
a woman’s right to choose.
Unless you have been displaced
in search of a new life, in a foreign land,
try not to scorn a refugee.
Unless you have been ill
where you find it difficult
to care for yourself,
try not to judge those living in unkempt homes.
If you have never had to choose
between dressing well;
feeding your hungry stomach;
buying your medication;
pay your utility bills;
or keep a roof over your head,
try not to be condescending
to those who look less groomed than you.
My heart aches seeking freedom.
My spirit loves living life.
My crying voice sings beautiful songs.
My arms spread wide, seeking peace.
Reach out for me,
I am everywhere.
I am the needy
you just passed by.
I am the one
you just avoided making
eye contact with.
Who I am and where I am right now
is all a part
—of your life’s journey.
© Lozan Yamolky
from debut book: I’m No Hero
by: Silver Bow Publishing 2016