Category Archives: Others’ works

Here are some pieces by others which have given me inspiration, peace of mind or have just made me think.

Thoughtful Thursday, Poetic Revelation Reblogged

#thoughtfulthursday is here and it is brought about by none other, but my dear friend Sopphey Vance. She writes poetry, she blogs and is the editor-in-chief and owner of the Enhance magazine.

Sopphey tells about her love of Indian movies. She specifically discusses a movie entitled “Umrao Jaan”. To quote from the blog: “For example, Umrao Jaan is a movie about a girl who’s sold into prostitution. She grows to learn her craft, and as a result writes wonderful poems. …”

Go on and read the remaining part of the post on her blog. You may watch the full-length movie itself, too.

And, to quote Umrao’s poetic teacher (imagine a prostitute, taking poetry lessons!): “Remember two things: the delicacy of the thought and the rhythm of the words.”

What else would you be in need of in poetry!

 «Yours, MK»

Sunshine Sunday – Fan-flash on Blake’s 7

Today was supposed to be a sunny Sunday. After all, it’s nearing the end of May, so that’s only natural. Yet, it’s raining and the sky is bleak. So, instead of a Sunshine Sunday post, I made up a Fun-shine Fan-flash post. My friend Claudette Young, of the April Challengers opened a fun fan prompt a couple of days ago, to which I responded. I have long wanted to write some fan fiction. You know the kind – you watch a movie or read a book and you can’t help thinking there is something or someone missing there. So, you sit down and write it.

My Fun-shine Fan-flash Sunday is based on Blake’s 7, my favourite show on TV when I was a kid.


“Listen, Roj, I can’t stand it”, said Monica. “Sort things out with Avon. Find a way, make it up. I don’t know.” The tension in her voice escalated.

Blake only bit his lips. The deep creases on his forehead looked almost black.

“Monique,” he attempted tenderness, but his voice was not used to that. “I AM trying.”

“No, you aren’t! You two are in war. And we all see it. And it will tear us apart.” She hesitated for a second and then mumbled, “And not only that.”

Blake blinked for a moment, wondering what to say. He was amazed at her tearful brown eyes.

“Why are you crying?” he croaked.

“It’s nothing.” she retorted. “Too tired, that’s all.”

He could see it now. Too absorbed in his revolutionary cause, he hadn’t realized that his little sister was on board with his crew of escaped convicts. Constantly on the run and hiding, Blake had blocked all human emotions as dangerous and missed to see how Monica changed when Avon entered the room. “Oh, my God!” he thought. Aloud he said:

“I’ll make it up to him. I promise.” He put his cheek to her lips.


© 2012 Mariya Koleva

Posted at Claudsy’s blog!

If you’d like to get the feeling, here is the opening video 🙂

Cover Art ready for the Sombre Chapbook

Hello, and here is an update for the Sombre Chapbook. In case you missed the beginning – here are the details. And now, the news: all poems have been selected and arranged, roughly edited, awating final moderation,

but the main piece of news is that


Copyright © 2011 Emil Penchev

How about that 😉 The artist is currently working on the contents. So, hopefully, it will be out soon.

Daffodils, by W. Wordsworth

In a beautiful day, here is something to match the mood. Remember the Lake Poets?




by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills.
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a boy:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company;
I gazed–and gazed–but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.


Честит 8-ми март!

В Международния ден на жената да си спомним:


“Какво представлява историята на Фантин? Обществото си купува робиня.

От кого? От нищетата.

От глада, от студа, от самотата, от изоставеността, от оскъдицата. Скръбна сделка. Човешка душа за парче хляб. Нищетата предлага, обществото купува.

Казват, че европейската цивилизация не познавала робството. Това е заблуждение. Робството съществува, но то тегне само над жената и носи името проституция.

То тегне над жената, тоест над прелестта, над безпомощността, над красотата, над майчинството. Това е една от най-позорните прояви на мъжа.

(Клетниците, В. Юго)

Emo’s first haiku

Ето как жизнерадостно момче като Емо се озова в гробищата с първото си хайку:

1. Намисли си образ: Къща

2. Даде определение: Място за живеене

3. Махна гласните: мст з жвн

4. Направи нови думи от буквите: масата, земя, ствол, нов, жив

5. Измисли нови думи, свързани с горните: дървена, пръст, дърво, стар, дишащ

6. Тези нови думи извикаха у него образа на: гробище

7. Написа своето хайку:


поляна с камъни

и люляци в нощта.

8. Заглавието се състои от първата намислена дума и последната дума на хайкуто, свързани някак: Къща на нощта


Къща на нощта


поляна с камъни

и люляци в нощта.


След това решихме да направим същото на английски език, като започнем със същата дума. Ето какво се получи:

1. House

2. Place to reside

3. plc t rsd

4. plane, cinema, travel, raiders

5. sky, display, journey, adventure

6. film about adventurous trip in the sky

7.     So adventurous

as film shot in the sky

tripping in the clouds.

8. House of clouds


House of clouds

So adventurous

as film shot in the sky

tripping in the clouds.

Joseph Conrad – Heart of Darkness

My friend Madison Morris was a guest blogger here earlier this week and, in her post, she mentioned Joseph Conrad as an example of a non-native English speaker who made it into the English literary canon, albeit he allegedly knew just six words in English, when he arrived in England at the age of 21, in 1878.

So, I decided to share a literary piece by that particular author, just in loving memory, deep admiration, and not least as a reminder that … there is no limit to human abilities. Enjoy the richness and brilliance!


And at last, in its curved and imperceptible fall, the sun sank low, and from glowing white changed to a dull red without rays and without heat, as if about to go out suddenly, stricken to death by the touch of that gloom brooding over a crowd of men.

Forthwith a change came over the waters, and the serenity became less brilliant but more profound. The old river in its broad reach rested unruffled at the decline of day, after ages of good service done to the race that peopled its banks, spread out in the tranquil dignity of a waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth. We looked at the venerable stream not in the vivid flush of a short day that comes and departs for ever, but in the august light of abiding memories. And indeed nothing is easier for a man who has, as the phrase goes, “followed the sea” with reverence and affection, than to evoke the great spirit of the past upon the lower reaches of the Thames. The tidal current runs to and fro in its unceasing service, crowded with memories of men and ships it had borne to the rest of home or to the battles of the sea. It had known and served all the men of whom the nation is proud, from Sir Francis Drake to Sir John Franklin, knights all, titled and untitled–the great knights-errant of the sea. It had borne all the ships whose names are like jewels flashing in the night of time, from the Golden Hind returning with her round flanks full of treasure, to be visited by the Queen’s Highness and thus pass out of the gigantic tale, to the Erebus and Terror, bound on other conquests– and that never returned. It had known the ships and the men. They had sailed from Deptford, from Greenwich, from Erith– the adventurers and the settlers; kings’ ships and the ships of men on `Change; captains, admirals, the dark “interlopers” of the Eastern trade, and the commissioned “generals” of East India fleets. Hunters for gold or pursuers of fame, they all had gone out on that stream, bearing the sword, and often the torch, messengers of the might within the land, bearers of a spark from the sacred fire. What greatness had not floated on the ebb of that river into the mystery of an unknown earth! . . . The dreams of men, the seed of commonwealths, the germs of empires.

(Heart of Darkness, published as a complete work in 1902, previously published in three-part series in 1899 in Blackwood’s Magazine)

Oh! snatched away in beauty’s bloom…

George Gordon 6th Baron Byron (22 Jan. 1788 – 19 Apr. 1824)

Oh! snatched away in beauty’s bloom,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year;
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom:

And oft by yon blue gushing stream
Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,
And feed deep thought with many a dream,
And lingering pause and lightly tread;
Fond wretch! as if her step disturbed the dead!

Away! ye know that tears are vain,
That death nor heeds nor hears distress:
Will this unteach us to complain?
Or make one mourner weep the less?
And thou -who tell’st me to forget,
Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.