Audiobook) Ultra: Selected Poems (& Companion Audiobook)

Introduction
Ultra draws from prior collections of poetry of the poet, together with new material unpublished anywhere else, it is ideal introduction to the poets work. Eighteen of the poems featured are found in the accompanying audiobook the free link which we provide here, exclusive to Ultra. The audiobook sets the poems to music composed by New Alchemy. This unique and exciting audiobook combines ballads and the minimalism of hip hop music, serving to further explore, interpret and deepen the meanings of the poems through its musical evocations and interpretations.

A Second Chance Medusa The Birth of Many Hitlers Rasputin The Emperor and the Concubines Boglarka Heritage Fragment Lost Sister of Dionysus Price Tag Rooftop Party 100 Rooftop Party Scandinavian Sweet and Sour The Cauldron The Magic Mountain The Manicurist The Masked Venetians The Witch To A.K. Creating A Better Living

Phantasmagoria On Visiting New York

A Second Chance
Tonight, the first heart stabbing argument bled, that makes her see me with new eyes, And my past disclosures are revisited more seriously and validated with the somber acknowledgement of her own experience No more of the enamored self-forgetting eyes of mutual intoxication, where we were magic to one another with the exotic and strange beauty of our differences, but the new eyes of realism and disgust, that kills the magic of first being together That kills the honeymoon, and the Mediterranean sea of feelings we swam in Where even the blues were joyful and where gorgeous tears mingled with our joys into the bright and beaming sea as we slept And makes the moon a word of pain again Once the knife goes in, the magic is shot down and is lost forever, Like Cupid's arrow in reverse Ideals are surrendered to the clouds The wheeling gulls descend one more time But, I have only caught her soul in the air yet Should we meet, everything will be new again My mistakes have not reached into her bones And our embraces will only be truer, only deeper, As if for the very first time.

To Listen To This Poem, Click Here:

http://www.mediafire.com/?a9kfq2v932eaana/

Medusa
A poem of fantasy

Medusa, head full of snakes Rebel collaboration of evil and chaos Controlling with bad thoughts screaming Into her A methodical spider darkened her heart Heavy scented breezes circle in her aura A book of faces...that sprung from the page She turned the heads of the husbands Losing all reason and sense They turned to stone Coldly betraying their partners Fornicating with the temptress Discord and mess In the Greek aqua baths Like the sexual orgies Of some secret order.

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http://www.mediafire.com/?7za2udyht64wzed/ The Birth Of Many Hitlers

A comment about me I cannot recognize myself in I shrug my shoulders looking at my remaining sisters He reveals more of himself in his morbid preoccupation In his comments Though he means to present his exposition of me He made me feel like Macduff when I was born Studying English Literature I read the phrase unnatural born With a familiarity Mother almost died when she gave birth Because the student cut an artery in her body Had I been a white witch in the middle ages ages ago

My brother would have been the Spanish Inquisition He would be wildly jeering at the scene of Socrates Downing of Hemlock Confused he watches the images on Platos Wall, The Television. I love him. Yet he knows me not Its been so long since I was his younger brother The wolfpack, faith, has changed my life since As our lives drifted apart.

To Listen To This Poem, Click Here:

http://www.mediafire.com/?cxxt7yayv1b15jj/
Rasputin Rasputin
High-cheekbones, gorgeous, flowing waves of hair, And a lotus flower tied to her ear, She was no model though: Acting like a Rasputin wanna-be With healing ways With twenty bitches, poor excuses for men, Kept in the cellar. I shot her, bang, bang, bang! Thinking I was those lean, big-headed West Coast gangsters With all that bling bling and ra ra Poor excuses for rappers and our art, To satisfaction.

To Listen To This Poem, Click Here:

http://www.mediafire.com/?im66jq02ov7ou90/

The Emperor and the Concubines

That self-proclaimed Emperor Liked to draw portraits of the concubines He slept with, Meanwhile, London City was filled with secret agents I watched them live a double life part real, part fantasy Who were even in their fairest true selves but not true to themselves Doing us all a great disservice! I watched them from a distance Are there not a thousand artists in our dynasty Are there not a thousand poets? My pen is shared with a thousand artists in the Courtyard as the sea-blue ink and paper is swept up on your shore Under the banner of our Lord.

To Listen To This Poem, Click Here:

http://www.mediafire.com/?g1lq7kt573t1b18/ Boglarka
(Boglarka means flower in the Hungarian language)

She brought my kiss to her face With ease and a slick enticement On my moving in She sat motionless, still Like a real aristocrat at that moment To receive me Haughty and proud her chin lilted up She didn't bother to move, looking ahead -As I worked around the pale white of her shoulder

The weight off my shoulders, The luggage in the next room. A new beginning. I kissed her a hundred times whilst I was there. I remember how her child wrapped Her arms around my leg in sheer delight How I took her in my arms T To sooth her tears and racing heart When her mother hit her -Now squatting down, in one arm, her, and in my other hand Goethe's Italian Journals, I read from. Waiting for her terror to calm. We just sat there together Motionless, still. Her baby son Amir who looked at me With fresh eyes every of those spring mornings He had no silent disdain And he perched on my arm Like a little sparrow. I laughed at him and said her boyfriend was dumb She could hardly say a word She smiled, amused. She said she wanted a simple guy Because she was twisted And it would all balance out. Her boyfriend came every week Sometimes chirp, chirping with her. I greeted her boyfriend briefly With the shyness of first meetings In the kitchen My back against the fridge.

The time we were talking Together in her room When the moon came in Through the curtain Like the flowlight of inspiration We rotated ourselves on the mattress And we lightly pressed our bodies together As the children lay sleeping Motionless, still As we moved together. It was late, she squeezed my hand And said I should I go So I returned to my room next door The white pillow against my head. She turned the matter around To say we never went to bed That I touched her without her wish instead Her behavior wanted to make me puke... The barrister in his wig Spoke in the eloquence of a poet When he stood for me When I was seated as an observer --(Within the dramas)-The Judge was a woman The Law court filled with women with pointed eyebrows and of quick mind. The Judge who was moved with our truth At the end of it -And the Jury verdict: Not Guilty. That night when her cunning wiles Failed, after the verdict given And scores settled I leaned over on my bed to tell her

I loved her, the radio on -As she lay awake in her bed In that old flatshare, With her head on the white of The pillow and the purity of a smile Of one who is loved from afar. Outside, the pine trees are motionless, still.

To Listen To This Poem, Click Here:

http://www.mediafire.com/?vs4785qf22fuoqx/ Heritage Fragment

We don't worship idol celebrities Like Abraham we slay the heads of these Modern day predicament Foretold by the prophecies I continue the legacy the Asian Subcontinent in the subconscious remains in the memory We used to listen to Tagore reciting his songs in our sunny country In our longee in the bay of Bengal Now we listen to Nitin Sawhney on MP3s And burned CDs In terraces in grey cities drinking masala tea Asian girls used to wear colourful saris and third eye Bindhis Now she wears CK headscarves Watching Hindi films 3 hour duration Our elders chew on betlenut and paan leave Now some of us smoke weed and get sedated listening to RNB

We used to be wondering Bauls reciting rhymes that passed us by wise as owls Now we emcees creating EPs and LPs For our cities Of ethnic minorities and majorities Submitting poems to local community magazines There was caring Saint Teresa of Macedonia Who heard the cries of the children in India Who wore a sari to be familiar British Asians we read Mukerjee, Lahiri, Ali Or Kureishi, Smith or Syal Versed in Oriental philosophies World peace like a yogi Love my lineage to bits on all its fragments Thats why I realise were one tribe.

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http://www.mediafire.com/?vs4785qf22fuoqx/ Lost Sister of Dionysus

It was a high maintenance lifestyle Jack Daniels and a whole host of other names Were her company, as if in Spirit Drunk at night, tears in the day, To compensate for a lack of human warmth More consumption, more pleasure, Wild with aggression, in an awful inherited custom She was a bull hurtling for the red flags everywhere Bloodied red from the blood of their bloodlust Like the Chinese Communist tainted flag of China Where innocents are murdered today, Such as the Falun Gong tai-chi type practitioners Who only adhere to truthfulness, compassion and

Tolerance, non-violence, killed by the Chinese Communist Party government for no reason As thousands are persecuted, Its got to stop, Falun Gong is good standing Alongside a semi-divine culture still going Never leaving

Excess of even excess Sister of oblivion, Descending into a delirious madness But drunkenness can never replace love From so many figures, Only a single one offered any real satisfaction The satisfaction of love The beloved, A lighter- hearted, sweeter tasting wine. Because their behavior is coarse despite The perfect elegance of their uniforms.

To Listen To An Alternative Edit of This Poem, Click Here:

http://www.mediafire.com/?qrvo3uwhxxtuqcv/ Price Tag

There the petty criminals sat Calmly after the storm Two Arthur and Tom electronically tagged One the wrist, the other, the ankle Balancing himself with my arm to reveal 7pm curfew Zakir sat hunched low listening to his i-pod Large shoulders, much unforgiven... It weren't all that bad In the camaraderie of painting Up the wall Glossing over our wrongs Making a new start

Putting the past where it belongs The room changed with the dawn coming through the window the room changed with our progress and changing prospects As the hours of service completed by day As my brush dips into the thick of it and the last coat of paint will be applied painting the last of the scene with pen and pad And leaving with my bag.

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http://www.mediafire.com/?3e0l2119oo7za36

A Rooftop Party 100

He had one girl on each arm One of them had a neck as long And graceful as an alchopop bottle's Put it this way, he had all the alcohol he wanted. A beach-grey mingled with the blonde In his hair But already his wisdom was complete As we gathered on that rooftop He left later, turning the lights off He wept on his pillow To see the solitary boy in love with his Chemistry set, the coloured tubes Exploding new material.

To To Listen To This Poem, Click Here:

http://www.mediafire.com/?vfyryupzafhu4l8/ Rooftop Party

He had one girl on each arm One of them had a neck as long And graceful as an alcho-pop bottle's Put it this way, he had all the alcohol he wanted. A beach-grey mingled with the blonde In his hair But already his wisdom was complete As we gathered on that rooftop He left later, turning the lights off I never understood why he wept on his pillow To see that solitary boy playing marbles On the maze of the school draintop The marbles china, sky-blue With strokes of red and green. To Listen To This Poem, Click Here:

http://www.mediafire.com/?axk429cnbmgcw4c/ Scandinavian Sweet and Sour

She was one out of a few Goth girls In leather Just a touch tougher than the texture of bitter-sweet liquorice

and wearing fishnet stockings Lived across the waters Who was yet to learn the smooth water's Tender Taoist wisdom Her heart was sour Her connections barbed wired And filled the air with it's sulphur Making me bend down to throw up I couldn't stand it From all her unprocessed pain All canned up Everything was a burnt out match for her There was the soft marshmallow pale Of her figure But none of that sweet's scent... Her shadow did not stand apart from her She was rotting to the core Like browning apples Perhaps approaching the limit Ripe for redemption just as I seek it.

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http://www.mediafire.com/?1uv4z3ym0omie97/ The Cauldron

O Cauldron! It ferments the ideas, thoughts and emotions In it I threw the natural ingredients of inspiration: Torn, selected, passages from books, Cut --out image from a style magazine, Whose freshness struck me with a remembrance of some kind, video clips, lines from songs, or a conversation, Or a whispering word from an angel, Or the feel of a New Year's Eve just gone by.... Or a line from a poem .. On the stove of a slow burning desire that crackled And almost cackled with life, Later life around the cauldron reflected those images As the smoke from the black womb of the cauldron transformed the scene with it's whole beauty, full circle.

To Hear This Poem, Click Here:

http://www.mediafire.com/?zynna764c4gd1xz/ The Magic Mountain

Behind-the-scenes, she gave me All the love in the world And it moved mountains It made me strong Sometimes she laughed at me Laughing with the others at the Dancing or the Madness... But mostly she cared Telling me I would never be alone She asked me why I thought I would be alone I didn't know that was her pledge of love before I took it as some impersonal prophecy, freely given -Now, it is as clear as the timeless starry nights we have spent together Sometimes her tears made me Want to weep, sometimes I smiled for her As I drew closer to comfort her Reticent, few of words, her mouth parts mostly To be embraced.. Now I have someone to worry about -I didn't wait for her tears to subside fully before We made love, once more.

This Here: To Listen To This Poem, Click Here:

http://www.mediafire.com/?adm5zar8vdtuwyt/ The Manicurist

The young Asian-American Who sat unassumingly in the corner of the room Of the hair saloon where some were getting gerry curls Others were straightening up each morning His table with equipment spread across the table His face covered partially for the fumes Like some anonymous mask Only soulful eyes visible There was every kind of colour in New York and a matching varnish Slender fingers of dexterity used in some Job perhaps she was proud of Or a lover who held hands, An anniversary, Something that went with her ring And gave the years colour, Someone who was a Good Samaritan. He affirmed the professionals, the housewives, Every kind of person With his conversation and service He knew them well Over the months, he almost became a palm reader When taking the ladies into his attentive care Clairvoyant with empathy Smooth and courser hands told their story unwritten, Through ups or downs They all left him bright and radiant with smiles Empowered and able, ready to face the day Thanks to their man. To Listen To This Poem, Click Here:

http://www.mediafire.com/?e59z0he7zk7fkgh/

The Masked Venetians

I bought a hand-made Venetian Paper-Mache mask initialed by the Mask-Maker who kept no secret of his Craftsmanship Imbedded deep on the surface I'd like to write some words here About the above, I drifted back into the 18th Century Daydreaming of a brown-haired Venetian She was an inhabitant of the pond-green sea Emotionally, she was out at sea The great architecture was named after The inhabitants She was a lover of Giacomo Casanova Who burned like Red Rialto, The Wrath of The Aboveboard Gods Manifest. I looked in the mirror once more I wear the Venetian mask once more before My friend exclaims 'That's mine!' 'Here you are', I say. To Listen To This Poem, Click Here:

http://www.mediafire.com/?d9nu6o4dc0u1dpd/ The Witch

Her fan makes the water Waves on the seashore Gives over to the hands of the Moon Who blows it back to the fan And so breezes blow in the cool evening Back and forth, back and forth The elements at her command As she communes with herself.

To Listen To This Poem, Click Here:

http://www.mediafire.com/?833q4t12y2qx325 To A.K.
The lesson, the ideas born of all that you are Are honoured I was introduced to you After Christine dug you out of some pit in Hell To tickle her bones Because her relationship was too dead. But seasons ask that I move on to make an end You too, were Catherine's friend A poet more skilled than you ever were Who I discovered in your company. The two of us, With pieces in the True Words anthology. Your magic was all illusion If you were a demon, you were a charismatic one My friend You had nothing on truth's court. Only play, where enduring intimacy cannot be found. I wish you well in your middle age Flying sultan slain by his own magnificence Leading your corrupt congregation From all four corners deeper into chaos Flair lessened your suffering Your talent for depiction was wasted on Scenes of decadence. Poet, your art took the place of your crashed car In California. Dreamer, you would write about your conquests in past tense As if you were already gone.

To Listen To This Poem, Click Here:

http://www.mediafire.com/?ziyhoutzuuvde33/ Creating A Better Living

The Woman at the Grand Opening of the Restaurant Brought in the Starving Queuing in the Cold Street They Came Mostly From Affluent Homes From the Ends of the Earth The Walls were hung with Old Photographs She was the Chef, Waitress and the Host Her Clientle were the Upper Echelon They made reservations at Night To Feast at her Table upon the Exquisite Menu As Elaborate as the French all night courses As the Mother held the Children in her Arms The Old Man stared at the Photographs Reminded of his Nostalgia... Porkchop sideburns, moustache and shades As his mind sketched out the charcoal blur Of his long gone Family Lineage On the desolate glazed landscape of the glass window outside He was miles away The Evil Glint in his Eye that peeped through the Brown Tint Shocked all White- Bearded Sages In one painting imported from China The Brilliant Artist's Palette with Twirls of Watercolour

Exhibiting Taste from the Tang Dynasty Era Overlooking the Scene Whose Invisible Wisdom was to die for and live for How I longed too for the Paternal Goodness of the Native Indian Elder With a Face and Being Calm and Solemn, Strong and with Seasoned Integrity The Salt of The Earth Telling of Prophecy, Renewal and Retribution In the Beautiful Simplicity and Purity of The Native Indian Philosophy The Corrupt Bald-faced Statesman Spoke with False Words Anthologised by his Sheepish Advisor Winning An Audience was also somehow present the gentleman in the suit, gently wept into his napkin To see the flowers of her simple cotton fabric dress yellow And there's no use in crying over spilt milk The Worldly-Wise tell him What is Tragedy and what is Rather Silly is not Known How Gorgeous the Furnishings were though The Traditional Building Revived with Her Vigour, From the Wreckage of War Where Soldiers Murdered Over Something As Delicately Wrought As A Battle of Ideas The Seductive Soft Velvet of the Interior The Restoration of What Once Was Such a Desolate Place Now Filled With Life and Living Her Job Accrued No Finances But Tell Me, Wasn't it Better Living?

Phantasmagoria
At night, their heads in their pillows questioned the two of us As some stopped to take from us

And we both took from them and theirs Where we desired... Assigned at the bottom I probed the coral reef for discoveries And ideas to bring out to my friends I did not care for seashell whispers Back on the island Knowing her, made them all think of us both Out in the world, I walked along The same streets Dreaming with a coffee close to hand Over a Spanish omelet Fist in my face with pen and pad to plan.

On Visiting New York

Yes, I saw the Stibnite Skyscapers Along the Chartered Streets of Queens, New York Where my relatives lived in an apartment Where we rode the A-Train Each day on our travels there was a different story to tell Where my black Wu-Tang brothers were birthed bringing Chinese Wisdom into Consciousness Shaolin Temple gates opened to the public Muddied with Worldly Ways it's so easy to stray Yet Hip Hop Culture, so Esoteric and Unorthodox Made for Hidden Saints behind Mics of Urban Lyricism Where Roses only grew from Concrete Hoodies a splendid veil Which gave no lesser instruction for our poetry I recall RZA's mention of I Ching, the Book of Changes, That survived the Flood of a prior cycle, Scattered in his rhymes We never learned of at school Such is my dreamy nostalgia When it all began in 1993.

About The Author I have had some poetry published in Callused Hands, Poetry Visions, Kobita Bangla poetry magazine, True Words Anthology and in the past won joint prize in a poetry competition back at Hertfordshire University. Prior to that, I was shortlisted in a poetry competition judged by Margaret Atwood and Simon Armitage. I write music under the New Alchemy alias. I have performed acoustic guitar performances around Open Mics in London. I am an experimental singer songwriter hailing from London city, utilising the genres of alternative rock, and urban styles, favouring a simple homespun lo fi approach at this time. New Alchemy's 'The Roots' track was played on BBC Radio's 1xtra by DJ Excalibuh. New Alchemy's 'Dafa Hao' track appears on the Red Sulphur Mixtape released by Ubik Heredia. Using music as a means of drawing attention to the persecution of Falun Gong tai chi type practice by the Chinese Communist Party sometimes, play open mic venues, and perform poetry. New Alchemy has collaborated with the following artists who span different genres: DJ Excalibuh, Mr Hectic, Ubik Heredia, Ilarei Sol, Lisa Brown, Universe326, Sharif aka Logically Rare Jason Air, Art Beat, to name a few. Foretold, Red Dragon Eliminated, tracks by The New Alchemy are now on http://www.freedomforchina.co.uk/ available for download.

Authors work also featured in:

True Words Poetry Anthology

The True Words Poetry anthology is a collection of international poems written for the cause of human rights awareness in China. This fresh and unique collection, includes classical and spoken word poetry styles. Ingrid Jonker has been appreciated by Nelson Mandela and has been likened to a South African Sylvia Plath. Emma Thompson is currently supporting a documentary being created about the poet. To date, over 3,000 adherents of Falun Gong have been killed, 100,000 sent to labour camps, and who have been tortured and persecuted. This continues through until this day. The following poems express the concern of Falun Gong practitioners and poets located around the world regarding the Chinese Communist Party's on-going persecution of the tai-chi like practice in China. Recounting the Sichuan earthquake tragedy and the larger effects of Communism in the Soviet Union, the anthology also features an exclusive reworking of the poem The Child That Was Beaten To Death by Soldiers in Nayinga by Ingrid Jonker, reworked by her daughter Simone Cillers Venter and an exclusive interview that concludes the collection. In the second part of the anthology, a series of brief commentaries are given on the poems. The appendix collects I am Falun Gong poem in different languages, an on-going translation project. Reviews A thought provoking and moving collection of poems. It opened a pathway of learning I have not entered before, made me reflect on life outside the bubble I live in, exposed me to new ways of thinking and lastly, made me feel quite sad. 'The obstacle in the path' Zen Proverb --Georgina O Conner Top marks. A powerful collection of poetry, broad-ranging in scope and insightful in nature I particularly enjoyed 'The Child That Was Beaten to Death in Beijing- So powerful! It brought tears to my eyes. I also really enjoyed 'Poetic Passages' ---very well put together, incisive and expansive. The interview at the end of the anthology with Simone C. Jonker Ventor was a real bonus. So many things I am only just starting to learn about! Thank you for all your efforts.

--- James Poulter

To read please see my titles available for download at www.free-ebooks.net.

Your Feedback If you enjoyed this poetry collection and want to show your appreciation, you can do one of a few things: 1.You can check out my other work at the Free Ebooks site 2. Rate up the collection and pass onto friends and family 3. Leave me an honest comment or a brief review at the Free Ebooks site 4. Or, why not drop a tip through the online donation box? It has been my earnest pleasure to share this writing with you. My e-mail is ZubyreParvez@hotmail.com where you can contact me for comments, further information on the poetry and related projects.