MOSAICKED POEMS: Mosaicked Prose poems 2018

By Anwer Ghani

In the mosaicked writing multiple texts have appeared in different theme and story but they are one in their deep idea and letters. In my "mosaicked expressive narrative" there are multiple poems in one poem so there are primary title and secondary titles. The adjective primary titles of the triple pieces is the depiction of the poems and not the themes, that is to say it is a descriptive title of the titles where the poems behave as a mirror in a mosaic system.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookRix
• Release date: Dec 4, 2018
• ISBN: 9783743888258

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Title

Mosaicked Poems

MOSAICKED POEMS

2018

ANWER JABER

Preface

This is a collection of my narrative expressionistic prose poems which has been written between 2016 -2018,

Narrative expressionism is a writing style where the literary piece has been written in narrative-lyric system in which the written text has appeared with the narrative superficial structure and deep poetic one. In narrative expressionism the narrative text composed of poetic elements and there is no time, place, or characters but there are poetic, lyric, imagery elements which have been narrated. In this hybrid system, the glory of both; prose and poetry have transfigured completely, so it reaches the infinite target of prose poetry writing. The expressive narrative text appears in one block; no lines, no breaks and no blanks.

In the mosaicked writing multiple texts have appeared in different theme and story but they are one in their deep idea and letters. In my mosaicked expressive narrative there are multiple poems in one poem so there are primary title and secondary titles. The adjective primary titles of the triple pieces is the depiction of the poems and not the themes, that is to say it is a descriptive title of the titles where the poems behave as a mirror in a mosaic system.

The Author

Anwer Ghani Jaber (previously Anwer Ghani) is an Iraqi poet and artist. He was born in 1973 in Babylon. His name has appeared in many literary magazines and anthologies (as Anwer Ghani) and he have won many prizes; one of them is the World Laureate-Best Poet in 2017 from WNWU. Narrative expressionism and digital expressionism are his peculiar styles. Anwar is the author of Narratopoet; (2017), Antipoetic Poems; (2017) and other 50 books.

GYPSIES

The Gypsy Girl

I like our quiet lakes and their reviving breeze, where the water’s eyes are always sleepy. You can't imagine his red cheek in the winter nights. I remember when my mother had made a nice hat for him. My mother is so expert in the seasonal souls and she told me that Autumn is a gypsy girl. I didn't see Autumn, but I am sure that my mother saw her because she described her face precisely. She told me that Autumn flies between the trees’ branches as a small bird and leaving her veil weaving airily in our souls. Sometimes I feel that Autumn is a fairy and you may see her stormy tale swimming deeply in our dreams’ water.

A Gypsy Tent

I am not a hippie, but I seriously had thought to live in the forest without cooker or air-conditioner, just wood for the fire, and if you don’t agree, I will leave fire for you. I will leave all the walls and the closed doors for you. I will drink the river water with the birds and eat the greens with the deer. I will sleep under a gypsy tent because I wish to dream at night widely and chant at morning loudly.

A Gypsy Wagon

My grandfather had a beautiful horse filled with compassion and kindness. I didn't see her, but they said that she was legendarily brave. My family might have possessed a wagon. I don't know and I didn't ask about this, but I think if we had one, it will be closed as the desert’s souls. I am an Arabia man and you know there is nothing here but desert, so I decided to bring a gypsy wagon to my home to learn my children the freedom.

RANIES

Rainy wishes

The face of earth will be grim without the childish jumping of the rain drops. Yes, rain is a pleasant bending which had planted the ambergris in the hearts of our farmers. My ancestors have taught their souls the abysmal waiting, and kneaded their mud with its tales, so you may see them sitting in their narrow gardens with rainy wishes. They look at the sky and whispering with yearning. Yes, you are right; I am the inheritor of silence and rainy wishes.

Rainy Tears

The rain is the yearning’s tear. I remembered when the sky had ascended towards the throne; she remained looking at her sister; the earth, with deep passion. Silently she was sending kisses with the wind’s wings, but when the yearning fires, her eyes tear with rain. Yes, the rain drops are the grieving tears of a lucent soul.

Rainy moments

I like rain because he is the portrayal of love. His color was wet, but warm and his hand was shivery but kind. He comes at evening as an old tale hugs the small leaves with big passion. When we get lost in our rainy moments, we find a breeze embracing our bare souls. I can’t imagine how it will be miserable, if I can’t see rain drops’ dancing.

VALEMTINES

Valentine’s Birds

Our days are colored with passion where all springs of happy times are emerging from their tall amazing nails. I am not water and can’t sleep in the hearts of these springs, but the martyrs had made a home for valentine’s birds which they know nothing but love and say nothing but chants. They are the creatures of light; from their travelling all the beginnings have started. Their hands were silvery, and you can see their brassy chants lying peacefully in our inner lands. Those valentine’s birds are constantly standing under love’s trees and give me an unusual kiss.

Valentine’s Smile

Our days are like my poems, gray and tasteless, and they oftentimes asked me to throw her from the bridge, but I am an old lover who can’t drink his coffee without passion. They had a wide heart, exactly as the big cows which I saw them in the remote city, and without any delay I had disappeared in their watery souls. These souls, which you may see them in old mirrors, can’t say anything but hesitancy and can’t know anything about love, so I will bring a jar of valentine’s smile to color their gray faces.

Valentine’s Days

Do you see all the amazing colors in a beautiful sky? They are merely a pretty smile of our love. On his hand, I saw my soul and on his hat I found my nest. Our love is a green treasure I saw him before the wedding of sun and before the delivery of the trees, so all our days are valentines and all our shy whispers are holidays. From our kindhearted gaze, the earth had made her white dress, and from our smooth touch, the birds had learned their chants.

WARS

The War’s Son

I am the war’s son; my memory was kneaded by her rugged dance and my heart colored with her gloomy soul. When the tales of the mountains ended at her cold knees, you will find me in her smoky corners with my dreadful shivering. Look at my water, it is dirty and look at my future, it is nothing but vagueness. I am a good son, so I am her mirror. I can shred all the flowers of the sleepy mornings. I can drink all the milk of Australian cows and I can destroy all the souls of Cedar forest. Here, in my chest, is a legendary fire with a voice demolishes the entire beautiful mirrors and a passion kills the moon’s dreams.

The War’s Garden

I am an Iraqi man; my life is postponed and my face was stolen by wars. My voice is vaporous as a shadow and my dreams’ clothes are as short as a laugh. I know nothing about beauty or love and know nothing about Detian Falls. I don't want a colorful hat, or a golden watch. All what I want is seeing Euphrates lives a day without blood, and the shells leave the crushed ribs of Babylon. When you visit my garden won’t find but sadness and won’t see but the stolen face.

The War’s Daughter

The bean leaflets live amidst the stormy days, and chanting sadly for our absent horses. She is standing in the face of winter's hell and gives him an icy kiss. She is like me, sleeping in the field without