Robin Ouzman Hislop

Robin Ouzman Hislop was born in the United Kingdom and has also lived in Scotland, Scandinavia, The East and Spain. He now lives in Sheffield, South Yorkshire, UK. His work has appeared in  Dawn Millennium Anthology and Crystal Dawn Anthology published by Kedco Studios. His anthology After the Cave the Comet appeared in 2004. He started as a resident poet with Poetry Life & Times in January 2005 and took over its editorship together with Spanish poetess Amparo Arrospide from Sara Russell in May 2006.



Beatific

i have not seen yet
fullest flowering of your face
where my heart waits
that mystery of your grace
to have heard on the waters
you weep & know
beyond the veil of tears,
yet more exalted spheres

here still the serpent sun
the moon & the womb
the diamond diadem
& glittering ocean
on the waves on moirai
& breath of mnemosyne



Nyx


human being, your lives, so little
for your tragedies so great,
ravelled in the shrouds of nyx
& fatal twins thanatos & hypnosis,
where ever lost you yet acclaim
if not second to none, the next best.

to what mocking echo, pitiful fall
your triumphant aspirations,
but soft ye now, nyx whispers
in hypnosis’s ear that morpheus appear

on the waters of the night.
where the architect of tomorrow
usurps no more what potion
morpheus drops upon an eyelid.

or what monster might rear or nightmare
demeter in the womb of night, nyx
her embrace suckled on each breast,
born of the serpent, twins of the beast
or how she may come or what chariot,
yet the clarion or what hour!




Lagoon

I should go on down the dales
to the Palace of Rhiannon
by the Caers, misty isles
you see, as though at sea.

A place of memory, the Sidhi,
under the silver moon's
starry wheel of heaven.
A myriad jewel, a peacock's fan,

A tiara on a diadem arisen
in the silver shimmering night.
But here at the lagoon
are peril, dread & doom.

A frond more perfect than the abysm
with cold waters darker than light,
where not even the moon appears
to shift its depths wherein sky shivers.

Embraced in a silver circle alone,
an oracle more brittle than bone
or wind-lashed skin naked drawn,
all who enter here none return.