Happy New Year 2017

 Despite the difficulties we faced in the years 2015 and 2016 we are now back in the saddle.

We look forward to the year 2017 when our cultural wing “” will as usual present poetry written by our usual poets, reviews, stories etc.

Our readers can also send their own written materials as well and we shall try to find the place in our monthly programme.

We are not a commercial but a charitable institute so we have very strict rules about the materials sent by our readers. We do not give publicity to private or commercial enterprises. If such materials are sent to us we delete them and also do not send any acknowledgement about them as we are very busy people.

However you can send your comments through comments columns.

I shall come back with interesting material and information about mental health issues etc.

So watch this space every month in the first fortnight.


OutsideIn at Bethlem Gallery, Stratford East

Last so many years “Outside In” an art organisation that has come to be known as the unique organisation that looks for those art and artists who have missed the main stream of the venues make venues for such artists.

Their latest venture is that they have now created Outside the main stream artists an exhibition at the famous Bethlem Gallery.

Their exhibition at this gallery will be from 25 January – 24 March 2016.

Art lovers should not miss this exhbition as it is so satisfying to see something different.

The Title of the Exhibition is

“Let in the Light”

The exhibition title is a reference to

Groucho Marx’ line: ‘Blessed are the cracked, for they shall let in the light.’


Artist and Daily Life Ltd’s Artistic Director Bobby Baker says: “I was judged and underestimated when I had mental health problems, but when people see my autobiographical drawings it helps change the way they think about mental health.

Merry Christmmas

The Teams of  the and the Cooltan Arts wish all our readers and participants

Merry Christmas


a Very Happy New Year 2016

Divine December

Madonna del Prato

Madonna of the Meadow

A painting by Giovanni Bellini










Madonna, Madonna!

Why are you worshipping

With your folded hands

Your own child in your lap?


You don’t know at this stage

Your child is divine, earthly

Or a child of a devil!


All children when they are born

Are divine to their mothers!

They know well a child comes from God

And if they do well in their life

They become god as well!


Mine I know for sure is a son of God

Because an angel has told me so!


Sasha Dee

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A young girl, later on called Virgin Mary

Lately saw in her dreams unexplainables

And heard voices; then she saw him manifesting

From the thin air, the winged archangel Gabriel

Who, told her that she was going to have a

Virgin Birth, Son of God will be born to her


She was perplexed and did not know

If the message was assuring or reasonable

Or a store of stormy weather ahead!


Could she hold down her sanity,

When her life was meddled by the Divinity?


Where would she go?

To whom she could tell her plight of

What she had seen and heard?

Are the holes showing in the firm firmament?

Or is there need of the needlepoint

For the heaven’s divine but torn garment?

Is the Prince of Peace,

Is the harbinger of War as well?

Does the Tranquillity

Come with the Turmoil?


It was too much for her

Young mind to cope with

She swooned but got up

And forgot it until later years

When events took to the end

That realized her fears.




Brian Ring


I suddenly find myself in the midst of the cold, mean city.

I had no cash – I’d been conned out of it.

I have nowhere to go to, for even the half-heated crypt

Of the church I once frequented is barred against me.                                                           Try Hauptbahnhof but the railway police would move me on.

Even if the Police station is warm in its cell –

I would have had to commit a veritable felony-

Breaking window glass would not do any more.

So I keep on walking – walking through the dark, dank alleys, lanes and streets.

Perhaps if I were a girl I’d get a room with someone somehow.

But that’s a divisive sexist remark – have they really got it that good?

Anyway its ageist against me too-

The O.A.P.Hostel only opens on a Friday night.

I’ll just have to WAIT,

And now there’s this wretched snow falling after midnight in midwinter.

I don’t really need a bed for the night – a warm chair would do.

Try out-patients? Try a hotel foyer? Try a police-station reception?

No way – too boring – be moved on anyway?

After all what do you expect from Free Germany?

I don’t want to die from frost bite.

Why don’t I just wrap up?


Anyway I seem to have lost the plot

Please don’t rip up the note paper on which this ‘poem’ is written , man.

The club I could have gone to is for members only.

And they only accept cash which I don’t have anyway.

Besides who’d have an outsider like me?

And if I became one, would I really want to become one?


Heaven knows what the Heaven is

Sam Daniel


    Heaven, heaven, heaven

    After all what is the heaven?

    Heaven knows what the heaven is!

    Nobody really knows

    What’s it, what’s its location

    What’s it situation, and dominion?

Nobody has come back from it

And told us or written down about it


Heaven to different persons is different

Heaven in different culture and religion is different

It is a differing matter far different

Like the sky from the eart

But it is accordingly some  something nice and happy






From tribal world of the remote wilderness

To the civilized world of all mod and cons

Each has their different heaven of happiness


But what gets me down is the idea of heaven

That some religions awards women as heaven

For men for spreading the message of the religion

Image result for seductive filmy  women

Image result for seductive filmy  women


But I think that there should be a doppelganger culture

In which women are awarded men as heaven;

Image result for seductive celeb men

And then they refuse them on the ground that on earth

Those very men created hell out of their heaven!


La Nasscita Venere

Birth of Venus

A painting by Sandro Botticelli


iBirth of Mary







Sandro Botticelli you wicked old artist!

You know how to put spell on us

And make women very beautiful

Vivacious, seductive to the point of porno


Here Venus is born; you painted

Out of a pearl, out of the ocean

Like a mother of pearl lighted

Within and without

By her own light

Within and without


All her charm hid and reveal

Reveal the woman’s beauty

Of the humanity for the humanity

And our Raison d’être


November Spectre

Conference with Ghosts


Howard Luke

Yesterday I was insane and

Connected to the Ether

Holding conferences with ghosts

And astral Gods

Talking non-stop but without a microphone

Performing a question and answer session

For an unseen audience

In a room in a block of flats

Yesterday I was high

Manically walking from home to palace

Laughing hysterically at an unheard joke

Never eating just moving

Talking to the spirits as I walked

Yesterday I was happy

Today I am numb

and worrying the carcass of an old song



Brian Ring


There they go .. Spectres in the night sky!

Shimmering and shining amidst the pristine stars,

Leering and leaping lights in the nocturnal ether

Peering at these we fancy that these ghastly residues

Are either figments of our imagination or UFO’s

Somehow really up there

What else can explain those eery entities?

In the mind’s eye or really in the dark night firmament

I don’t believe in any ghosts myself,

But sometimes I discern strange visions up there.

And cannot imagine what on Earth they might be

But that just not it; they are not here in Earth,

But in an aethereal, empyrean, ecstatic realm,

A panoply of weird luminescent superlunaries.

What would have convinced me that they

Were indeed ghosts, would be if they spoke or uttered sound—

But, no! Dim, dumb and drearily quiet they just seem.

But they are not seemly –merely spectral sparks or somesuch.

And at night they are distinguished from stars –

Because, amazingly, they whizz about like

Effervescent physical presences in a patchwork quilt of astral bodies.

The eerie science of the night skies shows me,

There is far more in the heavens than can be

Seen at first glance – and yet I.m not even

Looking through a telescope at the time,

But just seeing things –Are they not there then?

Yes, I’m dreaming it all

There really are no ghosts in the sky’

On earth, or underneath it.



Daring Discourse of Odysseus

Sasha Dee


Let your thousand tongues lollop, roar,

Rumble, hiss, and frighten us to death, Death:


Let the stars, brittle as glass,

Crack, crash and crush into pieces

Falling like dark dousing, dying fireworks:


Let the storms, hurricanes, tempests, tornadoes,

Typhoons, Cyclones, and whirlwinds rise and arise

The waves of mountains of oceans of waters:

Let the angles of the earth tremble and tilt.


Let the demons of hell, land on the seven seas,

Dance wicked, wearing the sculls in the festoons,

Swinging swords, flashing cutlasses all around

Quaking and shaking the roots of the earth and the layers of heaven:


Let the Satan throw all his burning thunderbolts

And fell the fulcrum of the universe, far, near and beyond

Unhinging the gates of heaven, the very seat of Jupiter

And let the darkness light the darkening shooting stars:


Comrades, friends, brave sailors don’t drown your hearts.

We are the riders on the back of devil, drunk and dead insane.

Keep your eyes nailed on the realms of gold and diamonds

Soon the spectres will die down, spent force, winded and panting:


One who dares, wins; we dare,

We win the un-winnable war.

Every long darkened night dissolves

Into the thousand brilliant suns,


Sailors, soldiers, noble men beware!

If we give up now and like the wet dogs

Putting our tails in between our hind legs,

Crawl back sneakily to our cities;

We are dead and more than just dead:


Our cowardice will spread,

Down the centuries, the evil will proliferate

And the long wakes and waitings

Of Penelopes of all around the world will prostitute.

They will breed bastards and barren culture!

Sailors, soldiers, friends never fear the vultures

Of death, those who are born destined to die.

It is borne with us, so fight on, face the music!




Horror Nightmare

Sam Daniel


Halloween night and horror

Thickened, sickened the bleak nights,

With children and adults

Wandering with masks and costumes

That would stand hair at the end

Of the Satan’s tail and devils beard


The cinemas and home televisions,

Internets, DVDs 3Ds and others

Had a festival of bloodbath

With endless movies of Halloween

Dracula, Vampires and Body Snatcher themes


My mind started working up night and day

Horror images in my sleep and daytime dozing


In a frozen fear struggle I woke up

To find my dog turned into a Dracula

Got me by my throat with its fangs

Deep down in the back of my neck

Lapsing up my jets of blood

With a mountain of struggle I threw away

The wretched animal that dashed against the wall


But then I woke up from that nightmare

And I found that I threw away my toy

Teddy bear that I held for the comfort

Against my chest and realised that

I never had a dog, all in my life!



The Mysterious Faceless Voice

Samantha Avon


When they woke up

They saw each other

One said,” I’m a stranger in Paradise”

The other one said, “I’m a danger in the Paradise.”

And then they heard

A domineering voice

You’re man and wife

They wondered

Who is man and who is wife?

And the voice said

You will soon find it

Adam! When I put you to sleep

I made a delicate surgery on you

I took a rib bone out from you

And made Eve out of it for you


They still were confused who was Adam

And who was Eve?


They looked at each other

And checked each other’s rib

They were all right


They asked a passing creeping

Elongated animal if he knew the fact

He just hissed and said eat that fruit

And you’ll know the truth



Once more they looked at each other

One said to the other you’ve got that

Bone hanging there down under

So I’m the one who is Adam whose

Bone is missing down under


Ever since that strange voice

Did not make it clear whose bone was

Missing, the world has been in confusion

And they always doubt that mysterious faceless voice



House of Wax

Leroy Lachman


In 1953 I was just a naiveté boy who

Grew up on a steady diet of the American comics,

Like Captain America and Marvels, Terrors,

Adventure stories and detective pulps,

Horror magazines and American Serials


Like Jerry Lewis in the film “Artists and Models”

I would wake up in the night and would hold my brother’s

Arms or neck and yell, “Stop thief, stop thief!”

Poor my brother would cry and say “No I’m your brother!”


Then they announced the horror film at the Eros

“House of Wax” and challenged that if you do not

Come out of the Theatre sweating

We’ll give you your money back.

We young ones took the challenge and lost

We came out dripping wet in our pants.


Days after seeing that film I saw myself helpless in the sleeps

Feeling that I was being in the cast-mould and a wicked man

Was pouring hot melted wax around me and rolling with laughter

And later in the horror museum I was looking at the visitors

But they did not understand that I was alive but couldn’t talk!