July 2012


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Vol. 3, No. 5

Writers

Earl Bradford – Rapscallion

Janet Brush – Another Dream

Tim Covell – Night Shift

Harry Garrison – Action And Hourglass

Serena E. Gauthier – Adam

Cathy Hanrahan – Lilac’s Lust

Bill Hanrahan – Take a Number

Ariel Hopper – Unusual March Day

Scot Jamieson – In Camp Hill Cemetery

Shallon MacKenzie – Storm

Mike McFetridge – Greed

Nicole D. Myers – Feet Of Clay

Derek Robinson – Selling

Nathaniel S. Rounds – Pocket Cruiser (Weeping)

Christina Schlegel – Walking Back Today

Ashita Sharma – The Untrained Soldier

Wendy Watkinson – Happy Hour Haiku

Tamara Williams – Corruptible Me

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Rapscallion
Poem by Earl Bradford

There she sleeps on hovelled streets
her teeming tenebrous rain in sheets
her dark Teutonic drudgery of wrought
iron warships chained to cleats – rolling
white capped idolatrous waves…
the boiling, foiling upheaval
steel grey ink of the Emerald sea;

To recollect on dusky groves, her
pearl spangled incandescent twilight
at harbour city dawn, urban centurions
salient in morning deluge on grub street,
of traffic over salt and asphalt loam…
shades of Boston, Providence, Rhode Island
Bar Harbour, Detroit… shackled corals of
verdigris, the vanquished steel grey ink
& toil of the miscreant sea.

Cabaret, the diamond mirth of Citadel
and Pillory – North American Garrison Town,
her dank, onion skinned skulleries &
rogue, Irish morning hustle – stained glass
and Granite slabs – Coast-Guard…frenetic
Cruise-ship, cafe sketches of crystal inoculation;
peregrine cloud shadows, shroudy undertow &
flotsam of steel grey ink on the indigo sea.

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Another Dream
Poem by Janet Brush

Technicolour, cinematic dream,
a reunion after a lifetime,
the spark still there.

I woke, went back to sleep –
The dream continued, like a movie.

In elementary school – I was twelve –
You were the object of my first crush.

In high school – I was sixteen –
We met at a dance, you walked me home.
Oh, I wanted you so…..

Life got in our way.
Almost fifty years have passed
with no contact, no news of each other.

Why did you suddenly invade my dream world?
As if it were yesterday we embraced…..
Where are you?

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Night Shift
Poem by Tim Covell

Pick and pick, pick and wrap,
Working every weeknight,
warehouse order picking.
The form and fun of poetry,
for nothing here is used,
Perhaps, except, to help time pass,
passion needed somewhere,
Since the shipping of shampoo
seldom boosts the soul.
And in the evening, as I labour:
Lovers linger,
pause lasciviously over dinner,
There is saying of stories,
to settle children down,
While movies lightly move,
the masses who watch,
And poets gather, sing and sip,
celebrating o’er coffee.
The late bus gathers staggering students,
similar workers,
Home to humble rest,
heavy with drink or dust.
Now is the nadir of night,
nothing more today.
When I awake, the weary day’s half passed,
But nothing’s new,
another night shift awaits.

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Action And Hourglass
Poem By Harry Garrison

Every action you take is
an attempt to solve a problem.
Sometimes it is a problem
that hasn’t even happened yet.
….You drink to take away
….thirst and dehydration.
….You eat because you are
….hungry and need nutrition.
You might buy a Winter coat
months before you need it,
just so you won’t be cold
when the time does come.

Every measure made for pleasure
fills something empty
and empties something full,
like the two halves of an hourglass.
….When you eat, your belly fills
….as you empty your plate.
….As you fill your life with activity,
….it constantly drains of time.
And as you read a book,
what is to come gets thinner
and thinner, as what’s done
gets thicker and thicker.

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Adam
Poem by Serena E. Gauthier

Life is a myriad, a multitude of choices
A maze of wonder and enjoyment
A pyramid of happiness
A volcano of pain
A mountain of love
Trees bloom around us
They symbolize growth, change: us
We will continue to grow, together
Wound around each other like vines on a trellis
To flourish
To evolve
Me, Eve to your Adam
You, Adam to my Needs
And to my heart
Love

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Lilac’s Lust
Poem by Cathy Hanrahan

I wonder if my neighbour has been watching me
Does he peer through the branches of his lilac tree
Glimpses of purple and sweet scented sky
I conjure a tale that beguiles and then try
to determine the difference between fancy and known
and fathom an answer with a voice not my own
A lingering gaze surreptitiously surveys the scene
Lacking direct knowledge of the places I’ve been
Down the lilac lined path that leads to the meadows
Waltzing between the silent shrouded shadows
Wanton abandon, wild, wicked lust
Floating on air, a winds wayward gust
Through the open door I pass and slowly I turn
Does he notice my absence and secretly yearn

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Take a Number
Poem by Bill Hanrahan

Patients wait.
That’s how it is.
Take a number and wait;
in waiting rooms, on wait lists,
for x-rays, bone-scans, CAT scans,
in doctors offices,
Pre-op, post-op
Reception, Recovery.
in rooms where rubber wheels
glide on vinyl floors,
wheels on tables, wheels on chairs,
wheels on IV’s, wheels on beds.

In rooms where patients sit,
The old reading,
The young nodding
I-podding.
All wait,
The young to live
The old to die.
That’s the way it is.
What can you do?
Patience patients.
Take a number
Wait.
Your turn will come

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Unusual March Day
Poem by Ariel Hopper

Surge of memories
in the sun,
the first of the year,
they strike me
as heavy as blues
opening up
deep behind the smoke –
years, summers
cities and sand and
saltwater
and the ripple of
reflection
on a wave

a place, a time
that is no longer me

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In Camp Hill Cemetery
Poem by Scot Jamieson

By graves of Daley and Forhan and Stetch,
I sit on a well-tagged, peeling green bench
where intersect paths of small shale gravel.
I listen, past passersby’s crunchy footfalls,
and quarrels of squirrels and starlings’ wheezes,
for the sighs of the overhead leaves in breezes.

I contemplate then the distant surround
of vehicles’ motors about and around –
a rumbling drone, the reverse of volcanic –
it’s when it will quiet that people will panic.
When gas and oil fail, as a matter of course,
we King Richard IIIs will all scream for a horse.

Well, here in Camp Hill everybody is dead –
we don’t fear: economic collapse, nuclear events,
alien invasions, Nibiru nearing, or the dread
twenty twelve. 666 and Armageddon? I’m afraid
not. It’s 1 + 1: life has been as good to me
as to let me love, and I’m inclined to carry on
and not to fear. Life leads on and lets fear be.

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Storm
Poem by Shallon MacKenzie

Sleeping can bring new light
Opening the gap of my land
It’s the greatest of might
To a brand new array of shine

Laying down in front of me
Beauty of colors grey and white
Already a love to trust
Standing at my window at night

In the mist of darkness and turmoil
Climbing high branches for me
My comfort he fondly knows
Watching, and waiting to see

Abundance of energy and hunger
Across the way or right next door
Running, jumping, and rolling
Or he’s doing tricks on the floor

In wind, rain, or snow
How far will his love go?
Somehow he’ll make his choice
An amount of time, and he’ll know

Close your eyes now my love
Don’t you even worry about this
Won’t you try sleeping again?
Your loving is what I’ll miss

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Greed
Poem by Mike McFetridge

Greed is like a fungus feeding
On a rotten log;
Living off the life of others,
Living like a hog;
Gluttonous, obscene with wants,
Certainly not with need;
Never content with having enough
I think defines pure greed.

Greed is like a blind man
Who has 40 thousand canes;
He knows he cannot use them all,
But wants them all the same;
He cannot see that others suffer
Because he wants it all;
As long as he can feel secure
It matters not that others fall.

Greed will flourish as long as people
Do not conform to need;
The world will stay unbalanced
For ever long that there is greed;
Wants and needs will always compete
Like old evil and new love;
We may wallow in the gutter
Or may rise to heights above.

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Feet Of Clay
Poem by Nicole D. Myers

Babylonian King
dreamed of a grand leviathan statue
head of gold
silver torso
belly of bronze
and feet forged of iron and clay.

Prophet Daniel
deciphered the King’s reverie
observing
parts strong as steel
plus
parts infirm like sand
equal vulnerable
like your inland
like your importance
bold and brave yet
rife with weakness undetected
until close proximity is assumed.

I dreamed of your striking effigy
erected with robust pieces
towering, shining, imminent
feet forged of iron and clay.

And akin to Prophet Daniel’s prediction
of the regal one’s fragile dreamscape
you stumbled, quavered and fell
your foundation simply not strong enough
to support your strong Spartan form.

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Selling
Poem by Derek Robinson

the future is in the city
I said, unknowingly nineteen
romanticizing Mi’kmaq coastal fishing
and machines, all in one bane breath
those days always sunny in my head,
not yet exposed to this whipping wind

I’ve been, away too long
but I’ve been selling
sell it like it’s out of style

fruit peddlers of the tropics on all,
the tourist-trap street corners
yet closer to home novelty U-pick dots the
upper Assiniboine forcing Mayan-style
refuge into the Ducks
no one I meet seems to own anything anymore
as God intended to be: part-time farmer

I’ve been, away too long, selling
sell it like it’s out of style

move quickly
so those chemicals don’t find us

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Pocket Cruiser (Weeping)
Poem by Nathaniel S. Rounds

Base and Jar
Please don’t leave me
I need something to hold
Tears falling off a roof top
I need a tarpaulin and a long sword
To make a sail for a short boat
I need more tears to make a sea
To set the boat in for a long journey
I need a choir of amicable peers
To sing and to cheer me into high spirits
Because heaven knows
That I won’t be coming back

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Walking Back Today
Poem by Christina Schlegel

My breath is loud;
it disturbs the peace.
My worries clamoring for attention.
My step faster than the rhythm
of my heart.
Mist creeps in across the harbor.
I am isolated in a blanket of white.
The Trail pebbles stop their chatter
and for a moment,
I become still.
A bird flies overhead
and I hear its heavy wings.
Water drips from woodland branches
around me.
colors are made vivid
by the day’s long saturation.
I Breathe in the true coolness of now.
And feel you with me.

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The Untrained Soldier
Poem by Ashita Sharma

She staggered, amidst the ruins,
The torn down establishments,
And the feeding vultures.
All that, prosperity had erected
Was shocked to the foundations.
The bomb dropped lately….
Had done a perfect job! –
War had broken forth –
To scream for the rights,
Laying bare and helpless….
The bleeding heart of humanity!
She saw, she knew that –
The future held bleak scope
For her to smile or dance,
Or of happiness and love.
She went on lonely as her protectors
To the forefront had marched….
And would they retrace their steps?
She knew not; but still,
Bravely, fighting back the tears…
Sorrowing in her heart
Searching for a camp, for food…
Was she not a soldier on her own?

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Happy Hour Haiku
Haiku by Wendy Watkinson

yellow tail shiraz
red genie in a bottle
liquid oasis

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Corruptible Me
Poem by Tamara Williams

You feed my temptations
And I feed yours
Our facade is a stunning masterpiece
adored by all
no one sensing our instability

I find you at the same spot, same time
You’re always
there And so am I…cause…

Corruptible me
Corruptible you
You in my head space
me in yours..
destructively beautiful

Both positively negatively
charged with our corruption
Seemingly composed, no one knowing
how shaky we really are

Alluring gratification is instant
falling into place as dominoes
gracefully waiting to fall

Corruptible me
Corruptible you
You in my head space
me in yours..
destructively beautiful

Will we ever be done?
Will we ever be done?
Not as long as we answer to…

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