November 2013


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Vol. 4, No. 8

Lois Brison-BrownRequiem for the Family Farm

Janet BrushHaiku For October

Richard CollinsIndefinite Wake

Tim CovellGentle

John DicksRetreat

Samir GeorgesJust a Desire

Bill HanrahanCalliope

Cathy HanrahanFall Walk

Judy Ann HoweMommy Don’t Cry

Scot Jamieson Where To

Patrick Labalate for something

Erica LewisOne Definition of Irony

Catherine MacKenzieMy Heart

Joe MacPhersonTime To Remember

Randy Martinaspen leaf earrings

Mike McFetridgeOh What a Tangled Web

Alan McIverSysteme Internationale S.I.

Dyrell NelliganWithin Me

Randy ReedeComforting

W. C. T.Untitled

Tamara WilliamsA Song Is Born


late for something
by Patrick Laba

standing inside of the bus shelter; bare
hands begging for warmth within my
pockets. the weak winter
sun stares as wind slices through plexiglass and
then through my skin.

saturday. six fifty
five. the bus is
late.

with a daring hand I pull the
flask from inside of my coat and
take a long drag. I feel whiskey’s
warmth through my throat, moving
like molasses from my tongue’s
tip to my
toes.
I fear my next frozen
breath. with the booze barely
lingering in my heels, December bites
my lips and
blows her bitter
breath down my
spine.

seven o’two. still no
bus. I finish the whiskey and quiver.
still,
I’ll wait.

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Retreat
by John Dicks

Steeped in silence
Stirred by thoughts long hidden,
Still evoking fear.

Filtered memory swells,
Pops as a ripe flower pod
Dispersing seed.

New beauty emerges
From soft, fertile ground.

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Oh What a Tangled Web
by Mike McFetridge

“Oh what a tangled web we weave
When first we practice to deceive”;
These words by Scott from 1808
Have found a life anew of late;
In politics, where deception thrives
As politicians twist words to survive;
Oh what a tangled web indeed
To betray our trust for power and greed.

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Time to Remember
by Joe MacPherson

November 11th, the time to remember, Lest
So much sacrificed, too many lay rest
Who so willfully fought, to show us the way
Yet, tragically so, they still die, to this day
On battlefields spread, on a World global scale
To all those proud heroes, we Salute you, we hail
We hail to you, across centuries and years
Though faces since faded, not so do the tears
Tears, they have poured, as tragedy beset
So far from your homes-we shall never forget
On fields of gross armour, many gave up their lives
Did never return to hold children nor wives.
In our hearts, our souls and our minds , we reflect
As the times move forward, we will always respect
We respect you so much with all of our being
Around the whole world, more people share freedom
We await a great day when all guns ever cease
Pray ever so high to the Heavens for Peace
So, not just today do we pause to remember
Yet, one day and one moment we will always remember
The 11th Hour,11th Day, The 11th month of November

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aspen leaf earrings
by Randy Martin

their conversation derailed now
that they were naked
her nipples so much darker and longer than
the girls he’s not just shagged, but even seen
her five room apartment outfitted by
finances obviously much larger than his,
the hydro bill
on the table
naming Julie, though at the bar
he could have sworn he heard her say Jackie
her aspen leaf earrings pointing
to trammeled cleavage, screaming for his touch
which is why he was there
her cleavage, and their screams
and the hypnotic slow tremble
of those aspen leaf earrings

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Gentle
by Tim Covell

Today the ocean bit me.
Like a cat,
Waking me up,
Reminding me,
To play in the sea.

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Comforting
by Randy Reede

This loneliness that awakens with me
Carefully guides me
Through these tight winding corridors
Ensures my safety
From the threatening walls and ceiling above
Like a protective and trusted friend

This despair that walks with me
Down the garden’s crooked pathway
Where the harbor’s shoreline seems to go on forever
At times leaves me tranquil and at ease

This emptiness that sleeps with me
Gives me no rest
From the tedious nighttime hours
Shelters me from the darkness
That waits outside my window

And in the early evening near the horizon I stand
Old and worn
Like a lost soul from the past
Longing to be reunited once again

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Calliope
by Bill Hanrahan

They claimed that it would rain all week
when Bill Lynch came to town
with Ferris wheel and merry go round.

Teen screams and barfs on Midway rides
Side shows and elephants ,
Hot dogs, pop corn , cotton candy.

One soft summer night the rain stopped.

Drifting through the bedroom window
From afar the faint sound of the calliope:

Oom pa pa, Oom pa pa

Wheezing and whistling in ¾ time
An off-key version of
“Far Over The Waves”

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Within Me
by Dyrell Nelligan

I sit all alone
May I?
I ask myself rhetorically
For no answer I seek
I enjoy silence’s company
My mind grows consciousness
I take pleasure in my surroundings
I meditate
My head is clear
I hear nothing in the distance
My eyes are calmly shut
I feel what I hear
No words I speak
I may?
Yes
I have found peace

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Indefinite Wake
by Richard Collins

These obsequies appease, I slaved in Belize
I slave these diseased seas and bluish cream leas
Diocese gilded bronze in Cadiz
Encrusted in holding streams, pongee and chemise
The serf sandy husks peel off on the hustings
Oscillations radiate the seas of fustian teeth
Prostrate as the eukaryotic algae underneath
Our quixotic, indefinite solemnities

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Requiem for the Family Farm
by Lois Brison-Brown

White marshmallow snakes-
Those great sausaged hay bales,
Mushroom across the pasture
Where once the absent cattle roamed,
Now unseen behind barn doors
Their lives no longer ruled by sun,
But stanchion.

Cement cellars and slabs
Planted in the rich loamy soil
And fertilized by bank loans,
Now sprout vinyl clad
Bungalows and mini homes –
Where once the board and barbed wire fence
Fortified the farmyard keep.

Above the roofs of this roadside crop
The peaks of distant family farms now fade.
The grandfathers stand abandoned amid
Fields like fractured, frightened scarecrows
As their sons leave to till the tar sands
And we rush by to the supermarket.

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My Heart
by Catherine A. MacKenzie

My heart given to you that day
was a shaped stone found
upon the ground,
Delicately, I brushed it off
and held it out to you—
A gem formed over time,
cold and hard as steel,
yet warmed with love
and peace
from my hand to yours.

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Just A Desire
by Samir Georges

She evades me
with every smile I see,
Lost to me
in all the eyes I meet,
A fantasy
that mocks my dreams,
Alive
in all the laughs I fake,
Yet she is nothing
and she is no one,
just a desire
I cannot sate.

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Systeme Internationale S.I.
by Alan McIver

Sometimes I wonder
if those French revolutionaries who introduced S.I.
ever asked themselves why
do the English want nothing to do with it.

Well if we think a bit we realize
that the English were immersed
in what was, perhaps, the worst
system of measurement man has devised.
A Pound, a pound, a foot and worse,
an inch, an ounce, a quasi-duodecimal purse.

Perhaps this system metrical
Was a secret weapon diabolical
to stop the English cannonball
from fitting in French guns at all.
For all things measured metrical
just do not fit imperial.

And still we fight this size and scale
each time we have objects for sale,
each time we try to fix our car
or work with wood, or paint or tar.
For when we measure, cut and bore
nothing fits right anymore.

I think, sometimes, that those who changed
our measurement confused our brains
so they could win the A.I. race
and end up conquering earth and space.

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Haiku For October
by Janet Brush

1.
Days warm and sunny
Chill nights harbingers of cold
Soon wood fires will blaze.

2.
Leaves turn red and gold
A blaze of glory before
they fall to the ground.

3.
Bluejays store peanuts
With quiet desperation
Before the snow comes.

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Untitled
by W.C.T.

Death
Is our own-most fear –

We throw our shadows far ahead
We fashion and refashion ourselves
Our materials, in time, take shape –

Our mortal hands, all alike, manipulate

Flesh corrupts
Do words, too, corrupt?

Will our canvas bloom in spring?
Mark our graves for graves to come?
Wither with the snow?

Our tricks spent,
Voice freed,
Must recede.

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Fall Walk
by Cathy Hanrahan

Fall slips in surreptitiously
on a warm gentle breeze
Enticing the landscape
with a cool subtle squeeze
Determining the vicissitudes
of nature’s present face
Wrapping up summer
in a tender embrace
Waltzing through back roads
up hills and near streams
Flaunting colors on palettes
that once were just green
Autumn breezes blow through
with a clean chilly scent
Stifling the remnants of
cattle’s sweet smelling stench
Trees resonate in brilliance
orange, yellow and red
Chestnut skins burst open
baring brown shiny heads
Yellowing willow branches droop
and very gently sway
Weaving with the winds breath
summer’s final sashay
Fall is the slow dance
towards winters pale sheen
A glimpse of the future and
reminder of what’s been

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A Song is Born
by Tamara Williams

Smoke filled rooms and
weekday afternoons,
door shut, locked in a booth.
The transformation of
weakness to strength,
vibes to paper
paper to strings
strings to mic
listen.
Mind stimulated
soul peaceful
repetition leaves
the fingers numb.
Tired and full of life
sweat pours down
releasing toxins.
Ears covered but
fully opened hearing
the notes in between,
beats in the nude
begging for attention,
manifestation, declaration!

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One Definition of Irony
by Erica Lewis

To thwart the ogre
otherwise known as
Chronic Fatigue,
I sat at a table
to chop vegetables,
pulled up a chair to the sink
to do dishes.

Now, I sit in a wheelchair,
while two women
right in front of me,
complain of sore feet
from standing all day,
one wishing for a chair
upon which to sit down.

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Where To
by Scot Jamieson

Life doesn’t take me anywhere.
It just jerks my chains at odd
moments.

“Read the ‘Meaning of Meaning,’” my
sociology professor advised me.
No, I felt:
if you make meaning a subject,
you …
become an object. I wanted to be
meaning’s (loyal) subject.
Lost supervisors’ besetting error:
detaching oneself from feeling meaning,
in order to “know”
the “meaning of meaning.”
And points beyond.

Such knowledge I wish to avoid:
knowledge for manipulation, proven
effective in all case studies.

They just jerk my chains.

The footprints of the feeling,
the meaningful feeling, disappear
into the forest
of purposes …

Track them, says the soul.

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Mommy don’t cry
by Judy Ann Howe

Mommy don’t cry
I didn’t die
I closed my eyes
This is not good-bye
We’ll meet again
Up in heaven
Someday we’ll hold hands
Listening to the angel’s band
Remember me as your little girl
Cause life isn’t fair in this cruel world
Suffering with cancer isn’t anymore for me
I’m now totally free
Today I went home with God by my side
Pain free, knowing you’ll love me all the time
So mommy don’t cry

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