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Vol. 6, No. 3
In this Issue:
Janet Brush – Haikus For Spring
Jasmine Chater – Twelve Inch TV
Jari-Matti Helppi – There and Hear
David R. MacLean – Youth and Old Men
Cathie Panteluk – A Lifetime of Love
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January in the northern city
And the gift of a day like spring.
Sunshine and the sewer drains gurgling.
Squirrels chiggering in the blue spruce
And all the seniors out for walks
Round their housing complex
Except for one inside,
Splayed desperate against her window.
Or was that just the reflection of a tree
Against the glass . . .
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Benevolent sun casts light
from clouds of Venus.
Platinum moon set in velvet sky.
Giant hand gently twirls planet Earth.
I am in the earth and water,
in the moons of Jupiter
and the rings of Saturn.
I sleep under sun-dappled leaves
of weeping elms.
I swim beside my fellow dolphins.
I sit, pensive, upon the moon,
basking in the glow of Earth,
the prominences of a jewel-encrusted sun
arching above my head.
Existing in all places at all times,
matter turning to matter,
beyond the light of the first-born star—
this is where I dwell.
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There and Hear
Jari-Matti Helppi
Soft I walked,
then a canter,
with shoes that wear
and lips that banter.
Thunder rolls in
to speak to rain
and I listen
for cacophonies
bent hell
on sounds
that travel through me
like rabid dogs
coughing chocolate.
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I saw Napoleon Bonaparte
at a gin joint Southeast side
Said his code name was Juniper
I laughed until I cried
He drank his double martini
while I sipped my Long Island Tea
And I couldn’t help but notice
his luminous lacy sleeves.
Then in waltzed Josephine
all frills and flounced pleats
She ordered a Tanqueray single
and said she’d take it neat
Wanting to stay close
I lingered on a smile
Hoping to bear witness
to an epic reconcile
But much to my dismay
No sparks between them flew
Drinking gin and wardrobe
Were more important than I knew
So quietly I left them
No departing formalities
and headed down to Bourbon Street
For a double Fancy Free
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If when I wish upon a star,
that distance – time and space unseen –
was found to no longer be there,
Would my wish no longer be?
Should I pray for phantom shadow
to rest her blazing souls of space?
The Reapers sent to harvest heavens,
would not they rest in the same place?
Now justify the fruits of wishing
not on my moral character
but through careful study, and if I’m lucky
Will find a way to speak with her.
For prayer speaks to Reapers crops,
and not to living stars I love.
How could I impart my wish
expecting answers from above?
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The squid is as fast as a blink.
If you’re trying to catch one I think,
When your fishing boat’s landed
You will be empty handed.
Except you’ll be covered in ink.
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From garden wafting
Sweet fragrance of hyacinth
Spring! Oh, lovely spring!
Crocuses push through
Forsythia blooms yellow
The earth is reborn.
Robins call for mates
Bluejays build colourful nests
New life. Rebirth. Spring.
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with no white space
even art is noise
and we are the worlds
white space
or winter is
perhaps this is why
hockey interests
us so
white scratched white
painted sparingly
with geometric strokes
drizzled with spittle
and blood
our canvas is
cold
our passion
white hot
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missing volume knobs
and dust on the screen,
our twelve inch TV
sitting on top of
dad’s dated textbooks
tv, vcr, nintendo
jumbled wires
controllers & remote controls
chunky scented candles
picture frames, gameboy games
the fireplace mantel:
my space
and on the hardwood I sit
in my burgundy shorts
with my legs sprawled
leaning against the sofa,
my neck stiff &
eyes dry from
staring up in a fixed gaze
mesmerized:
It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.
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I am terrified
of awkward conversations,
tiptoeing past
telephones and small talk, avoiding
the verbal deep waters
of chit-chat,
no way will I dabble
in such dangerous dialogue –
my tongue trips over itself
and hits the ground,
the sound of silence
swallowing us
entirely.
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At the airport
People come
People go
Where they are going
Only a few know
Running away
Or Starting fresh
An old life or burden
lifted from off their chest
Getting away
While many stay
Stuck here
Toiling away
Day after endless day.
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A Lifetime of Love
Cathie Panteluk
You don’t wipe out a lifetime of love
in one day,
Five minutes or a lifetime,
You live it and let it percolate
down into your bones
So that you feel what it was,
not what it might have been
If only you had done this or he did that
Sometimes this lifetime of love
can only be lived in a few short hours
A few short days
For when you find your soul mate,
there is but one
You will know that this lifetime of love
is forever
Can only be forever
For your passion will ignite not only you,
but them
Life will become lived with exploding
firecracker moments
And ones of deep passion and peace
This is how you shall know the difference
between a lifetime of love
and a moment lived in time.
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in my own private maelstrom
I allow time to diminish me
& lessen the joy of all we had
you were so desolate after dark
grandstanding in the loneliness
of my long walks away from you
no apology was kindly offered
for your ill-starred behaviours
these transactions of hypocrisy
left you indifferent to desires
nothing need be imposed
………nothing was all we had
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It’s all granite
from Halifax to Peggy’s Cove.
Molten Rock
spewed from the guts of the earth;
hardened to headlands…
ramparts
to butt the thrashing ocean.
Mica-flecked, they sparkle
in sun and moon light,
luring doomed sailors
to Prospect’s shipwreck shore.
In the city,
keystones and cornerstones
of quarried granite
frame rust-bleeding ironstone walls.
Downtown and down the shore,
scant grass graveyards
flower with granite tombstones.
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We romanticize our suffering,
Clip the petals from roses —
Thorns never lose their beauty.
Happiness is taboo and fickle;
Simply uttering the word
Makes me cringe and wince.
Turmoil, a most loyal ally;
The two of us are indivisible,
Like smoke and cough.
We romanticize our faults, flaws.
Failure is enticing, like the
Aesthetic appeal of rainclouds:
Dreary, grey, the canvas,
Where sadness is painted.
Basking in defeat — the
Scars — indelible, lovely;
Your trophies of triumph,
Sprayed in pseudo gold,
As artificial as your soul.
We romanticize our loneliness,
Regard everyone as inferior,
Prosaic; terrified of their mediocrity,
Their vacuity, their bullshit.
Isolation is sacred – we strive
To preserve it, safeguard it.
Whoever said romance is dead?
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Accept losses
and let go.
Live and learn,
laugh and love life.
Live long!
Be strong!
Life goes on…
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Youth and Old Men
David R. MacLean
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Free and easy, featherweight,
riding on a wave of wind,
..pulsing with the breeze.
Pulled along, in vortex drawn,
coasting on, freewheel along,
..thrusting on with ease.
Blood is quick and heart’s arace,
but beat is less as pressing stress
..makes tissue tough.
Muscles tone and sinews tighten,
body grows and burdens lighten
..taking easy breath.
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