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Vol. 6, No. 5
In this Issue:
Graham Atkin – Who Needs Time?
Dave Dean – The Ice Comes Free
Jari-Matti Helppi – For Johann
Scott Lynch – Susurrant Soliloquy
David R. MacLean – Life’s Progress
Nicole Myers – Caught In The Act
Dyrell Nelligan – To Choose or Not to Choose
Ryan Taylor – Empty houses of lost friends
Zihan Wang – Childhood Memories
Alexis White – The Willow That Withered Away
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We wander
along shorelines,
picking up seashells
and sand dollars, taking home
blue beach glass,
searching for driftwood.
When streets are swallowed up
by harbour fog,
we breathe in salty air,
skin made damp
by the ocean’s breath.
Once it soaks in,
no amount of scrubbing
can ever quite remove the sea –
To be landlocked
inland
is to be listless, restless,
wistful for the sound
of water slapping the shore
and seagulls crying out
overhead.
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I’ve got a headache to weigh
stick around and wait
a coffee or a tea
served up hotter with eggs
on a plate
this hill steep
the reality
but visions of feeling
free
calm me
puff puff a cigarette
is my fee
any of the day
colder in my palms
fire is on the lawn
but this is the headache of what
I know is right and wrong
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The Willow That Withered Away
Alexis White
A kiss under a weeping tree
left to die in a blacktop sea,
roots wrapped round roots
that have begun
a slow, quiet decay.
Two lovers sit on the stump
where its old companion once swayed.
When they part, the willow sighs
for they have so much faith in time,
plans wrap round plans
that have begun
a slow, quiet decay.
Two lovers sit on the heartwood
of the willow that withered away.
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“Falsies? You want me to wear them in public?”
My friend’s plan is to make
two perfect round hills
erupt from the flat barren plain of my chest
Fear of discovery, even punishment
overcome by desire to emulate
her magnificent – older – bosom.
Walking down the street
appreciative glances, whistles
from grown men
I take on confidence
swagger a bit
swing my hips
Walking down the street later
meet the same man who
admired my deception
He gawks incredulously
at the flat barren plain of my chest
I slink home…
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Cinder mist of trees sketched at dawn…
Little fawn darting from brushwood
Polished winter coals, her eyes…
a holiday Bugler –
Murky turf of earth moistens her snout…
Abruptly, her neck erect, ears perk and twist,
Her gaze fixed upon treeline…
knees wobbling –
Crusts of ice
cling to ground from spring thaw…
Beige sinew her coat, a pixie entranced;
A raven – sudden swooping gulch from the
spiney branches of a larch… and off she
Catapults…dismayed.
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Life’s Progress
David R. MacLean
In endless sun
on the mesa top,
the young man journeys
beyond physical endurance
with the aid of natural peyotés,
until the visions
happen.
In darkness
on the flattop bed,
the old man hangs
beyond mental tolerance
within the surf of Iatrogenic drugs,
until the visions
cease.
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Heaven’s tears falling ever downward,
spacious sprinkling of transparent damplets,
here, and here, and over there.
soothing showers almost unwet,
yet tasty to-the-tongue.
discomforting calm,
like a moist massage.
heavy downpour
restoring God’s magnificence,
while cleansing man’s material inventory.
“cats-and-dogs” giving cause for
waders, slickers and the like.
torrents and cascades
rearranging God’s creation,
by His command.
“drenched-to-the bone”
causing shivers and sniffles.
Nature’s water-prank,
using the Great Doors of Heaven
and the Pail of Providence,
Blessings to a creature of 98… H² O.
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Empty houses of lost friends
Ryan Taylor
sit and listen
not on days end
but for moments of seconds
for the split ends of hairs
it is good to listen
not work
not want war
and listen to someone’s story
to look at a house
and see what’s been there
look at it less like the blank stone
white bleak boards
and see the faces
see the shutters
the hurt and love
lost within
to feel the man
the children
and woman
to feel them all
and what they’ve given
what their time granted
and their strength endured
to sit and see
to listen to a story
and learn what of some place
had happened and
who had the forgiveness.
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However Far I’ve Gone
I’m Still Very Strong
With A Tug At My Arm
My Heart Could Disarm
Even Without A Telescope
My Heart Is Filled With Hope
My Internal Love Clock
Is Waiting To Thaw Out
If You Take My Hand
We’ll Fly To Strawberry Land
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Next thing they’ll tell you
That the ice comes free
Like a favour
With your 10 dollar drink
The recycled air
Of an airport bar
Tennis on the TV
And stains on an apron
I’d give anything to look at
The lines on your face
Rather than today’s
Newspaper’s business section
Flying to a coma
Outside of Chicago
A suburb I won’t sleep
Sober until I see you
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To Choose or Not to Choose
Dyrell Nelligan
Misery loves company
but it is love that they truly seek.
I weep for those in need;
they have my sympathy;
they have my empathy.
I too, was once searching for company.
Know you are not alone;
know you have me.
Together let’s break habits.
Together let us be strong.
But if change is not what you seek.
Then I will only advise you to enjoy;
enjoy your misery;
enjoy the person you desire to be.
Misery is a choice.
And if change is not what you seek,
then I am only to accept your choice.
But know you still have my company.
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The shark is a creature
A fish we might feature
And call him King of the Sea .
Which eats, more or less,
And it’s only a guess,
Pretty much constantly.
It eats smaller fishes
And would likely eat dishes
If that’s how his meal was prepared.
And we would be wise
With our relative size
To be wary, ok nervous, ok scared.
Now the shark is not feared
In fact it’s revered
By science’s men and women.
But I would contend,
Where the shark goes unpenned,
I won’t be goin’ swimmin’.
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Caught In The Act
Nicole Myers
a singular vehemence instigated
a triumphant return to buoyancy
the near absence of preeminence
enacts an aesthetic to serve admirably
the idiosyncratic ringing of the bells
bewitched an unleavened expression
to recite lengthy open-hearted verses
a rising narrative of subtle nuances
on the poetic condition
caught in the act of rhythmic climax
a surreal phrase
on a brisk winter morning
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Venus peaks from beneath her veil.
Saturn tips his wings.
The moon is a full orchestra
resounding in my belly.
The trees are singing to me,
lullabies to sleep by,
drawing, through their roots,
music from the other side of the world,
their leaves playing notes in the stars.
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A waltz comes up
as they meet from opposite sides
with eyes that sweep them up
in a flowing prism
of light feet from twitching toes.
Leading up, up,
to tangle and swirl as one to each
and spectators with pince-nez and port
gaze from floors above
to the fluid fragrance
and ruffled kaleidoscope of Strauss.
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I was walking
I remember walking
I am walking
I walk now
I will be walking
I imagine walking
Only memory now
Imagination now
And now…. exist
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Susurrant Soliloquy
Scott Lynch
June like a song
softly out of the rain
greener than imagining
colourful in delight
fleeting every moment
casting blossom petals
in silent waves
giving all
the deference of kings
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Compare to childhood memories:
black holes lose their gravitational force
rainbows lose their colours
candies lose their sweetness
but I am losing myself
I cannot go back,
the loss of them left me with heart attack
I cannot stop missing,
this missing can be losing or longing for.
I bury all of the memories, silently…
Let them have a good sleep, peacefully.
All goes in time.
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Time: seconds, months,
centuries, eons, on, and on,
till it’s unimaginable, meaningless…
Meaning: the Time antidote,
grows in the opposite way,
till it’s timeless.
Open Heart Forgery 