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Vol. 6, No. 6
In this Issue:
George Borden – Uncertain March
Nora Heighton – Butterfly Morning
Jari-Matti Helppi – Perdition or Redemption?
Luke Marciano – Rain in the streets
Mike McFetridge – The Little Voice
Mary Ellen Sullivan – Grey Day
Elzy Taramangalam – Tree of Life
Ryan Taylor – Patio Floor in the Evening
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A Waterfall cascades down the river below
The Imprint of a Ripple Effect left behind
of a stone with the initials of our lives
intertwined so long ago
Has the past become a ghost
or are we meant to reconnect
to the days I long to see
Are we Destined to be Forgotten Strangers
and the rest all just be a memory
What if we Take a Chance
Reach out and Go where the path may lead
I walk among the gardens and plant a seed
Here’s to Life, Let’s come alive
Let’s Live it well
We will see there’s beauty
in the simplistic song
Let’s find a reason to sing along
Together we will make a melody so Divine
the only thing that comes to mind is
Simply Magic
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At the end ………… of the edge
of the mind
is life still inching on that ledge
to find what it will find.
Oh God of Life oh fearless God I
cannot keep my love back
from rushing out on the ledge,
from hoping for You.
…………….And even
at the end
of
the will,
I love You
still.
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This afternoon,
The sun
shone brightly.
The birds chirped
with joy.
Let this stay.
Last night,
The coyotes howled.
The owls hooted.
The moon shone brightly
upon a silvery pond.
Let this stay.
Yesterday,
A plastic bag flapped
in the wind.
Smoke protruded from
an unmoving car.
Let this go.
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Rain in the streets
Luke Marciano
Rain in the streets
I hope it rains all day
all week all month
all year I follow my heart
all day I know each other
through the darkness I know
is all the heart
the raw emotion of tears may turn
the weather may burn
it might gobble us all up
whatever nature does we
take cover under bridges
the water runs in your veins
the water is all that keeps me sane
today tonight the difference
I hope the rain follows me everywhere I go
run run run Ill walk among the snow
Its not so cold Ill work on the bold courage
before the rain gives up
No need for the sun no need for the sun
today Ill welcome the rain into my heart
Ill never give up
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I refuse to be tempted
to yield to the dancing
to the flicker and riot
of leaves and light
moving like fairies across my ceiling
flirting just out of reach
but never out of sight
knowing that yellow and gold own my soul
I shan’t be awed
nor be dazzled
by this perfect play
of amber light
by this exquisite breeze
and this brilliant hour
I am not bewitched nor smitten
by the siren summer
and this thoroughly
tranquil time
I am strong steady
a man
my passion lies dormant
unexpressed save for serious themes
of duty and of kleos
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I wander often to the paths of youth,
to the purity of postcard days,
And see reflections soft replayed,
of times long gone away,
And boyhood chums,
and half-forgotten childhood games,
And running through fields and yards,
and unburned flames.
I wander often to the paths of youth,
to the lure of unfinished tales,
That start and stop, and loop and fade,
like winds in distant dales,
And hear faint echoes there,
of gentle voices, and words unkind,
And whispered secrets and monkeyshines,
and boyish flights of mind.
I wander often to the paths of youth,
to the uncertainty of knowing
What was real and what was wish
and what was youthful growing,
And surf high on the pleasant dreams
and sometimes beg for a do-again,
And awaken back in the here and now,
and sense anew the sunblessed rain.
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Uncertain March
Poem by George Borden
Stay not becalmed
by the Lamb’s prophetic entrance,
whose soft whispering bleats
may be but to conceal –
a camouflaged “canis lupus.”
Fear not
the Lion’s brash arrival,
whose wild winded roar
may be more savage –
than His seasoned bite.
Pay not heed to the past,
nor almanacs or psychics,
but content yourself
with the assurance that –
the Lamb and the Lion will eventually join.
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My smile faded
When they took him away.
Where did they take him?
Why did they take him?
I still have the picture.
My sense of security
Fading, which the bullies saw
When they tried to take even more.
The shell large, then smaller,
Tipped over, but still restrained,
Drifting more, and more.
Safety, or so I thought,
All are welcome, but not really.
One tree, many branches
So different, ever crumbling.
Little hope for now,
But some, always there.
Will I see change?
If not, I hope they will.
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If You’re Looking
For A New Place
To Live
Where Time Has
Most Meaning
And Clouds Touch
The Sky With Gentle
Whiskers of Feeling
Warm Water Flows
At A Gentle Curve
And The Rain Falls
Warm and True
In Heavy Drops
Of Pink And Blue
Likening To
Morning’s Dew
And Scarlet Ibis
Fly Free Over
Ocean Dreams
Then Glance Into
My Two
Aqua Blues
If You’re Looking
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I wish I could paint
Sunset from my window
Preserve the daily riot of colour
It begins as pale pink against blue sky
Darkens to rich teal and brilliant red
Finally, a streak of dark crimson
On an indigo horizon
Each night I watch nature’s parade
Of glorious colour
Until it fades to black
And the stars and moon
Are my companions
Through the long night
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Patio Floor in the Evening
Ryan Taylor
she spoils me
with her presence
on the patio floor
again has come to speak
to tease
flirt and press her
shoulder against mine coyly
presses her hip against mine
intimately
“you have a warm heart,”
she adds
covering her lips behind a white wine glass
the flesh of her shoulder
pries into my seclusion
pries for the affection once given
as I wish to gift it
but he is here
and she does not leave him
so from the stare of my bottoms glass
only the glass speaks
‘It has merely thawed a little
in the presence of your profound beauty’
pushing my hip against hers
I simply smile and never look
to meet her gaze, I wish not
to completely defrost myself
before the party.
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Butterfly Morning
Nora Heighton
As the sun sparkles and flutters
amidst the hanging leaves,
this precious morning –
I see a butterfly.
She blends with the trees,
her wings gliding forward and back,
inviting me to admire her.
She flies high, and tenderly
tickles the clouds with her wings.
She is not carefree, but not caring –
like the brushstroke of a gifted painter.
Why she came to me in the daylight, she
does not say, though she must have reason.
So interpret her I may, much like a
radiant work of art,
or life itself.
Perhaps it is possible she
is simply an elegant example,
of the human capability
to believe, and
to let go.
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I yearned for you, your touch a thrill;
I craved your glance, a word, until
I yearned no more. My heart had rid
itself of you; your glow was dead
to me. I’d lost that thrill.
I thought no more of you, until
a grayness crept upon me, ‘till
I realized no longer did
I yearn for you.
Alone once more, I know that we’ll
not talk again and so I’ll
cavort with other friends amid
a diff’rent life, since I’m forbid
to come to you; but still – but still
I yearn for you.
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Tissue of spring swept in the corner –
Frail wisp of summer
That nourished the seed –
Marshaled before the rush of the season
Blows unrefreshed, unsustained, sullen, freed.
Leashed by a thread of selfish insistence –
Tenaciously fastened while it could feed –
Severed, it withers;
diminished it alters
Substance of summer, husk of my need.
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Tree of Life
Elzy Taramangalam
Munching on sunshine
Frolicking in the wind
The little one said:
Come nest on my branches
Rest under my shade
I promise to be a giant
Shelter man and beast
Save this wonder world
Until the very end.
May be! Undo the end.
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My mind is jittery
so I slip out
during an inhale
of rain.
I need to walk
and the comfort
of word play.
Percolating a poem,
decaffeinated,
at Cobourg Coffee.
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Pad Thai at Spring Rolls
Raptors game with students and that damned Don
Bought groceries and did laundry
And then reading, reading
It’s five am and I should be sleeping, sleeping
But I’m looking out the closed window
Whole minutes go by with no traffic
Now a taxi and a delivery truck
Another cloudy day on the way
Who cares?
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Perdition or Redemption?
Jari-Matti Helppi
State your mind and walk with me
amidst the lighter fuel of match stick foes
who take your words and run to walls
built protected to their spaces
and slam against the places that don’t redeem
the missed intention of the word.
Perdition meant to cross the silent void
with the shallowing end of warming water
where redemption lands on feral ground
and grows no seed unless deemed worthy
by a change of heart unfelt by self
and only valued if a lie.
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The Little Voice
Mike McFetridge
There’s a little voice in each of us
That tells us what’s right and what’s wrong;
Whenever a decision has to be made
Our little voice will help us along;
But we must remember to listen for it,
For its sound is soft… but sincere;
Listen and heed your own little voice
Because its message to you will be clear.
Open Heart Forgery 
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