September 2015

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Vol. 6, No. 7
In this Issue:

Nicole AllisonSimply Perfect

Alan AlmonChanging

Taylor BourassaRitual

Peter CurryUntitled (Diamante)

Evelyn ElgieOn Procrastination

Barbara EllisLifelight

Robert HalperinFootprints Etched Into My Chest

Paul HealyWhere The Rose Bush Grows Highest

Jari-Matti HelppiOn a Wednesday’s Night

Jim HoyleReminiscences

Scot JamiesonNecessity’s Leash

Erica LewisBreathing Below Surface

Scott LynchAbenaki Myth

Lorie Ann MorrisTruth

Oliver Oldfieldboys don’t cry

Cheryl SobieToday I Am Free

Elzy TaramangalamSisterhood

Ryan TaylorMorning Peace

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Poem by Alan Almon

wake up, the times are changing.
population of the world is aging
the new generation has no voice
too busy playing with their toys
to notice the deafening noise
the signal the whole earth is poised
at the edge of death and speeding onward
while we continue to blindly wander
about our daily businesses
and games and fun and guinnesses
until tomorrow we will abruptly blunder
into a world completely gone under
neath an ocean of theft and debt
with no more air to make a bet
We will awake to chains and fetters
placed on us by our supposed betters
which we allowed in our stupid blindness
to be used while amused and totally blinded
to a machine of debt and slavery
and as it collapses we need bravery
to rise above what we see and recognize
the last important thing in our lives
is being able to look in each other’s eyes
and share the freedom of each other’s time.

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Today I Am Free
Poem by Cheryl Sobie

So much to think about, so little time
Too many lies about the way we live our lives
Why can’t I just be the person I want to be?
Why can’t I just live the way I want to live?
Restrictions imposed by society
Restrictions imposed by our own minds
Breaking free is not an easy task
Everyday, one day, someday I will be free
Everyday, one day, some day, today I will do it
I will try to be the person I want to be
Today I am free
Today I am the person I want to be

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Footprints Etched Into My Chest
Poem by Robert Halperin

Footprints etched into my chest.
Chewed up love (spat out) lines the
grooves of the prints — stinking of
her and me and her [and him] and me

Air fights with my knotted windpipe
to escape the torrential downpour of
foreign firewater

My body has been shocked
into shaking fits in brazen
bulls — I am being treated for burns

I refuse silence its satisfaction —
my thoughts will scream louder
than any banshee if left to think

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Abenaki Myth
Poem by Scott Lynch

very early morning
creeping past carved eagles
and the limp morning flags of patriots
close mists obscuring
the ominous Mt. Washington
passing Pinkham Notch
we journey in tandem
two cars destined for home
too early for traffic
the world ours alone
riding shotgun as scout
I catch movement at roadside near the ditch
we stop together
stand transfixed
an adolescent moose stares up without censure
prostrate like a supplicant marionette
slurping big gulps of the morning stream
slurping with noisy abandon
frozen as if by Medusa
we study the passion of her eyes
wonder of her being
sated she rises sniffing sonorously
regally turns, parts the undergrowth
and crunching
leaving us witness warranting myth

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Morning Peace
Poem by Ryan Taylor

that sweeping of emotion
that sway of temptation
when the night turns
to am
and you lie in bed
softly breathing
waiting for all dreams
when everything you’ve wanted
becomes yours
and you may lay
without ambition
to lay rest desires
lack of perseverance
letting go sure things
you wouldn’t ever have
2am realities without
schizophrenic day dreams

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Poem by Elzy Taramangalam

Feasting on hostas spreading
Under the red maple tree
The doe dared me:
You want to grow them
I want to eat them
That’s how we keep the universe
In balance: you and I

Deep, deep, dark pools
Her eyes flashing
At the mean myopic slits
Shrinking on my face
She asserts:

Common sister, be a sport!
Give us a summer grin
As bright as the last spring
To my leaping triplets
Gambolling in growing fun.

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Where The Rose Bush Grows Highest
Poem by Paul Healy

At the end of the lane
Where the rose bush grows highest
And the larks sing a song
Without malice or bias,
Was a dawning, like a dawning
Of a deep drawn soul,
A pure drop of sunlight
With a glowing – ringing toll.
That dropped, the clocks, headlong away.
Ticking, in some yesterday
And freed the light, pent in the heart
Exposed and cured, the hate filled part.
And all the fear filled recollections;
The crosses and the genuflections
Were eased away, to comforting love,
As the sea is dappled, by the sky above.
Holding its image and bending its light;
Embracing its mood and holding on tight.
The fabrics of existence
Are calling our names.
To fall out of our skins;
To fall out of our pains.

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boys don’t cry
Poem by Oliver Oldfield

i wanna be that
hit me hard
daredevil soul
feel his arms
trophy boy

i wanna be that
little taller
how charming
punk rock
pretty boy

i wanna be that
i know him
actor’s heart
poet boy

i wanna be that
chin dusted
heart surgery
straight down
testosterone boy

i wanna be that boy
i wanna be me

but I can never be that boy
if it’s true that boys don’t cry

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On a Wednesday’s Night
Poem by Jari-Matti Helppi

He bellowed from a belfry bold.
As bold as cornered canker’s cold
could stake it all with broadsides told,
of presence there, bought and sold.
Soon he had the lung no last.
Exhaled the shadow’s shaley blast
to see the ladder ladened fast,
then climbed to earth, free aghast

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Poem by Barbara Ellis

Four score, not counting,
Maggie and Meyer
pirouette gravely
piecing together
urbane ritardando.

Piper, pipe on.

Maggie and Meyer
step figures in snowlight
encircling their lifelight –
circle with art

Dear dancers, dance on

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Simply Perfect
Poem by Nicole Allison

The tide of Love rolls in picking
up where we left off so long ago
With Heaven on our side
These moonlight kisses never to be
forgotten under the midnight sky

Remember walking along the bridge
and the story of how we first met?
The Magic of us sparks a flame to
remember and cherish

Simply Magic described it first
Simply Heaven is what you give me
you opened my heart to love again
I was the lock and you are the key

You Opened my eyes to a whole new
universe that was waiting for me
You sang a melody
so gracefully, so effortlessly
It was beautiful
My love for all time
Lyrics bound together
A song book of music and dreams
of bliss and nostalgia
and what you are is Simply Perfect

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On Procrastination
Poem by Evelyn Elgie

It was Monday
and there were fifty things
to do before bed.
But the music called to me;
the sweet tones and the bright lights
That spun the hours away like quicksand
And spun me to my bed
As a voice cried,
Later, later.

It was Tuesday
and there were a hundred things
to finish in class.
But the story called me;
the words inked onto the fragrant pages
Opened like doors into a different time
And ate all of mine,
As a voice cried,
Later, later.

It was Wednesday
and there were a thousand things
to do when I got home
But your arms called to me;
the clear smoky rainsmell of April held me
In the clouded star-strewn night
And I had you
As a voice murmured
Later, later.

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Diamante poem by Peter Curry

Windy, Cloudy,
Flying, Blowing, Zooming,
Wind, Air, Earth, Land,
Running, Sitting, Standing,
Hard, Dirty,

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Necessity’s Leash
Poem by Scot Jamieson

“You’ve really been
pigging out lately, haven’t you?”

Silence, woman.
Man does not live by bread alone
— nor die by it.

“Necessity’s leash is now this short,”
she said with her fingers a snort apart,
at the hospital door, some months after,
as I shuffled out, diabetes my master.

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Poem by Jim Hoyle

Pretty little villages, churches with steeples,
Old stone cottages, thick thatched rooves.
Tudor houses, white walls, big black beams,
Drays up and down the streets, clip clop hooves.

Pub on the corner, blacksmith next door,
A tankard of bitter beer, two for a florin.
Shopping down Cottage Road, sweeties if you’re lucky,
Small loaf of brown bread, tuppence three farthings.

Trudge through the snow, visit Uncle up the street,
Home to roast turkey, Brussels sprouts, Christmas pud,
Grandpa at the table, aunts and cousins too,
Nuts and port and Wensleydale, all so good.

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Breathing Below Surface
Poem by Erica Lewis

I am no longer treading water.
I’m letting myself sink.
I am no longer hanging onto the ledge.
I’m letting myself fall.

The more I struggle,
the more I am swallowed up.

I am going to rest now.

This is neither surrender nor defeat.
It’s acceptance.

The calm that will come over me now
is not the calm I was trying to achieve.
It isn’t even the calm that exists
in the absence of chaos.

I just choose not to grab the glass
before it rolls off the counter,
before it smashes into a thousand pieces.

I won’t even bother to pick them up.
I’ll leave them there, even walk on them,
let them cut into the soles of my feet.

And I’ll feel nothing.

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Haiku by Taylor Bourassa

Four espresso shots
The daily news and some blues
– It’s a wake up call

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Poem by Lorie Ann Morris

Truth is harder than they say.
Truth they say will set you free.
Truth is sometimes, a blessing.
Truth is not, always, welcome.
Truth is needed.

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