Issue 12

January 2, 2008

Ray Succre

Notes

What we worm into our arts
yet work out of our minds

is a conflicted man,
sorry and frail,
or sturdy and ignorant.

We pay him in neglect,
only to celebrate him once in groups.

He holds up his tender award
and we wait for the speech.
If his words are our own,
bless his heart!, and move along.

If not

Jeffrey Williams

If We Were To Live Forever

Death is the reason we live,
But if offered to live forever—
Would we be tempted to do so?
What would become of an over-populated world
Where death has no life?
What would become of the world—
That never died?
To believe in the afterlife is—
a belief, in a way, that we will never die.
The physical, we are told, is just a shell.
The spiritual being is the power.
But to never die is simply dangerous.
Without death, they'd be no room for rebirth;
No room for life.

Les Wicks

A LEAP IN THE PARK
 
The grass has been negligent lately
no springy fluoro lurch
or luxury in the loam.
 
Arse in the air,
those ducks are bums
cadging insects from a fraught
overwhelmed lily pad.
 
The trees won't stand up for themselves
any wind will bend them over
all sunlight accepted.
 
Dogs are beyond condemnation
as defeated humans trail behind
clasping small plastic bags of poo.
 
You can't pin down the lake's population of eels.
They'll contribute nothing
to stiff debate.
 
Death is the biggest bludger
hand always in our pocket
and even then not yet ready (this day)
to make up its mind.
 
Cars are our punctuation. My shoes corrode the verges
of their hard little roads.
Every word we create would fall apart
without poisoned shepherds
eating all that air
that lies in between.
 
Centennial Park empties
like a great drain, day clocks off
dead on time.
 
New works go unseen -
the night shift shakes loose feathers
on their sun-warmed roosts. In this busy,
dark is the other colour.

Michael Levy

Who Am I

I am the taste in your dark silky chocolate,
the warmth in your smile
I am the music in your laughter,
the amazement in your eyes,
I am the star-light passion in your work,
the seasoning in your  touch,
I am the perfume in your ambiance,
the banquet in your thoughts,
I am the wonder in your speech,
the awe in every stride,
I am the love in your heart
the energy in your soul,
I am in the answers to all your questions,
the truth attached to each cell,
I am the delights of your life,
eternally bound as your bundle of joy.

Jeffrey Williams

The Best Way To Love You

I remember that day fondly,
Perhaps, even a little too fondly.
It was the day I knew how much I loved her
I couldn't sleep so I crawled into
my best friend's bed
She lived in the room next door;
but had been away for a while-,
I missed her and loved her dearly
I snuggled in her bed and thought
about life without her.
That was a difficult dream, horrible to imagine-,
Instead of thinking about what I would do
should my dear friend perish before me;
I did the next best thing-,
I walked over to my pill box,
and swallowed a handful of barbiturates with alcohol.
Just before my eyes closed, I thought of my friend
I thought about how much I loved her,
how much I would miss her and our time together
I hurried for my cell phone;
which was just barely out of reach.
Before I could dial "911" to save my life,
The unimaginable happened…
I woke up in the arms of my dear friend.
There I was lying in bed with her
And there was a note clutched in her hand that read:
"I'm sorry to be so selfish, but I've had enough of your crowding love."
Thanks to my suffocating devotion, my best friend was dead.

Kristen Howe

Safe Return

A desire burns in my heart with longing needs,
The time you're away, it makes me want you more,
Even by Friday and the weekend, I'm feverish,
Like a ghost, you haunt me like in a dream.
The thought of you being harmed or hurt or dead,
It scares me to even think about it, even in sleep,
The feeling of dread and danger is always there,
As I pray for your safe return home in one piece.

Tiana Siehndel

sleep and harvest

no,
please wait
take the rubber burnt from wheels
and put them in their place
pretend
that cinematic snow is falling
and tonight will never end
return
to electronic clocks as
houses and their cinders burn
replace
orange saftey cones knocked down
and ran over in the chase
tidy up
it's sad to hold but you can
leave your child with us
play inside
voices taking over sight
and ripped it from your eyes
a large surprise
and present sto be kept until
the party is all over

Laurence Overmire

Con-test

I paid $25 to enter a contest
I didn't have a chance in hell
To win
There were no criteria you see
For winning
Simply the completely skewered
Opinion
Of an unknown judge or two
But someone made a nice
Chunk of change off
The desperation of my ego
Me and a thousand other poets
Groping for a chance to have the word
Heard
No small thing in this cacophony of mean
Culture.

Doug Draime

Monday

I take off my boots and place
them on the floor in front of me.  My
feet burn and sting and my back is in
a vase of torment.  It's now 8:30 PM
and I've been up since 6 AM
working two different manual laboring
jobs, which barely
keep me in the game.  I've
made love to Carol
as the sun rose over
the mountains surrounding us. I've
written 2 poems.  I've talked to
a friend who failed his audition again
at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival.  I've watched a little girl not
more than 3 play hide and seek with
me, her beautiful  face, her big brown eyes
laughing and jumping
in the beauty shop window
across the street from one of my jobs.  I've read some
Amira Baraka and
The San Francisco Chronicle
from cover to cover.  I've sent poems off to a friend in town
who publishes an alternative newspaper and I've
sent poems to  4 poetry magazines.  I've discussed
the meaning of life and Christ
with an aspiring cretin.  I've talked to my 2 sons on the phone
and heard my ex-wife in the background
yelling in anger, asking what I
wanted.  I've watched the storm
clouds come slowly,
the rain begin to fall.  The dog
curls up near my feet and Carol walks
by flossing and brushing her teeth, talking
to him.  And as she finishes and begins
to wash the dishes,
the thunder cracks
like a cat-o'-nine-tails and lightning
is illuminating the mountains surrounding us.

Ashok Niyogi

GROWL

already
she knows
what volcanoes
can erupt
from an old man
driving a stick shift
brakes light up
ornamental grilles
in afternoons that
gobble up passion
downhill
like candy
saved up
from last week's Halloween
already
in a moonless tryst
stars insist
they are grown up
lights beckon
across water or land
sand that cannot
hold
as one more petal unfolds
already
the red inside
of her beak
was infiltrated
last night
with birds in flight
no age
no plumage
just an ascent
from light
through domesticity
into darkness
already
it is dusk
time for face paint
one poem
last heard
in the facile wars
a song out of the radio
a cigarette vendor
who has to sell condoms
a pimp who can
philosophize
about computer scientists
who find employment
in arctic ice