TABLE OF CONTENTS - POETRY, page 2

Myra - Mark Norman
Human Nature - Paul Nachbar
Charmed - Maria Claudia Faverio
Furor poetico - Maria Claudia Faverio
Street - Gilad Skyte
Perception - Gilad Skyte
Wilt flower,wilt! - Sean MacNiven
Parasites - Sean MacNiven
For my Mother - Sean MacNiven
Don’t You Know - Sean MacNiven
How Discontented - Sean MacNiven
Old House - Martin D Boutte
Tears - Martin D Boutte
Atilla - Martin D Boutte
Concrete Charcoal Line - Martin D Boutte
Lanced Love Dream - Martin D Boutte
Alien Love Song - Paul Nachbar
Dali Does Brooklyn - Jonathan Marin

Myra - Mark Norman

Myra, that was the girl's name
tousled raven black hair
aglow in the neon flame.
She sat silently with a misty blue eyed stare.

"Say That You Love Me" played,
echoing from somewhere in the back.
She was a tattoo artist self-made.
I was told she had a innate artistic knack.

She said, "I don't do names,"
"no names"," her voice distraught.
But I insisted with money, now ashamed.
I won. Her principals bought.

She wrote it in blue and
added hues of red.
Unhappy with the her work,
she ignored the blood I bled.

She talked of other's remorse,
but not of her own.
What's worse, perhaps she did
and I was too ignorant to have known.

Maybe she was reminding herself
of loving too deeply's toll.
Finding true love lost to her, she left,
suicide, gun to accomplish her goal.

She died alone upstairs in that room, that night.
Splattering the walls with the tears
and fears of her life,
the final escape from her self imposed plight.

Had it been the years of fearing
the pain from sharing loves bloom?
Years building a gloomy windowless room,
sitting, sad but safe hidden within her tomb.

Was it the courage she envied,
wept for, the ability to again love and bleed
or simply a plea to be freed
from a Grimm's Fairy Tale untold?

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Human Nature - Paul Nachbar

Of what we are
And how
To come to terms
Oh tale of wonder
And of worms..

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Charmed - Maria Claudia Faverio

In the miraculous spell
of twilight,
when syllables are cadences,
not music,
visions are alien
to the dead stringency
of algebra and logarithms.

Imagination doesn’t know
it is an imagined thing,
and mistakes its affections
for whims of the will,
a supreme manifestation
of mana.

It transfixes objects
like a dance,
avoiding the intricate allusions
of entelechy,
hammering at the sill of night
like a frightened Muse.

At the edge of self,
the imagined imagines itself
free from the burden
of being.

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Furor poetico - Maria Claudia Faverio

A flash of vision
intruding into the procrustean banality
of life
like a seeking hand,
blending colours
like drunken sky -
is this the ultimate vision
in the screaming confusion
of the real,
shining out above the chaos
of the self
and the muddy stream
of being?

It is an invitation to madness,
to join the stars
in their dance à rebours,
wilder than the tango
of thunder!

Furor poetico -
sweet suffocation
of mortal anguish,
shiny tension of the spirit
released
into the consummation
of nothingness -
is this divine madness
the beginning of wisdom,
the fevered surge
into the ultimate truth
hidden to the crowd of masks
floating towards their fate
like withered leaves?

The jettison of reason
is the defeat
of the chaos of potentiality,
the crack of light
begetting eternal bliss.

Poetic madness
is the sublimation
of the self.

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Street - Gilad Skyte

I tread the paths of recollection
A rythmic shudder fills my being
Reaped and sown are all I find
I feel a distant throbbing pain
A faint cry goes racing by in the cool and sprightly breeze
Was it limber does in linger
oh,
timber.

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Perception - Gilad Skyte


I reflect upon a pond nearby
and the pond reflects on me,
through its lens I concentrate
all the wonder that I see.

A fly swirls above me, caught,
in the pale blue strings of sunlight,
and a lumnious grey cloud drifts,
across the sky once bright.

A shiny mist of frothy brown
brings forth signs of trouble,
a familiar sinking feeling comes
and all at once, a muddle.
Has her memory come to haunt
or has she stepped into my puddle?
This, and all, depends, I fear
on my perecption of the bubble.

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Wilt flower, wilt! - Sean MacNiven

Wilt flower, wilt!
For thy beauty is as the artic Sun -
Slowly growing full and ripe
Soon by the winter’s black undone,
Captured form in icy cage?
Or shattered shards of vicious age?

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Parasites - Sean MacNiven

Creatures of another’s life-space and heat
‘Pon that corpus living, learning, feeding
Dependent as the car unto the street
Darkness to the evening Sun receding
Where nullity’s a thing that is complete,
Being fills the void with endless breeding,
And we seek vainly wisdom in our lights –
Are we not in the womb, all parasites?

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For my Mother - Sean MacNiven

Beginning of my consciousness
Of my humanity…
The start of life’s long restlessness
Upon life’s stormy seas…

The origin of all I am,
That heart I once heard beat,
A gift whose magnitude doth span,
The miles laid by my feet…

A stream sprung from your mountain spring,
Now a river flowing…
A stone shed by a mountaintop,
Now a snowball growing…

Then let this humble poém be
A thankyou from the heart,
Oh vision of my infancy,
Thou bearer of life’s art…

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Don’t You Know - Sean MacNiven

Don’t you know where you’re going
Don’t you feel the river’s flowing
Don’t you see there’re people dying
Don’t you hear you mama’s crying

Don’t you know there’s revolution
Don’t you know were in confusion
Don’t you know just what were facing
Don’t you know the steps were tracing

Don’t you know your baby’s crawling
Don’t you know the trees are falling
Don’t you know there’re people freezing
Don’t you know the oil’s receding

Don’t you know the poor man’s growing
Don’t you know his growth’s not slowing
Don’t you ask just what were leaving
For our children to believe in?

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How Discontented - Sean MacNiven

How discontented, ruffled and replete,
This soul of mine that wanders cobbled streets,
Those stones laid on the gravel of an age,
Pressed to the earth 'neath time's persistent stage,
And I, an actor stumble over lines,
An opiate dissolved in bitter wines,
A blue jay's colours washed in acid rain,
A dead horse shot again, again, again...
But flee! And fly! And run! And leap! And will!
The Sun, the heat, the darkness and the ice,
Experience the mountain not the hill,
Not but the veils of some poor artifice,
As foraging the whale seeks out its krill,
Deny dissatisfaction at all price!

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Old House - Martin D Boutte

walls of ivory, tasteful bland
palette colors, pang demand
emanating mortal state
echoes, whispers gravitate
creature comforts, fixtures rare
ancient, putrid, musty air
antique base, no modish taste
speckled matte, dusty face
stoic mask of cupboards bare
ghostly musings drawers share
turbid vents of breeze and sight
filtered, parched, gleaming light
rustic festoons motionless
embroidered stains of loneliness
ceilings tarnished, tired tone
bygone eras' breathing home
disbelief entreats my eyes
premonition, painted guise
banished haven, days of old
alluring salutation, sold

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Tears - Martin D Boutte

these tears, they fell, they grew
before a heart they knew
but wretched time, its' hands unwind
stole them all from you
a thought, a prose, a sigh
a soulful yearning cry
so failed its' mark and hit the ground
and now i too must lie

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Atilla - Martin D Boutte

I'm poking through the earth
drowsy and decrepit
a tulip born to light
a blushing sun puppet

groping air surrounds me
a titillating tease
sly seductive sustenance
i'm drawn above the weeds

spring-dyed extremities
of green and purple hue
heat, my buddings ally
i'm tempered stout and true

summers' singeing stare
i'm oven-basted, baking
bleached, falling petals frown
life evaporating

fall rains like bees
stinging hard and deep
fiendish gales frazzling
my withered pieces weep

winters' freeze-dried shivers
dissolved where i begin
fertile friend reunion
i'm waking up again

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Concrete Charcoal Line - Martin D Boutte

concrete charcoal line
i course for many miles;
through honeysuckle and monoxide,
i'll roll you anywhere
alpha and omega
the earth conjoined
from man's giant pencil i'm born
circling
sectioning
integrating

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Lanced Love Dream - Martin D Boutte

lanced love dream
exposed,
bleeding photographic shivers.
life-pumping care-giver
eyes its own demise;
deposed,
spin-cycled and heat-shrunk
unconditional offerings forever dried

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Alien Love Song - Paul Nachbar

Here stride I now amid the mess
Of what They term unhappiness
And dodge each notion to conform
To what They call the social norm;
Although They always seem to laugh
At what They think are just my jokes
I almost feel at times like these
The same as any other folks;

I did not think I'd stay this long
I thought that this was just a tour
Of duty for a minor cause
Perhaps something to just endure
A break from endless dull ennui
One cycle for the cosmic clock
No place that one would rather be;

Their history is not so hot
I think here I prefer their food
Their systems seem completely shot
Their women are, well...rather good
Although one here must pay the dues
Required by laws in every land:
Subpar IQs, you understand.

Perhaps to stay was not so smart
They seem allergic to fine art
Addicted to pathetic habits
And what they seem to know of science
Is mostly so-called self-reliance;
When free, they multiply like rabbits
Or bristle with outraged defiance.

I guess..I sort of love this place
Despite the odor of disgrace
It really is not quite as bad
Though here is news that's fairly sad
I simply cannot find my keys
And so I'm stuck..I know that's sloppy:
Please teleport another copy.

<>$%)#?

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Dali Does Brooklyn- Jonathan Marin

The Williamsburg Bank Building
Is the dentistry capital of the world
Daily renewing the world's supply
Of tartar, placque,
And gingivitis,
Which is why I was there,
Late after hours
In the only open office.

As I was leaving, with my tooth in place
But the gum extracted,
Feeling strange and looking
Like a model for Magritte,
The receptionist sensed my puzzlement
And explained
"He's an experiodontist".
I acknowledged her admonition
Not to eat or drink anything for at least six months.
"Usually", she continued sympathetically,
"It's better to be in the Control Group."

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