TABLE OF
CONTENTS
The Pulpiest Concentrate of the Soul of Poetry - by Hubert
Wee
Life - by Brennan Martin
Ostium - Julie Tai
The World - Paul Nachbar
Limb-erick - Thomas
Hadley
Labor of Light -
Robbie Dawson
Lackadaisically Intoned Whispers - Mark Norman
Baffling - Julie Tai
POETRY
(acrostic) - Faverio Maria Claudia
Jacks Beans - S.L.
MacNiven
Life's Symphony -
Paul F. Kisak
Quest - John Russell
Sweeney
Glints - Thomas Hadley
Tears - Mark Norman
Miscalculation - Tine
Wilde
Careening to the Centre - Faverio Maria Claudia
The Ascetic -
Faverio Maria Claudia
The Hermit -
Faverio Maria Claudia
In Hobbitlands -
Paul Nachbar
Bliss - Paul F. Kisak
Carmel Table Top
Dregs - Mark Norman
Poetry of a Lost
Soul - Mark Norman
Poetry of a
Lost Soul Found - Mark Norman
Love Song for A Woman with a 186 IQ - Paul Nachbar
Pretty Good - Paul
Nachbar
The Pulpiest Concentrate of the Soul of Poetry - by Hubert Wee
Come, dance merrily in the softly forgiving sunshine,
sense the mildly kissing zephyr on young, unblemished cheek,
driving intoxicating sweetness into remotest soul,
a washing tide of rising emotion, sensitizing bitterly, then
desensitizing again,
with heartening tenderness flowing warmly to bone.
Come luxuriate and revel, brood and dwell on,
drink in the richest essences of elaborate poetic flair,
immerse unappeased soul in finest literary craft,
feast on rhetoric, devour tangy rhyme,
chew heavily on authentic linguistic fare,
savour the exquisitely piquant blends of purest, wholesome
delight,
oh, muster all invigorated energies,
tame rampant spirit and consume with truculent voracity,
nourish deepest soul, feed to it the purest essences of romantic
stanza,
taste the absorbing fulfilment,
the searing emotion, oh, such vibrant arousal,
now, get severely drawn into this grippingly edifying realm,
tread the path of poetic composition, and reach out to soul.
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Life - by Brennan Martin
Life is never ending, it is always, life has no escape, and not
even the gaps between lifetimes can one be free. However, life
is perfect.
Life is more precise than exact, more defined than it is real;
its machine like design transcends power both spiritual and
physical, It is furnace forever perfect, life is perfect.
Life is like a chessboard, the pawns, which roam its angelic
surface, act as within a steady glimpse, and subtle movement
from the beholders well executed move.
Life itself is bewildered by how it came to be, though life
seemingly has many shapes and sizes, the truth is to be heard,
life is everything, it is every imaginable shape, size and
colour, constant euphoria mingles within its beauty. However,
life is perfect.
Life is like a bio-sphere, life trapped in life and rounded off
to create a peaceful prison. Life is like all our senses
combined, no one to record has thought of it the way I have.
Where others run, I stand my ground, I want to grasp its
proverbial brilliance within my hands, know it better than one
ever thought possible.
Bitter but sweet, life is like a matrix. We are the pips, if
life were truly good to us it would show us a life from outside
the apple....the real life. If life were truly good to us it
would free us, give us emancipation. Only then would life really
and truly be perfect.
Life is the pen, which we forge our own destinies with. We are
as much in tune with life, as life is with us. We are equals.
Life is scarred, as the inevitable breakthrough of life's
awesome barrier draws near, one can only laugh a polysyllabic
tune. Life is scarred by the fact that we now know too much, and
that we no longer need its eyes gazing upon us 24/7.
Life will sleep, birds will turp, and people will smile, for we
all agree that the way of life is now overwhelmingly true, and
freedom is anything but new. Everyone will stand high and marvel
at life's true ingenious. We will forget the old life, move on,
read and re-read this poem; the start of a new beginning is
here. The life of life is perfect, this poem is perfect, and
life is perfect......I just want too know the TRUTH!
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Ostium - Julie Tai
Harvesting poems that catch glittering shines in all
our awesome feelings
I actually expect nothing peculiar from widespread
human selfishness
Quarrying tiny spaces in the time of my waiting for
plenty of things
I grab some of your gems merging with past gloom and
darkness
Hurrying myself to some undisclosed destinations and
beings
I know that my very aim is to keep in your eyes the
radiance of keenness
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The World - Paul Nachbar
The world is a bulldozer
That razes one house
And builds another
It is a sigh as well
And also a scream
Perhaps
Sometimes a poem...
Poem
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Limb-erick - Thomas Hadley
there was a poet from Cyprus
who suffered an acute priapus
when he ran out of ink
he stopped not to think
his third leg became his stylus
to inscribe upon c l a y
of the immoral ways
of those who lived in Pompeus
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Labor of Light - Robbie
Dawson
I hate to equivocate
in this grey medium
but as of late
all writing is tedium
thoughts held tightly
fall to phrases
rather unsightly
yet rather contagious
unformed wanting
informed waning
felicitous flaunting
deceptively draining
where do thoughts turn
when syllables vanquish
crumble and burn
or sculpt a new language
if one must ask
one must not write
truth takes to task
its labor in light
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Lackadaisically Intoned Whispers - Mark Norman
Lackadaisically intoned
whispers, lazy de Sade
bound to the moment
tethered, tied
to sadness.
Lead astray by the
not quite said
but easily read
careless empty eyes
of the prying stranger.
Putting the lies aside
the truths shed
in tears wept supine
sublimely dangling then dripping
from the earlobes to the bed.
Mere haunts of emotions
gasping to the surface
long lost in the past
desires now long dead.
Enmeshed, categorized, and spoiled
in the distance of time.
Strangers must not talk
of cares and caresses,
embarzened white bodies
tangled white bed sheets,
and such gone awry.
So long ago that
the weathering of life
has faded and washed
the heart
of kinder emotions.
The heart pickled and jarred
preserving only the flesh
still beating its hollow
insistent thud awaiting
an answer from a long lost passion.
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Baffling - Julie Tai
Increasingly
All they were looking for was for holly redemption
Until dawn
They could stand, just stand on the whole mess
Shortening lives
Their lives showed to a world of decay they could not
miss
Anything, either
Whimsical dreams they carried along their madness
Though no one knew
Faint following what seemed to be hectic days of
confusion
Dust
Hence fell silencing dust on the few last incidental
souls
No consolation more
Meaning that you would not try to climb the scales
Anymore
They deciphered our enclosed but well-hidden fears
Dripping
Lines on the roads proved we all are touched on the
raw
Moved again
Or maybe stunned ?
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POETRY
(acrostic) - Faverio Maria Claudia
Proud of its noble diversity,
Oscillating between joy and sorrow,
Entrancing aristocratic souls,
The Spirit of Poetry
Roams among debris of dreams,
Yielding to their intriguing beauty.
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Jacks Beans - S.L.
MacNiven
So small, so white and so sublime,
O’ how you steal my waking mind
And kill my dreams…
Crystal clear and effervescent,
Moonshine is antidepressant
Happiness teems…
Sooty rainfalls, through glassy shards,
Through glazéd lens I see the bards
I see their screams…
Fantasy’s reality returns,
Upon the pyre’s nails I burn
Hunger redeems…
Again I die, again I die,
My personalities defy
Nothingness deems…
How beautiful the inky blots,
A fly, the Sun or just a spot?
Cold mountain streams…
Y para dentro little pill,
Go pacify this quirky will,
And eat Jack’s beans…
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Life's Symphony - Paul
F. Kisak
On my way to serendipity,
I came across a place to be.
This place was visited regularly,
by those who love life's symphony.
To my surprise 'twas full of rules,
the foremost being to follow no fools.
The second rule was just as good.
It said do right whenever you could.
The third rule was just as wise.
It said be true with no disguise.
I read the rules into the night,
until I forgot my erstwhile plight.
These rules I knew before I read,
they were embedded deep within my head.
They needn't be on stone or wood,
they were here all along which is very good.
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Quest - John Russell
Sweeney
White-coated scientists, probing 'tween the warp n' woof;
amongst the threads of the Great Paradox;
and ask - "Ah, but How?"
Sagacious philosophers, probing 'tween their propositions;
amongst the hidden secrets of the Great Paradox;
and ask - "Ah, but Why?"
Ah, but above, beyond and even within the Great Paradox -
amongst the tangle of perplexity -
comes the Voice, to the truly seeking ear -
and that says - " I AM... (the Answer)
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Glints - Thomas Hadley
I, a palpable Ghost,
become again Human
only to disappear, then reappear
haunting my Past
my Consciousness materializes
within this corporeal clay statue
realization dawns in brief glimpses
whilst gazing at tufts o' dandelion seeds
wafting away upon whimsical spring breezes
every Spring is every Spring Eternal
self-limitation begets the Infernal
the seed is the breeze is the flower
my dust swirls within an Ivory Tower
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Tears - Mark Norman
Gully washer
torrential fall
tears of torment
one and all
Falling, cascading
washing the cheek
mascara rivulets from
a soul's little leak
Emotions withheld
the body revolts
telling the truth
when it won't help
Sob rack from
deep within, where the
body's betrayal
always begins
Telling the secrets
held tightly sequestered
of passions denied
and love left unanswered
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Miscalculation - Tine
Wilde
A boundary – a line
of which you think
that that is what it has to define:
the outskirts of a memory
the conclusions of a mind –
Shimmersharp horizon.
All that gathered on one spot
a niche, a station in the evening sun.
The circle that closed in on life
where it once had all begun –
Crossing border to far side.
So tragic this miscalculation:
the line was drawn at random.
A deaf-mute transposition.
The boundary was merely a coincidental
indication of a separation –
Erased horizon.
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Careening to the Centre - Faverio Maria Claudia
Slivers of light
pulsing among snapping synapses
of waves,
broken neon lamp
in crowded shopping centre.
The gravitational pull of the blue
weighs on my eyes
like dream dancing
in jungle of gray,
angelic voice
choked by the cigars of drunkards
at the local pub.
Careening to the centre,
I throw overboard my pride,
my ego struggles
in the coiling syntax of the waves,
becomes one with the undiminished blue
hatching vulnerable hope.
The mighty hands of the sky
lift my soul
into tameless light
roaring at the ignorance
of the conditio humana,
somersaulting acrobat
delighting my inner child
giggling among debris
of illusory self.
In the seamless patterns on the water,
the concentric circles
of my drowning ego
turn into parallel lines,
joining the waves
in their eternal tango
under the furtive light
of dusk.
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The Ascetic -
Faverio Maria Claudia
Secluded in light,
the ascetic sees things
that common eyes
prone to darkness
don’t see.
Things of angels,
tentative blue breaking through
like a scream
or insight, -
the vision of Truth
face to face,
when visions cease to be
visions
and claim the monopoly of reality,
like dawn.
The Will pants and raves,
it knows it is losing ground,
hunted by the unmuddled self,
who finally dares to be.
In the amassing harmony of songs
and sounds without words
intruding into fallacy of being
like a helping hand,
when wings don’t know they are wings
any more,
but swing like a conjugation of air
and sky,
the ascetic forgets
what he is not supposed to remember
in the stringency of becoming light.
The abrupt disturbance
of the calm of nothingness
through birth and death
and the tragicomedy
in between
loses its contours
like things of stone at dusk,
when images go on the stage
to fulfill desires
that shouldn’t be,
and cicadas sing
to complete the circle
that looked square
under the fake sun
of the afternoon.
The catch of a song
can be the seed
of a symphony.
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The Hermit -
Faverio Maria Claudia
The dullness of the world
has lost its grip on me,
swarthy clouds of indifference
have drifted into the untimely dark sky
of my hope.
I watch without thinking,
touch without feeling.
The caustic breeze of life
immunized me against sorrow,
the charm of the Queen of Death
holds me captive
with promises of unquenchable love.
Solitude is my bliss,
the plinth of my microcosm
of valiant vagaries,
far from the piteous platitudes
of conceited conformity.
The warm hands of desire
have turned cold
in the winter of mortality.
I have laid down the sword.
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In Hobbitlands - Paul
Nachbar
In hobbitlands where'er they are
They regulate their habits
Some reach out for some distant star
Most propagate like rabbits
Some hesitate before a bar
Some spy Success and grab it.
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Bliss - Paul F. Kisak
Bliss desired and unretired
gives speciation to emotional inflation.
Bliss must end to return again
so that appreciation maintains it's station.
Blissfully,
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Carmel Table Top
Dregs - Mark Norman
Carmel table top dregs,
concentric coffee cup imprints face to stare at me
asking questions of the day to be.
"Sanitized rationality," I state, predicting gleefully.
White Styrofoam insulates
The insulting, cool opinions
of those in the gaseous state. Hence all grate
in their fourteen point five pound voiced misconception.
"I am right, you are wrong,"
no, neither entirely.
"My way or the highway," you know the saying,
but no, not necessarily, though quite fiery.
Is it a cop out to defend then assault
when you're bright enough to see both sides,
with no strong opinions as a result
and remain pro/anti undecided?
Well, cup is nearly to the bottom,
time now to decide today, left or right,
conservative, liberal, side weak or those of might?
I don't know, but sure hoping to enjoy the fight.
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Poetry of a Lost
Soul - Mark Norman
I gaze to the night sky
to the expanse of stars
and scoff at its promise.
Shaking my head from the firmament
back to the earthly unkempt
path I travel,
twisting into the darkness of future,
I stumble, again.
Raising my eyes to the heavens
in despair, I realize that promise
is all that keeps one foot
moving in front of the other.
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Poetry of a
Lost Soul Found - Mark Norman
It doesn't always happen, you know,
the lost soul, the bad things,
nightmares, cold sweats,
worries, and frets.
Sometimes, just sometimes
the sunshine can only carry
the essence of good, instilling a mood, soaking deep,
gently chastising the shadows of doom
To a world of possibility,
hope, and desire
to a sunlit bathed room
of promise and passion, retired of gloom.
Where problems become a challenge
and failures a mere ironic grin.
I like this place.
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Love Song for A Woman with a 186 IQ - Paul Nachbar
Perhaps in heaven we will meet
Far past those forces which defeat
Our impulses to quite aspire
Beyond the central burning fire
And we should see the face of God
In whose sole eyes we were not odd
And there we will feel truly great
Though down below it seems too late;
Perhaps there some angelic choir
Will sing us songs to keep us warm
Above the chill of earthly swarm
I think they will not celebrate
The glories of the welfare state
Nor hold in very high esteem
The pleasures of some bourgeois dream
On earth most things will tend to lapse
I dream, in truth, dear, well, perhaps...
I claim, in truth, dear, well, perhaps..
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Pretty Good - Paul Nachbar
S/he had a pretty good career and a pretty good apartment, with
a pretty good collection of various things that were pretty
good.S/he ate pretty well at pretty good restaurants.S/he had
pretty good friends and a pretty good therapist. At work s/he
had a pretty good boss and pretty good coworkers. When things
were not pretty good, they put him/her on pretty good
medications or reccomended pretty good vacations to pretty good
places.He/she also read all those books which promise one a
pretty good life and attended the types of religious and social
organizations which pretty much do the same thing. In his/her
spare time he/she read pretty good books and watched pretty good
movies. In his/her relationships he/she had pretty good sex and
pretty good conversation. S/he had pretty good investments in
the stockmarket and pretty good hopes. In the future he/she
wanted to move to a part of the country where the weather was
always at least pretty good.
Who could ask for anything more?
Who could ask for anything more?
Who could ask for anything more?
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