TABLE OF CONTENTS
Epistola non erubescit - Paul Payton
Intensive Care Unit - Paul Payton
Philosophical Poem - Paul Nachbar
When will they ever learn... - Elliot Siemon
Two Towers - S.L. MacNiven
A Day At The Office - S.L. MacNiven
On one September day - W. Wright
We come from a world torn asunder - Chew Kwee Tat
The Unbearable Answer Fang Yuan - Chew Kwee Tat
Mortal Taste - Maria Claudia Faverio
Behind the mask - Maria Claudia Faverio
Eternity - Maria Claudia Faverio
Entropy - Maria Claudia Faverio
Three Haiku - Maria Claudia Faverio
Grey Wanderer - Joshua Bascom
Of Pawns and Kings - Joshua Bascom
Riddle-Tee-Hee - Joshua Bascom
To My Queen - Joshua Bascom
The Visitor - Joshua Bascom
Haiku - Michael Zerger
Poem - Michael Zerger
Gideon - Michael Zerger
Windows On The World - Paul Nachbar
Pride Rid Parade - Andrew Ridge
With Charity - Andrew Ridge
What Worth is Quick to Wonder - Andrew Ridge
Rainfall - Jonathan Wai
The self - Jonathan Wai
Poem #1 - Jörgen Nordström
Poem #2 - Jörgen Nordström
Poem #3 - Jörgen Nordström
Poem #4 - Jörgen Nordström
Poem #5 - Jörgen Nordström
Poem #6 - Jörgen Nordström
Poem #7 - Jörgen Nordström
Poem #8 - Jörgen Nordström
Poem #9 - Jörgen Nordström
Poem #10 - Jörgen Nordström
Poem #11 - Jörgen Nordström
Poem #12 - Jörgen Nordström
Poem #13 - Jörgen Nordström
Poem #14 - Jörgen Nordström
Poem #15 - Jörgen Nordström
Poem #16 - Jörgen Nordström
Epistola non erubescit
Paul Payton
Know wistful thoughts of you have never left me
Abiding in stabbing twinges of aggrieved breast.
Those misdeeds plague me with decade's passage,
Harboring your countenance fast in mind's eye
Reverently, as jewelers esteem glinting gems.
You whom I in reckless boorish youth did malign
Now what measure of recompense dare I extend?
Appealing the Stars in innumerable forlorn nights,
Naming you in multitudes of my thoughtless injustices,
Numbed, I was rebuked by Time's heedless course.
Even in my desolate contrition, deprived of solace.
Now read this penitence -- it bares my solemnity.
I extend you my heart, battered much as your own.
Could apology salve lesions shared but to us two?
Hear my remorse, might it bridge the spanning years
Our orbits have spun themselves in solitary pastime?
Let my praises of God's munificence sing themselves
Should the sight of your Beauty ever again bless me!
Intensive Care Unit
Paul Payton
With pained lightning stabs
Slow weeping of crimson tears
Bodies mourn their wounds
So bruised spirits grieve
Rage and hurt broil within skin
Anguish kept unseen
In time all flesh heals
Forgiving past injustice
With scars of penance
No unction cures souls
For there does not yet exist
Ointment of kindness
How then to compare
The cloaked agonies of man
And triage their harm
Addled, we endure
Laden with burden, we trudge
Hobbled throughout life
Humanity wails
Shivering in trauma of
Paucity of care
Philosophical Poem
Paul Nachbar
It's really hard to stop or go
When things are marginally so;
And if they're only relative
Then how does one forget, forgive?
I know that some say absolute-
Some angels these, some merely brute;
I merely write my daily poems
Too tongue-tied to sound more astute.
It's really hard to think or speak
Amidst the storm of words each week;
What's fact or fiction, simply true
Is that all just some point of view?
The gears of my poor brain revolve
Around such problems I can't solve;
I merely write my daily poems
Too silly for most learned tomes.
It's really hard to know what's real
When some say think and others feel!
It's clear this chair is just a chair
But who should best be sitting there?
Who won, who lost and what is what
I ask but all the answers cut;
I merely write my daily verse
A gift half wonder and half curse.
It's hard to know just what to do
When it's not quite clear who is who;
I'm still not sure of right and wrong
And how those link to weak and strong;
I've worked at many part-time jobs
For graduates and average slobs;
And helpless now I point above:
It could be God, or Truth or Love.
It's hard to know just who to be
My torment though I comfort thee;
I was the playful laughing boy
And grasp now at my shards of joy;
Is largeness of the heart or mind
Beyond the ken of mortal kind?
I hide myself or scan the news:
Life's offer which one can't refuse.
It's hard to know just what to wear
Should I fit in and be a square?
I'm free to buy most anything
To wear in winter, summer spring;
Alas my gray locks are a curse
But dying them seems so much worse;
I reach now for some greater good
Though noonish notions just say "food!"...
When will they ever learn...
Elliot Siemon
It's the "holier than thou" complex.
Suicide bombers and such missions
Murder on the way to the Holy Land
Crusaders of blood, history forgot,
Killing "heathens" by delusion's reflex
Saying, "I am saved you are not."
Filling mass graves, stealing the gold,
Piles of shoes in memorial.
"Holier than thou" cultures in sand,
"Holy" missions from a sacred fold,
Ovens and gas chambers seem surreal.
Wouldn't you like to be called "Reverend?"
"I'm going to Heaven, you are not,"
Detonation in a pizza parlor,
A holy war against the children,
A time too evil in which to dwell,
Joyously flying into the towers,
Such cause of evil will some day end.
Heroes of delusion's missed placed powers.
We know not the mind of the Almighty,
Surmise only the tone of His pallor,
And the finger pointing on the way to hell.
Two Towers
S.L. MacNiven
Two towers standing proud and tall,
Symbolic hopes and dreams,
Two towers burning as they fall,
Apocalyptic scenes.
Extreme the perpetrators,
Dastardly their deed,
Uncertain our reactions
In this hour of need.
Faceless and unknown,
A phantom in our midst,
In flames the countless victims,
A loved one's parting kiss.
Though these lepers of conscience,
Are humans of a sort,
They partake of no humanity,
Whose ways they seek to thwart.
Two towers standing proud and tall,
Now rubble and debris,
Two towers burning where they fell,
A true monstrosity.
A Day At The Office
S.L. MacNiven
Light…air…breath…pain…being…
Hunger…breast…heartbeat…face…
Warmth…near…object…seeing…
Here…there…mother…space…
Crawling…standing…walking…
Succeeding…failing…talking…
A rubber duck…my teddy bear…
Grandpa’s clock…Papa’s hair…
Kindergarten…teachers…school…
Friends and foes…kings and fools…
First kiss…first night…graduation…
Kiss the bride…congratulations…
Work…love…restaurants…
Her perfume…lips…eyes…dress…
Ballroom dancing…elegance…
Pregnancy…work…stress…
Miracle…son…fatherhood…
Building house…bricks…wood…
Work…promotion…pregnancy…
Miracle…daughter…wife…doubt…
Arguments…transfer…money…
Summer…farmers…unions…drought…
Near divorce…marriage…save…
Work…office…time…slave…
Reconciliation…love…
New job…Manhattan…towers…
Brother’s wedding…clouds above…
Fall of Russian super power…
Tower…danger…all O.K.
Raise…promotion…Christmas pay…
Son at Uni…college…daughter…
Holiday…wife…beach…
Candlelight…Hilton…porter…
Barbeque…garden…peach…
Telephone…office…strife…
Coffee…kiss…sleeping…wife…
Traffic…cabs…morning mist…
Carpark…lobby…lift…Irene…
Paperwork…priorities list…
Lorries…ferries…development team…
Silence…screams…madness…plane…
Light…air…breath…pain…
On one September day
W. Wright
Ma, is that a fog across the way?
It blocks my view of the south skyline.
Ma, is it smoke on this bright day?
That takes away the morn's sunshine.
Yes, my son it is smoke of fire
that burns in bowels of that great tower.
A testament to some demented desire
to see a great people huddle and cower.
Ma, will it get us here across the way?
Will the water stop the heat and flame?
Can I play outside like yesterday?
Until the fury of the madmen came.
Son, you must know the flames are here
searing our mind and burning our heart.
And when the smoke begins to clear
we will still be one and never apart.
We come from a world torn asunder
Chew Kwee Tat
We come from a world torn asunder
a mere clasp holds it together
click, bang, we stop to shudder
brethren .... bloody murder
hate, bodies smolder
suicide bomber
a martyr?
never
We come from a world torn asunder.
The Unbearable Answer Fang Yuan
Chew Kwee Tat
Blockage is the worst torture
To feel pain is better
Than to never know
What lies behind the purpose
Of existence itself
Although that answer
Is hidden too well
For mortal lives to find
A silent answer awaits
Behind and before
Standing by the side
Watching carefully
Waiting for the last moment
To seize the time
To shatter it
To take away
All knowledge
But the emptiness
The unbearable answer.
Mortal taste
Maria Claudia Faverio
The mortal taste of this evening,
cracked faith,
meeting place of bones
under sallow moon,
is an invitation to challenge
the peculiarity of destiny,
to throw off the dark
like a bad habit
or an old diary
smeared by the frantic hand
of time.
Dead stars outwit
the tense stringency of reason,
drunken clowns
in half-crazed absorption,
hugging their light
like a broken toy.
They are transparent with hunger
and strangled desire,
unheard,
unloved.
The watery theatre of the mind
dissolves
under their slanting light.
They govern the life of the sleepless.
Behind the mask
Maria Claudia Faverio
Blank eyes
behind Greek mask,
eyes staring at hands
petrified
by the beauty of necessity,
composed hands,
hands that beg no more.
Pegasus has folded his wings,
quietly,
serene as faith.
The pen lies on the desk
like a smile,
tired, untouched.
These tiny hands
are white roses
among black orchids,
splendid outsiders.
Pegasus doesn't need to fly
because he has reached the top.
Eternity
Maria Claudia Faverio
Behind the unhaloed visage of void,
eternity shapes itself
like a madrigal,
flaming down onto the tedium of life.
Entropy
Maria Claudia Faverio
In the sunless empire of chaos,
man the spider
weaves sticky intrigues,
dark lies like topping on ice-cream.
Cunning smile of entropy,
threads tear
under the lurching load of life,
motionless marionettes
on mossy ground
soaked with black rain.
Shadows leave Plato's cave,
dazzled by the outburst of light
crawl back
into the cuddling darkness
of unawareness,
fanning veil of deception
hiding hermetic culls of blue.
Scrolls of unknown
in crevices of judgment,
hand tries to seize,
gets caught in sibylline claws.
The skeletal equations of the mind
didn't prove right,
tokens of self drown
in ocean of numbers
fierce as lion's roar.
Seamless patterns of rational,
fabrics wear out
under the sharp talons of time,
scraps of memories
like jetsam on winter shore,
pallid smile
of listless sun.
Three Haiku
Maria Claudia Faverio
XL.
Seed will soon be bud,
bud will be flower in time,
withered petals.
CLXXI.
Suddenly, the void
galloped into my mind
like a shooting star.
CXC.
Chaos of stars fades
to the catch of a sad song,
cold winter morning.
Grey Wanderer
Joshua Bascom
Ducking under
the rain drops,
drifting,
a cloaked figure,
to a hidden tryst,
pushes on.
The second hand rotates,
reeling him on,
past midnight, through puddles,
jostling the moon,
a mirrored pearl without oyster,
tumbling, fluorescent,
a sage in a wasteland,
illuminating the shallow.
Of Pawns and Kings
Joshua Bascom
'I'm as good as the King!'
His Pawn was heard to cry.
'I might even kill a queen,
Moving one space at a tiAIEE!'
'Muh. Ti-MUH,'
The Knight finished the Pawn,
Watching the queen kill it,
Pedantically giving a yawn.
The Bishop cursed the Knight,
The Castle toppled on both,
The Queen went striding o'er,
Retroussed nose, she quoth:
'Trivial, meddling fools,
In matter of royalty!
Efficaciously I will protect,
My husband and my King.'
In vain, in front of the King,
She stepped and looked about,
Saw the opponents dutiful,
Positioned for a rout.
Afar and on both sides,
Two bishops stood, austere,
Straight ahead: two rooks,
Hiding in the rear.
One space front and left,
A pawn she saw too late,
Slew her and stepped forward,
Bowed to King, and spake,
'Checkmate.'
Riddle-Tee-Hee
Joshua Bascom
E Pluribus Unum1
i await customers at the counter in the cleaners,
twiddling my thoughts of the haze outside.
it clings to the crowds, ensuring indistinction,
a visual din of a peoples unified.
twiddle one: it's simpler to deal with a crowd,
to loft aloof, unconcerned, in the sky;
twiddle two: i can't love a haze, can i?
twiddle three is twiddle one, and so on and on.
twiddle dee, tweedle dee, tweedle dum,
twiddle thumbs and look at the Obscurity outside.
i do not recognize the woman on the sidewalk,
as i gaze out the window of the store where i work.
i flick my glance away, though my eyes could hardly miss,
the beauty which i pray will grace our humble shop.
i don't look again, i retain integrity,
remain unimpressed with the face i just saw.
but Lo! She approaches and i can't believe my luck,
for her nearing, it entitles me to a second look,
at her face,
oh my goddess
i recognize the face,
so i keep my glance steady on the eyes of the miss,
whom i know as Amanda of the Looks.
Looks far surpassing all else i've yet seen,
Her smile lights mine like a cigarette,
As i airily dream of kissing it.
Her fluid, regal figure drives me insane,
To think of a suave, apt compliment,
No words will do, i am silent.
She is silent as well,
Surely not for the same reason as i?
"So, what's up?" She says, and as we chat for a while,
In my mind i gather rosebuds with my ragged claws.
Out slips a grin, to my chagrin; i don't like it;
According to my style, i stifle it.
She's turned, so She doesn't notice it.
We talk of many things, til the time is come,
And she has to leave, "Well, thanks for dropping by,"
i say, as She goes, her back fading away,
Into Obscurity, out on the sidewalk;
i divert my glance; i refuse to gawk.
She came to visit me, but
i must be nonchalant; i must be debonair.
She came to see me, oh, riddle-tee-hee,
She came to see me, eat that, Obscurity.
1: Out of many, one.
To My Queen
Joshua Bascom
When the moon is a ball that floats in the dome,
Of the glossy enamel painted to the sky,
Whose midnight blue bespeckled with chrome,
Persuades me that to pay a stroll is a good buy;
When the climes are cloudless, I can see,
The lace of the leaves, in shadow and bright,
Like the frills on your dress, on your silver sleeve,
You wore your heart out, pining in moonlight.
When the frills are tattered, I can see,
How pure and how deep and how great is your love.
And your eyes, like the stars, lead me to see,
How pure and how deep and how great is your love.
Oh, how hard to pine for a vague dream.
You, imaginary, but a queen.
The Visitor
Joshua Bascom
"I'm mad. You're mad...You must be," said the Cat,
"or you wouldn't have
come
here."1
I visited the emergency room once:
After fainting next to a mirror,
Looking in it for you
The shrink there said
It was a panic attack.
That ancient, pale doctor
Said that I was fine.
He handed me my heavy coat,
For the cold outside,
Snickering, "It won't be long,
Until it's warmer than you would like.
Now, stop looking for 'love' in a mirror,
Or you'll have to see me again."
His grin as broad as a sickle,
They vex my balance,
These panic attacks,
But I'm doing it again,
The warnings forgotten,
The doctor vanished,
But for his grin.
Looking at the mirror,
Eyes dark, like the water
Of a lonely bay at night,
Smothering treasure,
Memories I need to find,
Under a rotted dock,
Where a lone vagabond
Holds one sonorous note on a saxophone,
Like I hold your memory.
Looking at the mirror
Through my eyes,
The grin appears, as always,
As broad as a cat's,
Followed by the rest of him,
Pale, ancient, cold,
Hand takes my coat,
For good this time;
I can't stand it.
I collapse and look up,
His snickering dark lips,
Shaped in the grin which remains,
Some time after the rest,
Of him is gone.
1: Alice in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll
Haiku
Michael Zerger
September's debris
raining down like judgement's tears
paper flesh and ash
Poem
Michael Zerger
By mark and click, Grandfather ticks
the sands of the glass run slick.
Beat by beat, the heart keeps pace
and calendars count our days
By tick or by breath or by event
we mark in a thousand ways
we note and count and celebrate
but can't extend our days.
Gideon
Michael Zerger
Who speaks for Gideon, whose passing is not mourned?
A man of no great talent, the man was not well-born.
He sprang up from the dust, in this he had no choice
returned now to the dust, again he had no voice.
His hands have built no cities, we do not sing his songs
Unburdened by great faculty, faceless in the throngs.
His speech did not enoble, he left nothing to inspire
Nothing was of Gideon of which we should desire.
Who speaks of Gideon, of great deeds never done?
In whose memory does he burn now his final race is run?
A man whose days were filled with naught, and naught is what he
left
A man whose life and legacy of all note were bereft?
Whose words were not regarded, nor filled with airs or grace
His thoughts were dear to no one, no scholar was amazed
He had no chance at greatness, no greatness was in him
his purpose and his drive were little more than whim
I'll write one time of Gideon, a nonce that won't be read.
Like a billion billion others, he was born, he lived, he's dead.
His life was dull and fleeting, his step has left no trace.
I’ll speak no ill of Gideon, a member of my race.
Windows On The World
Paul Nachbar
Some twenty years ago with friends I now don't see
I escalated to those massive silver heights
And perching there we had a fine and pleasant meal
While gaping broadly at the miles of city lights;
But now this place is broken heaps of ash and slag
Sad relic of a hatred's fearsome blow
These eyes, my sick soul's windows, peer through
shattered glass
I do no longer notice where I go
Here are we guilty or just misperceived,
A victim of our innocence or pride?
Proud Liberty stands torch-raised in the harbor near
A beacon of Idea across the sky
Awake, ye angry masses, tired pained and tired
Our strength here lies in our diversity
Pride Rid Parade
Andrew Ridge
ONE and only,
And peace needs more than one.
All lack your elements.
What shall I facilitate with?
Elements dilate pupils.
Elements savage pores.
Invading compounds. Pride. Rid. Parade.
Purify something better.
Ever yours.
With Charity
Andrew Ridge
A PRINCIPLED torrent of actions, words, and thoughts;
Unaccountable not one drop.
Must settle, bosomed, on Righteous Isle;
Lest be blown, diffuse, by the doomed East Wind.
Fascination: unt clear fire sign of woe -
A bearing of one's neck to any salient malinclination.
To bleed the abstraction of a phantom limb.
Yet still mine eyes are dry like an evil man’s.
Reactor core meltdown and the trucks roll in...
Hush the enclosure, quiet and still.
Thus, not one soul quite remembers the past...
Should a hand rest -
on the bunker containing the war -
Oh how radiantly warmed in answer,
to the trespass of before...
What Worth is Quick to
Wonder
Andrew Ridge
WHAT worth is quick to wonder, if the Lord hasn’t caught
one’s eye?
Machinations ‘twixt head and heart, “keep busy, lest we
die.”
Pound the bellows to our sin! (What is this Judas Kiss?).
To be given everything, to thank for nothing; ‘Ah, something
is amiss…’
Forgiveness I need, for which Thou didst bleed, was I remembered
to Thee?
Through tear-dashed eyes, by stripes, by night, was I grafted to
Thy tree.
Saved, unworthy! Saved, unworthy! Future eternal, of love, of
truth!
Not by science, nor report, nor fever, do I know; yea, the Lord!
His blesséd
proof.
Rainfall
Jonathan Wai
She asked me if I was going her way
So I said yes and went with her
My heart pulsed softly, then faded
As the rain cascaded around us
Falling faintly, drowning reality
Transforming to form the shape of my heart
I could see my motivation facing me
And the rain felt like soft sunlight
Growing within me and finding refuge
Under the umbrella that we shared
I found the world contained in what I saw
And I knew loneliness would never find me here
The self
Jonathan Wai
I am sailing by myself today
On an ocean of dreams
Carried by the winds of the hereafter
And the tide of longing
For the wind that fills my sails
Reminds me of forgotten aisles
My mind once traversed
In the wake of tomorrow
Bound only by the waves
Of doubt and delinquent reason
That spray my soul with a soft mist
Coloring the canvass that is I
I see the shores of satisfaction
Through the glass walls
Of my wandering heart
And I know that I have lost myself
Poem #1
Jörgen Nordström
I am found in open landscapes
flat, deserted places
where the winds blow
keeping the smoke from sticking in my eyes
the pungent smoke from fires
that people make at night
to keep the darkness away
Poem #2
Jörgen Nordström
with the feeling that everything was past
that you had gambled away every chance
you leaned over the sill
exhaled a bluish toxin
that was caught by the wind
maliciously howling
away down the sleeping alley
down to the park, through the foliage
that trembled with delight
Poem #3
Jörgen Nordström
waking up, frightened
through the weak haze of the moon
and the stars
naked aspens and maples were black, waving cracks
on the night cinema sky
Poem #4
Jörgen Nordström
dirty shop windows
animated stains of light
looking through the polarized glass
of my minds' shades
I could see what was going on behind the panes
lay figures, frozen
in every motion people had denied
and stopped within themselves
Poem #5
Jörgen Nordström
it must have been a voice calling me
someone knowing why it was necessary
why else was I in such a hurry
there
where I was arching
where I began the journey toward my face
where I suddenly existed
in a hard, tangible way
Poem #6
Jörgen Nordström
1.26 a.m.
you are not here
and though your absence is conspicuous
the room seems darker
as if you were stealing oxygen from my fire
though you are breathing
beyond reach
Poem #7
Jörgen Nordström
the constant rush of the ocean
whispering an unbreakable promise
of transiency
still, beyond the white mocking grin of the sea
I can see eternity enclosed in every moment
betrayed by the cavities
in the sweeping steel gray quilt
of the shy winter sun
Poem #8
Jörgen Nordström
in the soft starlight
that made its way to the bedroom
you could barely discern
the girl with the innocent eyes
who had been huddling up
as if to cover a perpetual, and all pervading
bad impression
Poem #9
Jörgen Nordström
there was a time
when even the faint distant stars
generated enough light
for you to navigate by them
over the vast ocean
of your existence
Poem #10
Jörgen Nordström
when they opened her chest
what they found at first was a cold
and empty hall
but when they looked closer they discovered
microscopical tracks
on the ash covered floor
leading in to a burnt down chamber
and the remains of a heart shaped body
carbonized by the fire
the very same fire
she must have come to put out
Poem #11
Jörgen Nordström
damaged like yourself
the promise that you gave me
was like a sprawling black feather in my hand
and once again you reminded me
of a wounded bird
struggling with a ground
that wouldn't let go
you reminded me
of a nocturnal animal
helplessly wounded
unable to end the suffering
by its own hands
Poem #12
Jörgen Nordström
never saw her coming
chained to the inland parts of my kingdom
I only caught a glimpse of a shadow
felt the soft breath of air
as she cupped her hands at my ear
and let me hear the ocean
Poem #13
Jörgen Nordström
in the echo of my steps
that subsided down empty streets
I thought I could hear the menacing sound
of a creeping predator
as the first morning light
silently erased the stars
almost one by one
Poem #14
Jörgen Nordström
the Mystery came to me
more puzzling than ever
and while summer stripped down
dropped her green dress on the ground
I surrendered
as I was laying back in that dark room
it suddenly was clear to me
as clear as the breathing glow
eating its way toward my bony nicotine fingers
as long as the dogs are out there
the quarry will keep running
I would have to summon them together
tie them up, and leave them
straining at the leash
with an itching scent of prey
in their noses
Poem #15
Jörgen Nordström
under cover of darkness
they ventured to appear
the pale and fragile thoughts
of what could never be
silently sweeping
over the bedroom floor
like a nocturnal mist
on a calm sea
they would gather round my bed at night
like guardian angels
as if to protect me
protect me from my own thoughts
harmful violent thoughts
nourished and satisfied
by yet another day in the world
and they would stand close
as close as can be
and they would listen intently
into my head
ready to sacrifice themselves
and move even closer
Poem #16
Jörgen Nordström
as I pulled the collar
of my black quilted jacket
I noticed that the chill autumn wind
was on my side
almost appointed it threw itself into
aspens turning yellow
caused a rustling sound heard above the noise
from people doing what they
think they have to do
just to survive
survive in a world
that was sentenced to death
a long time ago
