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Contents: Poetry
On A Cold Autumn Afternoon by
S.L. MacNiven
Billy Bob by Larry Gowdy
Academia Overture by Paul Stuart Nachbar
What Price Do I Pay? by Greg A. Grove
Song Of The Rubicon by F. Elliot Siemon
Psychological Sonnet by Paul Stuart Nachbar
Mood Smellers by Barry Christopher Howard
Standing by Quinn Tyler Jackson
Valentine's
Day Emergency Poem by
Paul Stuart Nachbar
A Subject's Musings
by S.L. MacNiven
Business Proposition by Paul Stuart Nachbar
A Sad Day On Bedford Road by F. Elliot Siemon
Rushing
Wind by Barry Christopher Howard
Love Could Not Find A Better Portal by James DiVietri
In Search Of Tangible Chaos by
Kevin Bullock
Efforts by C.L. Frost
Insulation by C.L. Frost
Of The
Glorious Race BetweenThe Tachyon And
The
Tortoise And Its Surprising Conclusion by
Paul Stuart Nachbar
On A Cold Autumn Afternoon - by S.L. MacNiven
I
drink now the barley’s boon,
As dims this rainy afternoon,
The fields outside lie wet and cold,
The Summer’s Sun no longer bold...
But warm the barley’s welcome brand,
Soft the polished glass in hand,
That like the heads of Autumn wheat,
Holds a dusky gold so sweet...
Of moss and heather bathed in mist,
Those crystal springs the heart has kissed,
The tears we’ve shed, the moment’s pain,
The joy we sought to hold in vain...
But full the strains of passion piped,
‘Pon the winds in history’s flight,
Across the moors and rolling hills,
Within the barley’s juice distilled...
I’ll drink again and think of thee,
The humour of our dignity,
That holds our joys and our sorrows,
Our yesterdays, and our tomorrows...
The afternoon has swiftly passed,
The Earth has turned, the moon is masked,
The dusky grey’s a chilly coal,
Church bells in the distance toll...
Life it seems slows for a while,
Imposes us to change our style,
To hold the seasons for their worth,
Endure these colder times with mirth...
The world however’s not to change,
For all we seek to rearrange,
And though we struggle all so surely,
Peace
lies in the golden barley...
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Song Of The Rubicon - by F. Elliot Siemon
It is a greeting card mounted
on a large tile and covered in plastic.
A plaque it is meant to be.
In colourful calligraphy, done by brush, it says:
A Friend knows the song of my heart
And sings it to me
When I lose my way.
We are not all successful business people,
We are not all rolling in discretionary funds,
We are not all the most exquisite writers the world has ever seen,
We are not G*d's guift to mankind,
We are not the most compassionate of poets.
We are not the most empathetic humanists, either.
But being a diverse and resourceful lot
We have found each other here on this new medium,
Perhaps to find out who we really are,
To explore poetic minds and hearts
And maybe, offer some amusement,
Or perhaps, even be amused.
All, can not be pleased all the time...
We can not all be titillated by the words of strangers,
This is not Playland, nor Six Flags, nor Disney World.
This is the Brave New World,
This is a Think Tank of poetic muster,
A Happening, in quiet expectation.
Yet the Rubicon of oblivion awaits all of us,
A few keystrokes and we age gone,
To sulk, to distance oneself from rough hewn cohorts,
Because this ain't cool enough for the coolest,
Exclusive enough for some posh mind,
Or maybe not poetic enough...
One can only suggest that we should see...
Tone along with color and character along with looks;
Spirituality along with dogma and culture along with origin.
It is a small world, and getting smaller.
And if Genius can't stand its brothers,
There is no song we can sing...
A Subject's Musings - by S.L. MacNiven
“I
am” said I and suddenly,
The world appeared definably,
With black and white and shades between,
Whereby the city’s lights did gleam
And shine as if rare jewels so bright,
Twinkling with a misty light,
The moment thus myself defining
Countless thoughts began entwining
Binding to one common kern,
That caused my mind for more to yearn…
“I
am” said I but what indeed?
The saxophone or just the reed,
Or both, or all, or nothing more
Than dewdrops ‘pon a grassy floor,
The beam of light that gently falls,
Upon the dust that once recalls
And heaves the past well into view,
Before it settles, bids adieu,
And you, not I are next akin
To that which I call my own skin…
“You
are” said I and did not err,
As my mind did gently stir,
And contemplate this recognition,
Stranger than the strangest fiction,
Outside this world I call my own
Live others too of flesh and bone,
And you, the one I love and hold,
Are you too from my world controlled?
Bold indeed the very thought,
Fled as quickly as ‘twas caught…
“You
are” said I, “but not myself”,
Which is for me the first true wealth,
For wealth is that which we are not,
Whose memory shall never rot,
And wealth is more than gold or fame,
Or any other Earthly name,
It is the mirror whose perfection,
Leads us to our own reflection,
Or deception, oft ‘tis true,
But for both there’s always you…
“They
are” said I and gazed around,
Dazzled by there their motley sound,
And counted faces till I fainted,
On the park bench freshly painted,
Whereby the vision disappeared,
And left me all that I had feared,
For “Being”, as ‘twas clear to see,
Did not belong alone to me,
The tree of life - multifarious,
Poised and upon a cliff precarious…
“They
are” said I, as I am too,
Worlds that see the hours through,
And count the minutes as the pass,
They’re not the first, they’re not the last,
But of the self that I directly,
Cannot hope to see correctly,
They, in their very special art,
Each reflect a priceless part,
And start the will to then uncover,
Our reliance ‘pon each “Other”…
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A Sad Day On Bedford Road - by F. Elliot Siemon
It was there when the first settlers cut
the old trail we now call Bedford Road;
Then perhaps just a sprig besides the rut
that buckboards, carriages and Conestoga erode.
Bundled travelers needing a warm bath
shuffled by through drifts of blizzard white,
not noticing the oak back a bit off the path,
a future famous tree awaiting Summer's light.
Barely noticed for hundreds of years,
it was just another tree, and no one's care.
Then, cars and trucks going through the gears
replaced the teams of gelding and mare.
Broad porches and lawns of urban delight,
picket fences; baby buggy brigade!
By the library, Great Oak Lane turn right,
under cool shade from a canopy of jade...
Little wonder about its ultimate demise.
To blizzards and storms impervious, it seemed.
Through nature's wrath and man's destructive guise;
a future bright, immortality surely deemed...
But, in Fall of Ninety Nine there came a day....
with wind and rain from morning 'til night.
In all, about thirteen inches, they say:
El Nino's effect and a hurricane's blight,
brought traffic to a halt with disbelief.
How and why it could possibly happen?
Men with chain saws praying for relief
dismembered its remains to thunder's clappin'...
Sadly, a symbol of life's strength is now gone,
and what it would take to fill that void,
are three or four, long- millennium's dawn,
'cause the might oak fell...
to a mere moment - named Floyd.
Standing - by Quinn Tyler Jackson
Standing on the cool cellar lips of angst
Having rolled to reach the epitome
Of half-achieved, ill-conceived
agony.
Bones hurt, feel the crushing deep down amongst
The soul cellar ratskellar conjuncts.
Over the top! Here in Gallipoli
Mine. Over the top! Sings Calliope
With smooth lyre, Pan-flute at her lips. First
I listen, then nod, half-awake at most.
The mold kiss rises from where the stairs lead,
Filling my head with visions of wet wood.
Just pull myself over, nailed to the past
And watch the cool river where my thoughts bleed:
Over the top to do what my Muse should.
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Mood Smellers - by Barry Christopher Howard
Crisp sub-zero mornings of youth
Did me right for a moment
Relived again one-thousand new morns
Seared on my unmoderated mood list
Old classrooms wafting ancient delights
Scents I can't quite secure
Shake my soul, close my eyes,
Etched on the subregions of old lobes
Complex compounds I never named
Teasing me with Deja Vu
Calling me away for deep seconds
Prodding me toward nowhere I can go
Pain and pleasure of love gained and lost
No season safe from a sniff
Nor memory too sacred to hide
From Pandora's powerful sense
Two wicked orifices
Mood Sirens
Beckoning me somewhere I knew once
To long for unappreciated days lost
Woe is me
Slave to the Mood Smellers
So be it
Remind me again of my passion
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Valentine's Day Emergency Poem - by Paul
Nachbar
Read
this, read all, read all of it
Well only if you care
Wherever you have well-trodden
I probably was there.
I
enter here Saint Valentine
Perhaps though not as stooped
Yes, trace all things quite asinine
Behind a god named Cupid.
I
am a minor particle
Have lived long in the heart
Of everyone who treads this globe
Since history did start.
Each
year you take a guided tour
But don’t think you’re a tourist
So tell someone you love them so
Perhaps too dial a florist?
Oh
there are things in human hearts
One wouldn’t’ want to know
Though some have turned to darker arts
Because alas it’s so.
I
wager this with all that’s dear
Below, besides, above
The brave and those who tread with fear
Though all do speak of love.
Beware,
beware of everything
Invade his forest - fear each King
And then perhaps you’ll someday sing
Or else, well, just imagining....
Beware,
don’t fear, imagining
Though maybe question orders
That silence all good questioning
In all your sons and daughters.
And
so I hope to in this art
To celebrate all year
Love’s conquering the evil heart
For each know
love and fear.
Before I think you question much
Perhaps before you start
In average, slow, or swiftest one
Some evil in thine heart.
And
then I guess you can just go
And love each different brother
You love each in their proper way
For you are like no other..
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Academia
Overture - by Paul Stuart Nachbar
the day our professors stopped professing
on the theory to be sure that another dose of learning
given or taken would kill the patient dead
was an admirable event.
i was warned upon grave penalty not to inform a soul of it
so i'm only telling you:
i saw our graph-man dr more
(advisor to despots, advocate of the machine)
embrace in tears one aged socialist
(gentle subversive, target of investigations)
and dorothy grim, ibided everywhere for the "eye of eliot"
(sly tattler on the private lives of writers)
swooned before the resident poet's lovestruck gaze
as historians fled centuries past to welcome the warm air.
when dr helmz, our savant of minutest spaces
(under hush-hush contract with the pentagon)
affirming global ignorance began to play his flute
the rest in academic robes or none at all
did joyful dances on the baseball field
before declaring to dean swift, we've had enough, we quit.
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Rushing Wind - by Barry Christopher Howard
Faster blows the wind these nights
Racing by my collective being
Forcing me to perceive smaller, smaller
And ever smaller chunks of moments
Chronos guideposts whiz by like dragons
Shortened summers, once endless,
Unsweetened by moving frames
Seem fleeting in the relativity
Rip Van Winkle when I sleep
Dorian Gray in my waking hours
Nothing slows the frantic pace
The tempo of this violent breeze
Rushing wind shorten your steps!
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What Price Do I Pay? - by Greg A. Grove
What price do I pay
When sharing
Soul with beauty,
Music, art?
What price do I pay
When divulging
Dreams unexplained
And unexplored?
What price do I pay
When life surges
Through body and spirit
Giving breath to joy?
The price is too great
The pain, too near
The distance, too far
The joy--mine and mine alone
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Business Proposition - by Paul Stuart Nachbar
Amid the crabgrass, ragweed, burrs,
The crabapples, poison ivy and the ferns,
The robins, raucous crows,
The native cats and dogs
Or those which trespass;
The squirrels, the chipmunks,
Nasty flying insect creatures
Without some ordinary name
The ants and, spiders, the lady bugs, the bees
And of course the human neighbors too
Doing for good and for bad
The things that all these neighbors do
I also indicate the purple lilacs
Lovely in their earliest bloom-
Although no word describes
These tender odors….
Or the collage of sounds
And dream about
A Theatre of Everything
Upon a matchbox stage.
Well, wouldn’t you?
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In Search Of Tangible Chaos - by Kevin Bullock
What thinking erupts from this mind of mine
That causes me to see and yet be blind?
So many solutions are revealed within
But to speak of these, from where do I begin?
What can cause deep, intangible thought
To assume concreteness as I have sought?
Often I wonder if I am insane
Or am I a genius
Or are they the same?
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Insulation - by C.L. Frost
Who really wants to know about problems elsewhere
When here we have problems enough: Stinking subways,
Pistols aimed erratically, cars stolen away
Like dawn fog? We'll listen but, probably, not care -
Instead just fortify our bastion, watch brick be laid
On brick; chrome walls dome higher and higher
Until clouds nuzzle office window panes
And skyscraper spires converge towards the sky's center
Metal beams reflecting neon like snapped rainbows.
Then, with our brick walls higher than ever
And sky slatted by the tapering tips of steel towers,
We'll murmur, at last safe, in the man-made womb
Of our fortified city, our reassuring concrete cocoon
Or cage that keeps all outside troubles out for good,
Even beyond hearing: No insult, but insulation's
Better than jabbing drafts from howling other places.
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Efforts - by C.L. Frost
Embroider shawls for the gods when the gods have all died;
Compose songs for the angels when the angels, so hoary,
Have turned deaf, strum melodies by memory and often off-key;
Paint rainbow-skies for bare cloud-gazers only to find
That those with upturned faces want only to tan their hides
While cockles, cupped over their eyes, render them blind.
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Psychological Sonnet - by Paul Stuart Nachbar
Who on this earth has not his dirty laundry?
Who is to say that mine's beyond compare?
I find myself befuddled, in a quandry
And think of sins which are and aren't there.
For yesterday I had put on a dress shirt
Despite this May's precocious summer's heat
I couldn't find a single blasted T-shirt!
And all could see I'd sunk to dark defeat;
For I was far too lazy with my laundry
Which rises like the Alps beyond my bed-
I think today I'll wash some of this mountain
Or maybe I shall take a nap instead...?
Perhaps it's such with every human madness
The line is thin between the joy and sadness.
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Billy Bob - by Larry Gowdy
Billy Bob is a new employee,
He had special Army training you know.
He can spout dogmas insanely,
He can flex his one long eyebrow just so,
He thinks telephones run on 120 volts AC.
Billy Bob is an Army specialist,
He thinks tripping breakers will fix anything.
At new construction with wires in a rat's nest,
He flips breakers while believing it will make the telephone ring.
Boom! Billy Bob pauses as sparks rain like a mist.
Billy Bob is college educated you know.
He has the wrong answer to everything you could imagine,
He's just as smart as Larry, Curly, and Moe.
Billy Bob's breath could fuel an engine,
Vroom! He makes our faces emit a green glow.
All the color codes he holds in his mind's hollow pit,
Billy Bob is an electronics expert rare to find,
Being color blind doesn't phase him a bit.
Billy Bob is subdued of mind...
Even huge blunders don't make him say "Oh spit!".
Billy Bob is a helper I did not seek,
For every day he pretends to work,
I get further behind by a week.
Tomorrow again he will stand and lurk,
Not even smart enough to be called a geek.
Billy Bob is college educated to a Ph.D.,
Billy Bob's diploma we all got to see.
Billy Bob was Army trained to be all he could be,
Billy Bob doesn't think 300 yards possible for a .223,
Billy Bob is our new employee.
Weeee!
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Love Could Not Find A Better Portal -
by James DiVietri
There is something the other knows
That keeps the other going
Pumps the other up
Brings life from decay of mind
Heals and anoints us with what we have received
From each other--and more.
Love could not find a better portal
To give me the truth of itself than you
To express that in words is a task
That only the silhouette of emotions
Through my poems can address
As one drop of water into an ocean
The ocean is love and we're adding to it.
We are love if we want to be
The ocean sings, we hear and answer
Then there is harmony
As our fragrances become one with its mist
As our drop in the ocean Becomes one with love.
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OF THE GLORIOUS RACE
BETWEEN THE TACHYON AND
THE TORTOISE AND
IT’S SURPRISING CONCLUSION
It was decided in
the Tortoise Court
That in the interests of Royal Sport
There should be held a Noble Race
Among the many youngsters of the Place
To see, or put the knowledge to the test
Who of all the generation was the best.
It was decided in
the Tortoise Court
That in the interests of Royal Sport
The winner of this competition
Would reap all honors of Tradition
And is his character held true
Would serve to lead the young ones too.
Five million
turtles they competed
And most, alas, were just defeated
Though, I would say, despite some rumor
That gain and loss were met with humor;
At last, two tortoises remained
Of all who had to Virtue pained.
The first was
John, and most expected
Quite famous in the tortoise places
And one almost always elected
By all the smiles on tortoise faces
Though some who’d known him from his school
Had rumored that he could be cruel.
The second well,
was just a lad
By some thought “good”, by others “bad”
By most just lazy in the battle
To divvy up the tortoise chattel:
But he was second in these races
Despite his past of mild disgraces.
Well, judges they
are human too
Though each will have a point of view:
You couldn’t just disqualify
This young one who had gotten by...
Despite his lack of tortoise dues
Besides - of course - he’d simple lose...
“What is your
name?” inquired a Judge
“It sounds..well...somewhat different...”
The tortoise said, with just a smudge
Upon his face, “They call me Tachyon sir”;
“The name is odd, son -what does it mean?”
“Well nothing you or I have seen-“
And then p erceiving the displeasure
Upon the older turtles features:
“A nickname sir, when I was small
And meaning nothing much at all.”
With pomp and with
much circumstance
The Noble Course was soon decided-
From Mexico to Southern France
And all God’s creatures were invited-
And lest this course should fairness lack
The tortoises would race right back.
A thousand million creatures then
Bought tickets for this chance of chances
What man would be the better man?
Along the route, there would be dances,
Fireworks, carnivals, and buffet dinners
For all who’d guess at future winners.
Till finally
things were simply started
Both turtles waiting in their places
For signals of the fiery kind
Which oft begin such Noble Races:
“Say, friend,” said John, “you might make France,
Beyond that you don’t stand a chance!”
“I know” smiled Tachyon, “I might lose:
Somehow in life one pays one’s dues!
It’s clear that you’ve done very well-
Perhaps I need a bit of hell?
So go on fella, I will follow
And somehow my sad pride will swallow.”
At hearing this,
John simply smiled
Then turned to humor somewhat mild:
“They said to me that you were mad
And though I thought this fairly sad
I said here goes an easy race
And I shalt leave thee in disgrace!”
But
seeing then as folks do lie
You are a fairly pleasant guy:
Yes, you will lose - yes you do know.
I think I might even go slow
Or perhaps in victory be gentle-
Odd that I’m this time sentimental!”
The race was on,
the tortoises
Crawled, ran, hop, swam, leapt unerring
All this time just filled with daring:
John ahead, by several places
Sometimes Tachyon, by the same
For both of them, a simple game.
“Hey Tachyon” cried the further tortoise
In a soon-familiar chorus:
“You look quite sick, are you all right?
I’ll beat you easily this night!!
It isn’t that I really care-
But sometimes you don’t seem quite there.”
“Oh John, you
are , well, quite perceptive
I don’t intend to be deceptive
But will tell you, as I crawl..
I really wasn’t THERE at all!”
“Oh nonsense, friend...you are quite clever
But victory? For you that’s NEVER.”
Much of the same
went to and fro
As brothers they did somehow go
Across this route quite rigorous
For even the most vigorous
And John would say “Why do you fall?
I know, I know - you weren’t there at all...”
And then “I do
not understand:
Here had you easily command
-Of such and such a single course-
“If I were you, then I would force
Some rapid form of victory”
But Tachyon said, “Well, we shall see...”
And then when race was almost done
And John was
positive he’d won
He turned to Tachyon lagging back
And said, “It’s not , friend that you lack:
You simply simply aren’t competing
Perhaps some thoughts are just defeating...”
“Oh no, “
laughed Tachyon now rather merry
“There is a reason ordinary:
Well, I was mainly merely thinking:
Go on, go on, just claim your prizes!”
Said John” You forfeited the pot
My friend - for thought is free and life is not!”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The years they
passed - John was the ruler
Of a vast good tortoise kingdom
And though he had become much kinder
Life itself seemed far, far crueler
To poor Tachyon, now remembered
As one of those who could have, should have,
Of reputation much dismembered.
“Say Tachyon”,
cried John to the fellow
“You seem most days well, sad or mellow
But just stay in your feeble traces
Do not you long for other places?
You have become, it seems, a debtor
And I am sure you could do better!”
‘Well John”
smiled Tachyon, “I’m still thinking...”
“I am surprised you aren’t DRINKING-
What can one, can one ever do
With tortoises the likes of you?”
“Well John, my case is sort of odd
And you are many, we are few!”
“Again, my
friend, the same old nonsense!
You could have won, had you, well, my sense
Of what is, just, well, practical:
And you were merely fanciful!”
“Well John, I am well...just debating....
Of course it seems like futile waiting.”
Now John was
gentle with this duffer
But things in turtle-land grew tougher
And all was ruled by Noble Races
And now there was no longer humor
But ‘neath the peace was constant rumor
Of so and so simply defeating
The virtuous, by simply cheating.
And though the
land was filled with money
Almost gone was all pure honey
For all the folks were simply working
And then when any were caught shirking
They were adjusted for ‘behaviors’
Or shouted at to pray to
‘saviors’
To help them through expected labors.
And Tachyon, he,
now seemed a sinner
Who would not break his back for dinner
And John with tears of honest grieving
Could not but think him just deceiving
And put him in a house with double
Locks against all who’d be trouble.
So Tachyon stayed
beyond the border
Of all that could cause grave disorder
And John, himself, did not ignore him
Though he somewhat did abhor him:
“How could you simply just not care!
Tachyon replied, “ I wasn’t there-
My friend, I simply wasn’t there.”
Then through
process long and steady
Tachyon found himself just ready
To repeat what he’d been thinking,
And the notions he’d been linking:
“Tachyon, you’re a USEFUL fellow”
Cried King John, “once merely messy
Social jello”.
“Now, my
boy, we sure could use you
And this time we won’t abuse you:
You can get
a great position
You are high above division!.
Though, indeed, I have some questions
Please, my friend, I seek confessions!”
“We were racing,
you were thinking,
That was odd, now it is useful-
That was useless, now it’s juiceful:
Now is time to serve your country!
Now’s the time to DEEPLY care!”
“John, my friend, I wasn’t there...”
“See there, John, yon distant mountain
With a smallish bush upon it?
Watch me race then to the summit-
I shall try to walk quite slowly”
In a flash like blinking lightening
Tachyon came with what he’d promised.
“As I said, I
always care
But I wasn’t quite all there:
You just saw the intersection
Of my form and an intention:
While you’d run in one direction
I’d been in a thousand places.”
“ I have been a
million million
Miles beyond your largest planning:
I have seen a billion billion
Places you had been ignoring
In my mind I had been scanning
All that you had been destroying
Standing in the way of progress
All you had termed sentimental.”
“You have been a
proper leader
Though perhaps also just misleading...:
Perhaps a good man in his fashion
Certainly a bit too greedy..
Some are wealthy, all are needy.
Manage you your fine small realm!
I am the ONE behind the healm.-
As always, you can take your credit,
And do with it just as you want to..”
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