July 2009
VOL XVII, Issue 7, Number 195
Editor: Klaus J. Gerken
Production Editor: Heather Ferguson
European Editor: Mois Benarroch
Contributing Editors: Michael Collings; Jack R. Wesdorp; Oswald Le Winter
Previous Associate Editors: Igal Koshevoy; Evan Light; Pedro Sena
ISSN 1480-6401
INTRODUCTION
David Sparenberg
THE EMPTY CHAIR
CONTENTS
Christopher Barnes
Ideal Couple
Sultana
Makeshift Worsted Curtains
Mr & Mrs
High Riser
Arse-Smart*
Toby E. Baldwin
A Coming and a Gone
Michael H. Brownstein
WHO GIVES ONE PERSON THE CHOICE FOR ALL OF US?
THE BROKEN CONTRACT
SANDBURG'S Chicago REVISITED
Timothy Pilgrim
On guard
Peace offering
Pre-dawn vigil at Kootenai Medical Center
Seduced by metaphor
POST SCRIPTUM
Dmitry Palstainen
A Sonnet
David Sparenberg
THE EMPTY CHAIR
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The man in the empty chair had years since stopped playing games. He averted
his face from the play of children. Because of this, when his world collapsed,
there was no one there to welcome him, no other world to go to, no sequel to
the adventure of life.
Instead he sat day long in the empty chair. Not even beside the window. Where
he might watch the theater of natural changes, the slideshow of colors, the
patterned pilgrimage of entering and exiting light. No. He faced only the
blank wall, the mirror of his absent soul, while clock ticked. No question
arose. No flower of imagination blossomed.
He had before surrendered the possibilities of eternity--journey of ten thousand
dreams--for the monotony of oblivion. Having arrived at timelessness, adulthood,
at normalcy, the man Nietzsche warned creatures of spring to run from, denied
the reminders of death, the joy of adventure, the sorrow, beauty and solace of
memory.
He crossed the bridge of no return. He entered the Nowhere of nobodies, the
Nirvana of inertia, the Heaven of used furniture; sat in the empty chair and
waited, gray and voiceless--devoid of instinct and without a word--for the Day
of Ashes.
28 June 2009
Christopher Barnes
Ideal Couple
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Unblurred to one and all
Spoiled bodies
Ridden by each-word-a-blow tempers,
Thundering outhouse, porch and stairway.
When they're unlatched
Ringside seaters squinny.
He swigs hole-and-corner methadone
Backstage of bins
While she drags the truth of her face
Into see-red mania.
Sultana
~~~~~~~
(summer)
Narrowing the gap to his birthday suit
He worships Ra
Arms open to every radioactive wavelength
In the dusty sky.
(winter)
Chilblain-bound his grey haired body stands aghast
Humbled by five vein-knits of wool
Alighted, stooled at the gas radiator.
See his paper-moon curtains,
His lone safe-hope's a painted sun
Unwarming on the wall.
Makeshift Worsted Curtains
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Trodden-on, his tumble-and-toss heart
Pit-a-pats, scarring a garden-of-remembrance green rug.
"For your precious love,"
He plays with the food of a lyric.
The paunchful of Amitriptyline
He swilled in small hours
Melts down skin to grey.
Three hollow bottles of Spumante
Kill time self-possessed on a sill.
The fledging day goes end to end,
It's longest run.
Mr & Mrs
~~~~~~~~
Sue's hushed-up
In the back seat of nicotine-slur windows
Near a ready-for-bed fig marigold.
A spent-fires filament
Does nothing to sparkle her.
She's Munch's `Scream'
Crept into a corner.
*
Karl's unbuttoned,
Bed-hopping eye cocked.
Harmonies persuade his hips.
The Angel Inn's all piss and vinegar
But Vicki's going gilt-edged.
High Riser
~~~~~~~~~~
In offices opposite
Task sheet menials
Block print figures,
Keyed-up, deadpan.
In the window at number 26
Mr. Silly Season laps up they're surprisal,
Back seat acting.
He dramatises uncensored fairies
That are thou-shalt-notted.
In flagrante's knowing his place.
Eye contact and up-end brows
Are playing hard to get.
Arse-Smart*
~~~~~~~~~~
You're widely outposted
From home
Foxy as 007.
You heel-tail me in dockets,
Arsy-versying my exploits.
You've a spy-mania, tender -
Searching for a nanny
To shine on.
But every other day I'm wild-eyed,
Cubbish, unlicked.
*the smart weed, Collins Dictionary
Toby E. Baldwin
A Coming and a Gone
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A
Play
Characters:
Melina, a very old wife.
Roman, a very old husband.
Early fall
A kitchen and yard. There are birdfeeders hanging throughout the yard.
Act One
Melina appears (up right) coughing some and rubbing the back of her neck.
She is holding, against her chest, two large pickling jars of very green
beans. She begins laboriously braking down a large pile of dirty dishes.
She rubs her fingers and hisses, then reaches through the curtains above
the sink (right center) and closes the window that leads to the yard
(center to left).
Roman (left center) is carefully wading around the crisp yellow daisies
that surround a large oak tree (up left center). Melina can see him from
the kitchen window. He is holding a thin gray stick in the air like a
conductor chasing a stray note. He looks at his feet, and then taps a
full birdfeeder, which is hanging near the trunk of the oak tree, with
the stick.
Melina. Lord, move...Why don’t he move? Don't he use the sidewalk?
Roman. (tiptoeing around the flowers). I'll not break one stem of these
flowers.
Roman taps the birdfeeder again.
Melina. (throwing the window open and yelling). Roman, you get yourself out
of those flowers right now.
Roman. Hell, Melina. There’re bird feeders here. They need checking. Don't
you see there're birdfeeders here?
Melina huffs inwardly.
Roman. (jostling the red liquid of a birdfeeder around in its tube). Not a
drop drunk, Melina. Of course not…ever a drop drunk and never a bird
to drink.
Melina begins wiping down the counters around her.
Roman. (Half stepping, more jumping over the vulnerable daises and onto the
grass). What's wrong with these things?
Roman stands (left center) staring at the birdfeeders for a long time.
Melina. (from the kitchen) So what’s the problem?
Roman. God knows.
Roman sighs and licks the sticky sugar water from the tip of his long finger.
Melina. Well, there it is - ain't it?
Roman. Yep, Melina. There it is.
Blackout.
Lights Up.
Melina is standing (right) in a small bath room, in front of a running sink,
leaning into the mirror. She lifts her thin fingers and drags them down the
long length of the side of her face. She lights a long white cigarette and
blows a mouth full of smoke and a gentle cough into the mirror. She turns
off the faucet.
Blackout.
Lights Up.
Melina is setting (right center) in a big chair in front of a television
searching intently for its remote. When she finds the remote she holds it
in both hands and points it at the television.
Blackout.
Lights Up.
The yard and all the birdfeeders hanging down, but Roman is in a different
section of the yard at the rear of the house which is indicated by a large
wall. There is one large window beyond him and the oak tree is now upper right.
It is not exactly dark…yet. There is some vague sun (up right) at the edge of
the yard. Roman is bent over with his hands on his knees. He seems to be
listening to something. As Roman is edging (center to right center) closer to
the edge of the yard a bright light explodes from the window and falls on him.
As if suddenly awoke, Roman, starts gathering all the twigs and leaves that
have fallen to the ground and prepares to burn them in a sharp brown bundle
in the center of the yard.
Blackout.
Lights Up.
Roman is setting (left center) in a chair in the yard staring at the distant
tree tops which are moving in the wind. He grips the arms of his chair and
leans in closer.
Blackout.
Lights Up.
Melina is setting (center) on the side of a bed staring down at Roman who is
buried in the sheets on the other side of the bed.
Melina. I slept in the thin line of sun that came in under the blinds and that at
first touched nothing, but soon shown on the dresser's edge. A thin line
of light that didn't fall on him, but maybe where he had been and would
be soon. Light that played with last night’s wine in glasses of its own
unbroken light, like maybe his soft fingers running the thin edge of my
lips. And that crossed the floor as he did, quietly and slowly at first,
touching the scattered sheets and I might try to move away; but that warm
light, as him, would come toward me still and fall through my hair like a
thousand soft ribbons uncurling down my cheeks and spreading like a smile
if I looked at it as I did him. So that, on those mornings, if that bright
air reached my lips, it brought about a change in the room, as sudden as
pulling curtains back. And then, everything the sun touched did not reflect
its light, but somehow contained an inner, somehow blonder light. And, as
quietly as the sun came, it drew to a line just above my bed and was not a
line of sunlight anymore, as he was not just a man; but some perhaps form
of hope that is as mysterious and as fleeting as clouds at night can
sometimes be.
She takes a lighter and a cigarette off the nightstand and walks across the
dark stage and turns on a light revealing a bathroom (right). The lights fade
to black in the bedroom. She pulls her nightgown up around her waist and
sets on the toilet. When she is finished she walks out neglecting to turn off
the light.
Blackout.
Lights Up.
Roman (left center) in the yard. We can see the birdfeeders hanging around and
Roman appears to be listening to the wind in the trees at the edge of the yard.
Roman. (Pointing to the trees at the edge of the yard) She is laying there...just
.........there, through the slow brown trees crumbling round. But her body isn't there
anymore. She is only chalk and clothes have crawled away from her. And now the
sunken ground has come over her and it has dragged her into oblivion...but if I
could come to its edge and reach in, I'd pull her from the darkness to me and
we'd fall back into the yard and laugh like bears at fish; But I can not reach
into the darkness and the yard has swallowed even her name.
Blackout.
Lights Up.
Melina is standing (down center) smoking a cigarette.
Pause.
Blackout.
Lights Up.
Roman is setting (down right) up in bed and staring at his feet which are very blue
and sticking out at the foot of the bed. He falls over the side of the bed and drags
himself up center. As he leaves the bedroom it fades to black and the kitchen (right
center to center) lights come up. We see Melina preparing breakfast. Roman pulls himself
up into a chair and turns on a small space heater and begins warming his feet.
Melina. (walking over to Roman). Don't move.
Melina cups her hands on Roman's shoulder, as if catching a fly, then rubs them together.
Eating?
Roman. (pouring coffee into a cup). A little.
Roman starts buttering toast. Melina wipes her hands on her apron and turns toward the
sink (center).
Blackout.
Lights Up.
Melina is in the kitchen (right center to center) and standing over the sink (center).
Roman. (reaching past Melina and taking a glass from the dish rack beside the sink).
You lose something? You’ve been standing there lookin' down that thing
forever.
Melina. (looking at his glass now). Use that same one all day.
Blackout.
Lights Up.
Melina is standing (center) at the kitchen sink. She pulls the curtains back above
the sink and we see that it is a very bright day outside. She shields her eyes against
the sudden glare of the sun and begins cleaning up around the kitchen. She is wearing
a long pink robe that is dragging the floor behind her.
Suddenly she makes a grimacing face as if she smells something rotting. She follows the
smell to the floor.
Melina. A dead mouse - I think.
She crawls on her hands and knees searching for the source of the odor. Finally, she
follows it to the refrigerator (right center). She puts her face to the floor and looks
under the refrigerator. She gets up quickly and takes a fly-swat that is hanging by the
refrigerator and fishes under the refrigerator for the dead mouse. When she finds it,
she pulls it out. There are two deep black mice stuck in one trap. She holds the trap
up to the light and we see that the dead mice form a sort of mushy, burgundy heart with
their noses and tails touching.
Melina. (dropping the mice on the floor). It is me.
Pause.
And that is Roman too. We are wrapped ‘round each other and dying, sinking
into another's selves.
She quickly wipes her eyes, turns to the sink and begins washing her hands.
Blackout.
Lights Up.
We see Roman standing (down center) and Melina setting (down left center) in a chair.
There is a bright light on Melina.
Roman. Can you smell that?
Roman moves up center.
Curtain
Act Two
The stage is in darkness. We see Roman (left center) and Melina (right center), only
when they are talking and only sequentially.
Roman. She'll not part with a thing…and all of it going to waste.
Melina. He doesn't help me a bit.
Roman. She never looks up anymore.
Melina. He regards me with slights.
Roman. It runs its course.
Melina. It's me and that is Roman too.
Roman. You lose something.
Melina. ...coming apart in my memory.
Roman. I am here.
Melina. Bag of bones.
Roman. Her hands are covering her face.
Melina. Well, there it is - ain't it?
Roman. Can you smell that?
Melina. He is holding me up to the light.
Roman. She feeds me to the laughter.
Melina. He was not just a man.
Roman. But her body isn't there anymore.
Melina. He pulls dust into him.
Roman. I was absorbed by the traffic.
Melina. It doesn't sound like it does when I am not here.
Roman. Her wrists are cold.
Melina. If you will, then I will.
Roman. My love is a perfect love my love.
Melina. I can see his thin gray rhythms pulling on the candle flame.
Roman. She holds me above her mouth.
Melina. And all day and all night a coming and a gone.
Curtain
Act Three
Lights Up.
Roman is standing (up center) in the doorway of a large room. The room is empty.
There is a small rubber plant down right. The walls are whitewashed and the floor
is a dusty white, not painted, almost like the whitewash ran into the floor.
We can hear "Mild Un lese" by Paul Lansky being played somewhere far off.
Roman begins (up right center) feeling the walls’ textures. He is walking slowly
around the room facing the wall with his arms and hands stretched out on them.
He follows the walls to the baseboards and back up again, performing a kind of slow
dance. He follows the walls to the floor and on to his hands and knees, feeling the
floor's texture.
Blackout.
Lights Up.
The stage is in darkness, except for Roman who is setting (right center) at a table
eating. It is raining heavily on him. We can hear mumblings of thunder. Every now and
then Melina steps out of the darkness and into the light of the table and serves Roman.
Roman's head is bent to his bowl and he is pulling small sips of watery soup off his spoon.
His bowl is overflowing and small rain-soaked chunks of bread are coming apart and running
off the table and into the floor.
Roman. I was listening to the traffic. Outside a young woman was struggling with a closed,
but very big, umbrella. She kept looking at the sky, but it was already raining and
everywhere. When I moved closer to the window I could see that the umbrella was not going
to open. She walked a few feet and threw the thing in a trashcan. For a second, I imagined
it opening there with a round airy POOF.
When I found her again she was clutching her coat and hurrying through a hurrying crowd.
My heart sank a little when I imagined kissing her, when I imagined her warm hands on me;
or, oh God, my cold hands on her. I remembered what it was like to be as young as she was
then, but I could not imagine myself with her. I could not see a younger me with her.
And what was I, but a shadow in her peripheral; a ghost on the edge of things. If
anything I was nothing at all; which was fine. I had no intention of introducing myself
to her.
But the rain and the ease with which she moved in it worried me. The rain and the long
nights it might mean, at my age, if I got wet at all. The horribly long nights in bed
with a scarf tied tight around my head. Again I imagined kissing her, but suddenly sneezed.
I was afraid of getting sick, Melina. This cold unending rain that she was pulling herself
through so easily, so effortlessly, meant death to me. I could not imagine myself with
her because I could not imagine her out of the rain that she seemed so much a part of.
Without the rain and her oversize umbrella she would be the ghost, she would be the shadow
moving among moving shadows.
I was absorbed by the traffic which sounded like a thousand different things. I imagined her
in her room pulling long canes from drawers and listening to the rain.
Blackout.
Lights Up.
The stage is in darkness, except for Melina and Roman who are setting (right center) at a table.
Roman is rubbing his fingers against the glare of a candle and Melina is starring at him.
Melina. What are you doing here?
Roman. I am here, because you are here.
Blackout.
Lights Up.
Roman (left center) is tapping a full birdfeeder with a stick. He appears to be thinking deeply.
Roman. There are no birds is why or none that I remember any.
Blackout.
Lights Up.
Roman is coughing, almost choking. He is setting (down left center) on a couch close to Melina,
who is knitting (down center) in a chair under a lamp near him. He leans his head back and pulls
a long gray hair from his mouth.
Melina pulls the knitting up into her lap, to keep it from falling, and her head falls toward
Roman's. She is sleeping. Roman gets up and walks over to her.
Roman. I can see myself in her. (Roman walks around Melina) We smell the same. I have stayed in
the house and slept beside her for a thousand years and we do not know each other. She has
filled the air around me and stepped over me in floors and pulled doors behind me.
He leans over her and turns the lamp toward her face.
I can see long purple veins that pulse slowly beneath her.
Pause.
She is moving some.
With the fingers of his right hand he follows the edge of neck to her shoulder and pulls her
nightgown down around it.
I can smell the clinical vapor of Vaseline and see the hot reflection of the lamp on the warm
gathered skin around her.
Pause.
He pulls the gown down passed her elbow, exposing the top of her left breast.
I can see the huge dark purple/red bruises that cover her.
Pause.
He lifts her left hand.
Her wrists are cold.
He presses his right hand to her belly.
Her womb is cold.
He pushes her nightgown up around her thighs and follows the length of her right
leg with both hands, then lifts her ankle to his knee. He removes her tattered
old pink house shoe and long gray sock, and holds her dark blue foot in his hands.
Lord. I've fished her from the wanton mouths of strangers and pulled her into me like
a breath.
Blackout.
Lights Up.
Roman is setting (left center) in a chair in the center of the yard staring at the
trees moving in the wind. He grips the arms of his chair and leans in closer. He
gets out of the chair and slowly crawls (right) to the edge of the yard and listens
to the wind in the bushes that surround the yard.
Blackout.
Lights Up.
Melina is standing (down center) smoking a cigarette.
Pause.
She finishes the cigarette, drops it and steps on it.
Blackout.
Lights Up.
The stage is in darkness, except for Roman who is dragging himself left to right.
Blackout.
Lights Up.
Roman and Melina (center).
Roman. Bury me in the floor with the dog...as close to the fire as a log.
Melina. You are leaning out over the candles.
Roman. ...As close to the fire as a dog.
Melina. You are folded in curtains and pulling sunrises into sleep…
Roman. The room moves around us...
Melina. ...And we are pushed to the center of the floor.
Blackout.
Lights Up.
Melina is standing (left) in the bath room, in front of the running sink, leaning into the mirror.
She lifts her fingers and drags them down the side of her face. She lights a cigarette and blows
smoke into the mirror.
Pause.
Blackout.
Lights Up.
The entire stage is in darkness, except for a two foot space that runs left to right. This space
is under the house. There is ductwork, cobwebs and pipes everywhere. Roman is crawling (left to
right) on his belly, making his way through this area. He is holding a white cloth to his nose
with his left hand and his right hand is in a black trash bag. We can see that he is making his
way toward what looks to be a dead animal (right).
Pause.
He gets to the animal, takes hold of the tail and starts moving backwards the way he came.
Pause.
He turns his head to the dirt he is crawling on and chokes some.
Curtain
Act Four
Lights Up.
Roman and Melina (center).
Melina. You're a dead man.
Roman. I'm a dead man.
Melina. You're a dead man.
Roman. I'm a dead man.
Melina. You're a dead man.
Roman. I'm a dead man.Melina. Off with his head.
Roman. Off with my head.
Melina. Off with his head.
Roman. Off with my head.
Melina. Off with his head.
Roman. Off with my head.Melina. You're blushing
Roman. I'm blushing.
Melina. You're blushing.
Roman. I'm blushing.
Melina. You're blushing.
Roman. I'm blushing.
Blackout.
Lights Up.
The stage is divided into two equal parts by a large wall. On one side (right center to center)
there is a short stool with a long noose hanging above it. The other side (left center to center)
is the yard. Hanging from a branch of the tree is a noose, under it is an old chair.
Melina. (Off stage) I am here because you are here. But I am not here and you are not here anymore.
Melina appears (right center) under the noose. She steps onto the stool and puts her head in the
noose.
I am here. Come now; let us walk with our hands made like bowls. Let our lips touch. Let us
undo what we have done to each other. Let us undo somehow…It's just that I am standing here
and you there and you are not listening. It doesn't sound like it does when I am not here.
Let us pay close attention to each other now.
She hangs herself.
Roman appears (left center) in the yard. He looks up at the empty noose hanging in the tree.
Roman. My love less love is a perfect mess.
My love is a mess. My love is perfect.
My love, my perfect love less love, is
Perfect. Love is a mess. My love less
Love is a mess. My love, is less love
My love? Is a perfect love my love?
Less love is perfect. Love, is my love
Perfect? My love is a mess less love. Is
My love a mess less perfect love? My
Love, is love mess less? My love less
Love is mess less. My love, my heart
Is a muscle that pumps blood my love.
Is blood less love perfect? My love less
Love, is perfect love blood less? Love, my
Heart is perfect love. Is a mess my love?
My heart less love, is the heart a muscle
That pumps love? My love less love, is
Blood less love perfect? Love, is a blood
Less heart a perfect muscle? My love, my
Love less love, is my heart a perfect mess?
My love, my love less love, my heart less
Black out.
Curtain
Epilogue
Lights Up.
Roman and Melina (center).
Melina. If you will, then I will.
Roman. And I will.
Melina. Then we must.
Roman. We must.
Melina. Until?
Roman. Until there is nothing left between us but us...Melina. ...Turning in the
light of the window we go and go.
Curtain
The End
Michael H. Brownstein
WHO GIVES ONE PERSON THE CHOICE FOR ALL OF US?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Is it too late for the man who is not a Christian? A Christian?
The baseball team? The football player?
The woman in the house playing house?
The clamor for the cougar? The run of the trophies?
The great bull? The lion's yawn?
The way I used to hold your hands?
It's a simple thing to do
harbor one weed over another
dandelion greens and grit
and look how big the outside is,
the street hungry and full of teeth,
its tongue large and sticky
as if heaven can contain that much earth.
THE BROKEN CONTRACT
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The hole in the ground does not belong to us,
the boardwalk we engineered still viable,
the centerpiece of the yard a great cottonwood
lifted by its roots one slow step at a time
and moved through handholds and enough sawdust
for every human scar. Do we fight
for what is no longer ours? Do we
let them break through every stone?
Who can answer the days remaining us?
The effort to breath, to no longer try?
SANDBURG'S Chicago REVISITED
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I don't like the way Chicago sounds.
It doesn't taste right when I hold it in my mouth.
The taxi cab company's back on its feet again,
resting,
the sun rising..
the cement factory's chemical steam washes the air
like the long stretch of flood waters,
the sky bluing in cloudlight,
long semi trailors dock at the tire distributor,
in need of a nap,
the river glowing,
and the Metra train pulls in on time
letting go of its army of workers.
Night shadow diminishes in shape,
criminals, whores, war mongers,
con artists, predators, thieves,
bullies in the dark--
night is over.
Construction workers in the towers,
the elevated train singing down the track,
coffee shops spread open their doors,
cinnamon, coffee, the development of chocolate--
day in the city.
Where are the muscles now? The heavy weights?
The man who can carry a crate of meat
without sorrow, his shoulders that broad?
Timothy Pilgrim
On guard
~~~~~~~~
The trouble with second marriages,
or fifths, or sixths,
is suspicion -- waiting
for new spouse, who has no flaws,
to become the old.
We scan the horizon for patterns:
looks too long at skirts too short;
business trip, missing bra, panties, slip;
patio alone, clicked-shut phone;
one drink more than the night before;
anger not caught, accidental swat.
Other than this vigil --
disguised itself with smiles, kisses --
new mates would be perfect,
not keep us awake, fearful
it is only love they fake.
Peace offering
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Two blondes, bikinied, both coeds,
specialists in feminist lit,
ignore July heat, stand breast to breast --
lakeside debate near the food stand.
They fidget, curl toes,
shift weight on hot sand,
wipe sweat from armpit hair
as each lays out her version
of the perfect man-free world.
Giving up, first one, then the other
pulls damp bottom loose
from cheeks burned bright --
somehow sways slowly to her towel,
sexy stroll the important thing.
The hot dog vendor grins, spits,
tongs up another ballpark frank,
so red, so juicy,
so big it splits.
Pre-dawn vigil at Kootenai Medical Center
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Son, thou are ever with me, and all that I have is thine."
Luke 15:31
My only son lies unconscious,
tubes dripping hope into cheeks
flushed ruby by I.V. flow. I see
last summer's campfire we two
blew to life in meadow dusk,
anglers' attempt to keep Montana cold
from freezing fingers off our fished-out hands.
Today's trip testing Priest Lake alone
netted his limit of poison,
not nearly as much fun as bringing in
three Dolly Varden now untended,
glass-eyed beside the vacant boat.
I wish for Montana twilight, we both
shivering back the day's rainbows
eager fighters jumping against the sky,
fierce competitors for royal coachmen
arced toward their stream --
invitation to exchange
icy creek for burlap creel.
Night flames took crackling hold,
licked lodge pole twigs gray with age.
I roughed his hair, brushed fire-red cheeks,
let loose laughter that followed ash
to coolness in the floating smoke.
His chest rises, dives deep
in this struggle to keep life.
I hook his hand in mine,
squeeze and release with each faint breath.
At times I see sparks
sputtering against the night sky.
Seduced by metaphor
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"She was with him again, a heartbeat unbroken,
where time subsided into dawn, and the sunset gave way
to the stars, wheeling across the night."
Leslie Silko in Ceremony
Ceremony has a way of taking hold.
I should have closed my eyes
one more time. Imagined
your story arriving. Ember arcing
under evening sky.
Siren moving above me,
melodic chant making stars unwhirl.
Maybe recited an old invocation,
brought back ancient night.
Campfire purple at dusk
again casting your shadow
on the full moon.
I should have told of a goddess of hope.
Accepted all her rituals
kindled, new.
Ceremony has a way of taking hold.
I should have created a tale
with fire in your eyes becoming you.
Dmitry Palstainen
A Sonnet
~~~~~~~~
You perky cruft, you pinky throwaway,
beseech my glory. Do me what I say.
Quit billowing on pretty, enigmate:
in no arrangement am I made to mate.
At times bereft of idiocy, I
continue to bleed; I slide awry,
me briny brawls attune and attest
as I montaigne in pure poetic zest.
See, I am drenched in cascadian slush,
my hops fade out, I (slash) meek to push.
You keep forgetting, I keep getting for.
Unfilled "we" returned to the store.
Just aqua, aether, tickling. Just a time
in which, if you are golden, what am I?
All poems copyrighted by their respective authors. Any reproduction of
these poems, without the express written permission of the authors, is
prohibited.
YGDRASIL: A Journal of the Poetic Arts - Copyright (c) 1993 - 2009 by
Klaus J. Gerken.
The official version of this magazine is available on Ygdrasil's
World-Wide Web site http://users.synapse.net/~kgerken. No other
version shall be deemed "authorized" unless downloaded from there.
Distribution is allowed and encouraged as long as the issue is unchanged.
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* Klaus Gerken, Chief Editor - for general messages and ASCII text
submissions: kgerken@synapse.net
