Denial of Self Realization
I stood on the corner for hours,
Under the gray clouds of light rain
Thinking about my next move.
It was an eye opening reality check
A glimpse into the now,
The here and now.
I had to play the game by their
Rules, not mine.
I had to be better, stronger and one step ahead.
It was go time. I was nervous but confident.
Now to conquer the way I should,
The way I am expected.
I took without being asked,
Without being offered and without permission
It’s mine now. I have success in my grasp.
Now I need to learn to hold on to it.
An eagle flew across the air
Looking below to see what's there
It landed gently with a damaged wing
Searching for aide but didn't find a thing
walked around for miles in the pouring rain
Hoping for a hand to rid him of his pain
His journey lasted for hours without delay
Then he saw a doctor’s office one block away
went to the doctor seeking first aide
They told him an appointment must be made
The date was set but he couldn’t go
The poor little eagle had no dough
said: “This isn’t happening, not to me”
“This is not America this is lunacy”
Frustrated with bureaucracy he took a chance
The eagle was fully treated in the country of
Time I am one-forth the
person I was one year ago
But I am only one-half the person
I want to be six months from now.
However, I am one third the boy
I was eighteen years ago
And one hundred percent the man
That I knew I could be.
I am one-forth the
person I was one year ago
The Unfortunate Plan I leaned over
for a taste
And swallowed some human waste
Stupidity and Greed made me do this thing
Now I’m the hospitals crowded west wing
This was my dumb idea
So I’ll leave at the rear
Sneak out late at night
With no one in sight
Before I try I’ll pray
That my plans don’t go astray
I won’t be at home soon enough
And the walk without shoes will be rough
I’ll hail a cab, it’ll be fine
I’ll be home in no time
The lights are out, now I can go
No one the wiser, no on will know
I can see my house just ahead
Tonight I’ll sleep in my own bed
I paid the fair and opened the door
I found my wife naked lying on the floor
She had no pulse, my wife was dead
Her beautiful face turned beat red
They questioned me and took me to jail
The judge ordered me held without bail
I escaped from the hospital, what a mistake
I have no alibi, my freedom now at stake
I leaned over
for a taste
Americans say, "we are fine" Here, in the
Dina Televitskaya sent this poem of feelings. Her letter to me spoke of the grey weather of the northern climes.
about American "OK!" or " fine!"
These words are the most right.
But I cannot say "I am fine",
If I have the hard problems.
Instead I share them with my friends,
Who will hear me, understand me,
Who, maybe, will give me a good advice.
My friends tell me
about their hard problems also,
And I always try to help to them.
Yes, when I am feeling bad,
I answer ," not well".
Many persons in do too.
My dearest American friends!
If even you do not like it,
I ask you,
Tell me, please, about your problems,
And I shall hear you ,
I shall give you my kind words,
and good advice.
But anyway, I ask you,
Taylor Graham responded to my request for opinion on the upcoming wedding of my daughter with a poem for her. She also sends another poem Elihu Burritt
lisps her first word, Papa,
in several different languages;
in each of them, Papa is the same.
In time, you teach her to dance
to the stereo, 3/4 waltzes
filling the room, so all the family
and the neighbors hear.
No private music
plugged into the ear. No,
music the communal tongue
pierces a heart so deftly, she
leads, no matter how
you play the teacher. Such
are daughters, that today
you offer her your arm, she leads
you down the aisle,
then pirouettes away.
But see how sweetly she
looks back, the oldest word
“Papa” still on her lips.
(I asked her if she really wants me all that teary eyed). It worked.
[Elihu Burritt at the 1848 Peace Congress]
How far you traveled, Elihu,
to see all these ruddy
British faces from across the Channel.
You know them from little upper rooms
and overcrowded halls in , or
Liskeard or , rowdy gatherings
as if farmers had driven their herds
inside to hear you; air so close
you could hardly catch breath to speak.
You recognize Friends in sober garb,
men who took you into their homes
and talked peace long into the evening.
Here they all are in ,
stepping off the train within cannon-
range of some battle or another,
such a press of greetings
and arranging for carriages. Opening-
speeches are just hours away,
English and Scots, French and Germans,
Dutch – so many languages
trying to be understood.
How far you traveled to bring them
all together here,
as the afternoon lingers
on its promises of peace,
and the shades pass over Ypres
Americans say, "we are fine"
Here, in the
Walter Ruhlmann sends these three works of "Rex and the Cyclops". Enjoy.
Rex & the# 2
The tool box was locked and I needed a hammer to fix the heart-broken
Sally wasn’t bad in her trousers and her breast lifted up proud and
Allan was watching her from the top of the ivory tower but she didn’t
And the was crying. He took a tissue from the box and tore it
halves; he needed nothing more.
Rex & the # 13
into the wine bottle.
Rex & the # 14
Hughes, have you found you way
you can carry on tramping.
William will always have
for your shoes…
Not the oak,
Remembering shaded swimmers in July,
Or the birches,
Thinking they may try to ride the winter out.
Always this maple and not others,
Every year, without exception,
Apple green to orange and red:
Does that sound like a plan to you?
Sunday nights I like to read
Those newsprint magazines
Stuffed into the thickness
Of the morning paper.
You know the kind I mean:
Recipes, tales of rock stars
Pulled back from the edge of
Madness and despair,
And, best of all, the columns of people
You figure can’t be real,
Answering imaginary questions
About icons of pop culture
Unknown to me:
So what’s she up to these days,
What’s next for her?
Settle a bet, a meal’s riding on this.
I like to think
I have no prurient interest in the answers,
But it comforts me to know
That if one week has ended,
Then another has begun.
Robert Demaree is a retired school administrator. His most recent collection of poems, Fathers and Teachers, is available through Amazon.com
Scenes and Takes # 31, 1
The child who dedicated footsteps, artwork,
dissipates. Too, breath, twirled, mimicking
a language of foreign entity, sprinkled atop
an ear of English-only. Some may categorize
this dissipation as unjust. The translucent
arrival of empty sock drawers, filled cough
syrup containers, a mother's incessant desire
to categorically cry on command. Truth in objective,
outside observance cannot accurately outline
tomorrow's occurrences: mother-son
bond broken at the weakest link of accidental
Scenes and Takes # 32, 1
Virago, self-appointed. Important.
rescue from such a disastrous
self-inflicted definition, reflectional
of pushiness and etched with identity crisis.
Power, typical. Yet, tired of population
one, she, fabricated a fallacy, an à la mode
shell to showcase contemporary, available
Scenes and Takes # 33, 1
The postcard was a seller of intricate shapes,
modern realities: abandoned, if aware. Barn and
keeper of black birds: released its children: stilled
above its silenced and enigmatic roof.
Scenes and Takes # 36, 1
February's burgeon, hands' splay
cold, here, calm. Melting
not in surplus, distant thought,
cousin to interactive deluge of
hanging within air's pausing
grandeur. Love is in shadows,
in shadows' ruling over deadened
leaves, browned to the position
of oily documents. Disfigured
metaphors read as literal alphabetic
terms: trees as if floating
amid a language of space,
delineate bird homes
imaginary persons anchored
to the injuries of their reprimanded ankles.
Winter, mid-flight. Justified opaque
akin to spaceless flocks of ageless
spearing angles across a humbled
attachment of gaze, weather.
Felino Soriano, from, is a case manager working with
developmentally disabled adults, and philosophy student. He is the
author of a chapbook entitled "Exhibits Require Understanding Open
Eyes" published by Trainwreck Press, 2008.
His poetry appears at Otoliths, Blaze VOX, Zone, Ygdrasil, Hecale, and
Visit felinosoriano.com for more information.
The announcements for this issue is, the Premier issue of Avantgardetimes has been published. Your editors, Dr. Charles Fredrickson
and Saknarin Chinayot worked hard to make it the reality it is. It is an international issue, featuing poets from Thailand, India, Iraq, United States
and the UK. If you are interested in submitting to the new ezine, check out the wiki. All information regarding themes and upcoming release dates
will be posted at the site. If you wish to contribute, send an email to : firstname.lastname@example.org. My function is that of webpublisher, which means
I take the works the editors send me and publish it to the web. It also means I get to be grumpy and complain about all the extra work. Just kidding.
abovegroundtesting will continue its normal monthly schedule and so I look forward to reading your submissions each month. As always I am
looking for new poets and writers, so if you have friends that have been hiding their talent, this is the avenue by which the world can read their works.
You too can be a published author. Should you have other work published, please include abovegroundtesting in your list of published mediums.
To submit, send an email with 'submission' in the subject line. Any style of work will be accepted, poems, short stories, essays, painting and
photographs, are welcome.
All work is copyright by the authors, please respect their rights of creativity.
This is issue #107, March 2008.
This issue was produced using Nvu web authoring system. The operating system is Ubuntu 7.10.