My repacking continues.  As I was going thorugh one of the boxes that fills my garage still, I cam across one filled with photographs.  While sitting there I found the picture I took of Mount Robson.  Actually, I've been looking for this photo for years and so it was a minor thrill to find it.  I have been told that for the most part, Mount Robson, which is the highest peak in British Columbia, is usually shrouded with clouds and so to have a clear day to see the peak is something special.  In fact, at a business meeting I once attended, one of the delegates, from the UK wished he had seen the top of the mountain.
    So here it is, on the cover of my ezine.
    The picture got me thinking, first about those great times in British Columbia and about mountains.  Mountains are very important to me, I have in my place at work, a number of photos and posters of mountains.  I look at them and gain inspiration.
    The opening quote is taken from Psalm 121.  Whether you accept the Psalms as divine inspiration or not, you must agree that it is a tremendous work of language and poetry.  Certainly the wording is marvellous and is a very important addition to our English language, that is the King James Version of the Bible.  Here is the human experience expressed through a wonderful poetic structure.
    When I lived in Vancouver, one of the daily treats was waking up and looking north at the north shore mountains.  At night, the lights on Grouse Mountain formed a great display.  I had this joy for 5 years and never once grew tired of looking at them.
    Mountains, in their glory represent power, strength and stability.

      These words were inspired by a visit to Calgary.  I was in a hotel and as I looked west, I could see the dark sillouette of the mountains against the sunset sky.  It was an awe-inspiring site.  Although I was about an hour from the moutains, their presence was there, adding to this fabulous scene.  It was glorious.  To live and breathe in such an environment is a true blessing.
    To me, mountains are my inspiration;  right now I'm living in a place without these magnificent sights.  Yes, I know there is that water fall and certainly the escarpment is picturesque.  However...it's just not the same.  I think I need mountains, or hills or something beyond flat to give me inspiration.
    This issue contains more of the great poetry I've received in the email over the last few months, so take the time to read and reflect.

Reviews

    If you've read this ezine for any time, the name Charlotte Mair is one that appears a great deal.  In fact, she has a number of poems in this issue.  I don't want to discuss her poetry which has been done at greater length in the "Interview Issue", rather I want to review another of her endeavours.  This is her foyer into the world of music. If you consider that over a year ago, she started to write poetry, it's amazing the mark she's made for herself on the internet.  From the Internet to a chapbook to awards, she is having an effect on culture from her vantage point of Richmond BC.  Now she has returned to her love of music. Recently Charlotte has released a 4 song CD of original composed music,  the disc is called "Silverado".  To give you a quick review, this cd features 4 country music torch songs.  Now I know we've all heard about new country, and if you're expecting something that Shania would sing, or in that style, you will be disappointed.  There is no exposed navel in this music. This is old style country,  the Patsy Cline school of hurtin' country.  If this is more to your liking, then it may be worth your while to go to Charlotte's web page and find out more information.

Poetry

Yes! Another birthday’s here
A year has surely passed
We all must say a fond farewell
And leave this year at last

But since you’re only twenty-nine
We’ll  have to get a grasp
On how you can remain so young
And still accept the tasks
Of life’s long trials and Chesser smiles
The new friends and the old
Us silly girls, who love to tease
And make you come unfurled
Your joy of life, it still remains
Pitted deep within
Your smiling face and pleasant grace
That make the day begin

So here’s a cheer from Big Bob’s bards
A Happy Birthday rah!
Raise your glass with spirits high
And cheers from one and all !!
 
 

Flamenco ... dance of love
tonight I wish
you carry me away

Bodies burning
in the flow and glow of flames

Gypsy dancer
you old romance ... to this night
I sink into the eyes
of love again

Gypsy dancer
captivates and charms
draws me as a moth
into its flames

Sing your songs
make me lose myself tonight

Your magic notes ... to carry me away
into the fire of love
Oh ... gypsy man

Oh yes ... I feel
this love
it lingers in the shadows
sense of touch is present
ever if your arms are not
around me
they may hold

Tender winds carry light
and swirl within
to ease the wetness
burning deeply from my cheeks
to droplets ever wistful
of white satin sheet romance

Gardenia petals pressed
to savor sweetness ... a kiss
that swept the breath away
one stormy autumn past
still igniting passion
of the silken softness
brown eyes
my one great love
my last
 
 

Bloated, floating dead
on the lake of Walden
near a newly erupted Mt. Fuji,
my twisted form is picked at by carnivorous fish
seeking the sweet scent of once-life.

I am consumed as a meal
by the faceless hordes
gilled and breathing the liquid
of my melted mind.

Drowning sadly in my once active thoughts
I am seared by the sulfuric acid
in the lake which has combined
with the volano's ash.

The decomposing stench
lingers in the oflactory glands
buried deep beneath my
rotting self.

Finally, fleshless,
my eroded bones sink
to the bottom where
they too will eventually disappear.

I am a calcium stain
on the lake floor
but at least I no longer
have to endure.
 

I ramble a beginning
to think of the end
of an unsaid story
sleeping fathoms away.

Stirrngs of the soul, yearn
for self expression, find
a means of escape, through noble
action.  Thoughts are penned,
where they stand,
as they do,
forever,
a stream of consciousness.

Rumbling over river
stones, smooth like glass, thoughts reflect
light, pour down at dawn, blind me with glimmering
sun beams, seek shelter from the inner storm.

Grumbling internal, as a natural clock,  ticking
away seconds, counting down,
rambling,
as I do, seeking
an end.

Let your hand lead us in a dream
let your hand unfold
let down the cards your holding
the force you've built up

now I won't ask for help or be here when you call
I won't leave with what I wanted
I'll be lucky to leave at all
but with fate the way you called it
I have got to go
now with nothing left worth losing
the chips are going to fall

let the wind talk to me in a dream
and I'll still remember her
like magic,I'll still remember it all
maybe someday we'll laugh about it
somedays never come
a chance to give what we get
the way its set up someones got to fall

now I won't ask for help or be here when you call
I won't leave with what I wanted
I'll be lucky to leave at all
but with fate the way you called it
I have got to go
now with nothing left worth losing
the chips are going to fall

let the wind call us closer
let the songs whisper go
as the night air remembers
theres no memories that tomorrow holds

somethings got to give
it's an end to it all
I know this is all there is

is there anything left at all
I know somethings got to give
out of greed
you can't have it all
somehow mark the end
freedom has just called

In between us there is daylight
the ugliness that seperated the lines of beauty
the soul could'nt save
the nails that hold onto tomorrow
if ever there was a breath that I would want to keep
a memory saved
in place of yesterdays divided loves
the hatred traded for soluitudes
a reason to be left alone
could thoughts reinvent questions
could I lay in a bed of roses
with you and not feel anything but your soft touch?
what eclipse in the darkest midnight could deny the smile you cause
an echoed song in the wilderness
where anything as wild as this could run
would the streams turn into rivers
and into seas as the pressure builds
inside one look could cause an avalanche of warmth mixed with lust
wrapped around a summers night
a world turned into dust
falling stars now mean nothing
as reality lies untouched.

TO GET THE ATTENTION OF THE OPPOSITE SEX
introduction
SPELLING OUT THE PREMISE OR PURPOSE OF
presentation
LEARNING A PERSONS PROBLEMS, MOTIVATION & COMPLANCEY
information
SEXING, DATING, CARING, AND LOVING
illustration
THEN TIES UNRAVEL
conclusion

Skin is like soil
That people love to ponder & toil

And try to dehumanize & demoralize
Yet you can still organize
Yet you can still strategize
Yet you can still conceptualize
That the power is truth internalize
 

One color should matter: GREEN
not black not red
not white not yellow
So much emphasis on color: OBSCENE
not black not red
not white not yellow
We all are a human: BEING
 

Sunblock cream, tax evasion
Switzerland is so Australian like

Neil'n'Keith

like an island cold beer
bikini wax(ing lyrical)

like an island night doesn't fall,
it lowers
 like love
 like back problems like
it or leave it

as good as it's going to

as easy as it's ever

a little bit torn
and tethered.

A list of phone numbers.... candidates working,
working out. Mainly wearing out.

In the counting room Frannie nearly/not really in tears....
scrutineering through  fog.
All around the room matronly public servants count ballots,  comment
occasionally on the tally like people watching
a horse race through reversed binoculars.

Altogether too old for outward nervousness Lindsay
casually smokes his first cigarette in a decade.

Then victors
look timidly across the rim of their drinks hoping
someone else will ring the other side....
that oddly passive phrase:
               "orderly transition of power".

An office won, four walls.
Some lives affected greatly, others uncertain, most unaware
that another little clock of destiny
CLUNK
ticks over like sandstone.

Rain on the day and gangs of
silver mist
loitered.
First light ink-brush fingers
combed the distance / soothing
the arch back of stone.

2.
They are waiting
for the word
in weatherblown, torn khaki plastic.

Torrents
in angry fusillade dropping from the clouds against
the obdurate calm of the waters,
as like opposing elements
this downpour is no relation
to the lake's still
or the earthbound beard of ice clinging
brittle beneath overhangs.

Tears
& other human stuff
bounce off the pink sand.

3.
Some have dived to find the hidden shore,
pressed fingers on the old beach.

And sunsets still bring rose to the water
as the lake lies buried beneath itself.

"Sometimes when you get married in a church the father

gives the bride away."

                    (a bit strange this stuff).
 
 

I hold your small hand as we go to school....

this route                    (traffic noise,

                               us a part of

                               the local)

            like a ritual we'll never abandon.

Your stories of life so

full of pain & hope, I offer my annual prayer

for the childhood you deserve.
 
 

As we discuss your freedom to choose

jobs, loves & children

                  (.... sure you'll live with us forever

                    but if you don't it'll be the greatest                         house ever with a pool , giant TV and                          lots of things to play on).
 
 

Thoughts outrun your words on this white painted morning.
 
 

"Some people call their children the

same name as their Mummy or Daddy!"

....an announcement like the discovery of gravity.

It's my turn to

change the subject fast.

Les Patterson,

MiLes Davis, Les Miserables.

Please

don't call my grandson Les.

These four poems are taken from Les' book "Nitty Gritty", and are used with permission of the author.  If you want more information about Les' writing, just e-mail me and I'll pass them on.

Make love to France...
 Rouse our passions
unto her defense
 Rage at her wickedness
 Condemn her rape of reason
to our burning torch
 Absolve to ash her heresy
her senseless arrogance
her cardinal sins of blindness

Wake France with me today!

Decry her fruitless vanity...
 Call forth her shredded honesty
 Purify her crass denial
in dauntless flames of Freedom
 Return to her with wild abandon
her ardency, her elegance
her ravaged romance with the world

Love France with me today!

Chasten her betrayals...
 Embrace her sweet babies
with soothing spirit kisses
 Vindicate her stupored innocent
her dazed endangered young
 And with a blaze of kindness
brand the hearts of France's children
with their deserved heritage

Free France with me today!

Bring Truth to France...
Our very bodies dedicate a unison
 Let us attend to her delight
Be France with me today!
 And in the streets of Paris
restore her murdered dreams
 

   ~ 20 October 2000 ~
 
 

  Copyright @ 2000 Jan Houston
         All Rights ReservedClosing Words

    I'm trying a new style of set-up, what do you think?  Should I make it left aligned or keep to the centre, how about right?  Hey, this sounds like the situation I'm facing in the upcoming federal election here in Canada.  Thanks again to all who submitted.  If you're interested in what's planned here at AGT,

December 2000- Christmas
January 2001- What's in my Record Collection- poems of and influenced by music. I'm also going to try to get a few interviews for this one.  If you want to review that great new disc you got at Christmas, then there will be room.

• February 2001-Romance
• March 2001- TBA
• April 2001- Spirituality