Reviews

   I was at my local symbol of globalization megachain recently and spent time in the CD section.  This store is famous for its self censorship of CD's and web sites that don't meet with its approval.  There was the usual amount of special CD'S of music of the season.  Also, the new stuff,  scary.
    What I want to review is a couple of CD'S, the first one is "Christmas Turkey" by that Canadian musical comedy troupe, "Arrogant Worms".  Here is a collection of songs that has Christmas in its sights and they squeeze the trigger.  It is safe to say they do to Christmas what Thanksgiving does to turkeys.  The songs are hilarious and merciless.  From the opening "Santa's coming and he's gonna kick you in the a** to further ditties.  The perfect tonic for all the sugar of this season.  You can get more information on the disc and the group by going to their web site http://www.arrogantworms.com
    The second disc is more in keeping with the season; "O Come All Ye Faithful" carols sung by the Choir of King's College, Cambridge, UK.  These feature the favourites of the season.  Here they all are, from the title to Once in Royal David's City;  the classics are here.  The singing is marvellous and to put this on the cd player will make you glad its Christmas.

Poetry
    Words to warm the heart and set the spirit free.

Of the Season

JESUS

THE JESUS THAT I SING
DOESN'T SPEAK OF SORROW
DOESN'T SPEAK OF SUFFERING
HE SPEAKS ABOUT THE JOY
OF WINING OVER THE BAD
EACH DAY
DAY AFTER DAY.

JESUS IS HIS NAME
YOU MAY CALL FOR HIM
WHEN YOU WANT TO
AND YOU MAY OPEN WIDE YOUR ARMS
TO EMBRACE HIM.

REMEMBER THAT LIFE IS THERE
JUST TO BE LEAVED
AND TO HNOW
WHAT MEANS HAPINESS.

The lights are out, of course.
Except for the LEDs, except
for eyes blinking neon from a tangle
of branches.  Welcome
to the Forest Enchanted, beware
the wires and twining connections.

A child could get lost here,
however well he’s learned his
circuitry.  He reaches in the dark
and grasps a castanet (batteries
not included); in his hand
it chatters the percussion of frost-
bite.  It was bred for sunlight
and swirling sweat.  It’s as lost
as he is.

The next fumbling hand finds
nobody there, a white-out
of black.  By now he’s hoping
for a hero in exile who might
know his way here; maybe possessed
of honesty and a user’s guide.
Ahead, a green neon eye ticks
obsessively.  Its electronic
curse dislikes children.

Where are the interactive games?
the math tutors that make
numbers fun? the boxes he’s poked
through their wrappings
in the closet, guessing
what Christmas will bring.
Except tonight in the dark
he’s fumbling for the way out.

Chriistmas Star

Hey Gabriel!
    get out your righteous trumpet
    an blow some sweet notes
            to tell the world
yeah! tell the world
    that a Saviour has been born.

bring out the heavenly choir
    get them swinging
    get them bee-bopping
    to wake them sleepy shepherds
and tell them where
    to find that new born Child

Let loose that Bethlehem boogie
    give the directions straight and sure
    so they can dance and groove down the road
to the Manger with a Star.

YO LIGHTS!

come on and shine
let me see where I'm going
along this multi-coloured path
that blink in my direction
    this walk is covered in shadow and snow
freshly fallen as I walk this way.
     I need to get home
     and find my chair beside the tree
with coffee hot ( decaf of course)
to warm and watch the winter come.

home I want to stop and rest
       the day's been short and the hour's long
        that I've put in.

so blink and shine
show me the way
    to the door and the house that I call home.

at last I'm there
I put in the key
    but first I turn around
and thank those lights
    for showing me home.

 Beyond the Season

ELEGY FOR ELECTION

We send our voices into the box
that echoes as they die.  The dark
side’s always stronger.  Observe
the ancient tragedies, their heroes
less and more than human, drawn
for tears.  On Tuesday, no one believes
in heroes, and yet each of us casts
his voice into the void: a horse-
race without horses.  Again, this
falling season come-November,
we cast down our voices
on an earth that won’t speak
back.  Here’s a blank-faced slot-
box begging for our answer.
 

DESTINATIONS

You turned the other way a long time ago
and just kept going.

Here, the pines are sifting their ruddy scents down,
a fall of needles muffling the wind.
A person could lose track of his directions.

You chose the way homeless foxes turn,
or somebody about to drown in a river
that minds its own business, and flows on.
You give places their forever-names.
There’s ease in that.

But I’ve been looking for a way that leaves
its footprints along paths obscured
by leaf-fall.  I want to sniff the loam
and grab pine needles in my hands and call
this place by a name whose syllables change
with the season.  Have you ever been here?

MYSTICAL SMOKE

Our Architect has it all planed,
He's built us a house in cloud cuckoo land,
It's existence is denied by many,
They give it not a thought -- not even for a penny.

Worries and Woes--Just look at the Inflation,
No time to spare in the figment of the imagination,
A lost childhood -- too soon did it grow,
Floating away–Somewhere over the rainbow.

From fruits of life -- remains only peel,
Because folks told us to -- GET REAL,
The Thief calls time -- even on Stainless Steel,
In Never Never land Infinity has a great feel.

Life's If's and But's now blow on the wind,
Saints Disappear along with the Sinned,
Whispers of Sweet Nothings in Mystical Smoke,
WAKE UP!!! IT WAS ALL A JOKE.

Love Wins Again

I always said I couldn't win,
I knew I'd take it on the chin,
When love came knocking on the door
And quickly knocked me to the floor.

Greenery

Fragrant garden, leafy wood,
Grassy meadow in the sun,
Nature teaching what she should
As we towards each other run.
 

Yesterday's Tomorrow

Dark and daylight cling so tight
In the morning of the night:
Sleeping, weeping, side-by-side,
Yesterday's tomorrow's bride.

Andrew Belsey lives and works in Cardiff, Wales, U.K.  His poems and concrete poems have been published in a number of print magazines and anthologies since the 1960s, and in two booklets (with a 26-year gap): "Anaximander" (Outposts Publications, 1974) and "A Collection of Four-Line Poems" (Llwynywll Press, 2000).  Many of his four-line poems have also been appearing in various e-zines on the Internet.
 

Blue-green eyes look away,
trying not to betray
thoughts.

are you thinking, perhaps,
or maybe tired
of thinking?

do you, rather,
visualize
a place far
from where
and when you are?

a fantasy,
for a moment,
in the early morning.
light exposes all,
so you patiently
stare away and wait

for Nightfall.

Black Birds Ascending.

Driving to work through a mind haze
I gaze to the right to watch the birds,
a dark flock, black birds
falling like darkened rain,
descending at night, making a flood
to wash me toward the drain on the side of the road
following the water path to the whirlpool whirlwind,
sucked down, deep into the earth, merging with the molten
unborn, volcanic red mass that oozes up through cracks
in the earth's crust then hardens black like macadam,
like black birds ascending.
 

-Valerie Schwader-
Have your work published Free!
http://www.users.fast.net/~cj2000
 

Sam and Dan Rise Again
( inspired by Robert Service)

To the Klondike we carried our picks and our pans
To sieve all the gold from the lands
But to my despair
All I did was lose hair
And the love of my sweet, fair madam

Sixteen long hours, we’d rummage for gold
Sweatin and strainin our backs
Then we’d  have us a pint
At the local jute joint
Where we’d spend a fresh mother lode of cash

The nights winds would howl in the course of due time
To tell us we should bid fare thee well
But who could have known
We would leave our fair homes
For the deepest, dank, dark pits of hell

The fire in the cabin, burns real bright and warm
Still…my breath freezes to my mustache
But I guess I’ve adapted
To the cold spells up here
In my quest to attain quantities of cash

One late night while travelin up the ravines
I pondered a much gravous site
Why! It was big Dan Magrew
And Sam McGee too
And all the crusty old crew from the Klondike

"Well Sam" says I, for lack of right words
"What say we go grab a brew?"
"We would" so said Sam
"Umm yup" replied Dan
"But I have holes and my beer would poor through!"
 

Well….
Dance girls were done up, right smart on that night
As they cackled and gave bubble gum a chew
"We’ll fill up them holes"
"If you’ll buy us a round"
"Sure nough gals, a right nice thing you do!"

The lad that handled the music box
Was slammin an old ragtime tune
We poured down our spirits
With pinkies extended
Then clacked to the music with spoons!

Suddenly…gales blew doors open and who should appear!
But the devil, by no other name
He was playin his harp
To the tune of ‘F’ sharp
Causin much of the room, to start swayin

You could see Dan and Sam’s chin, fall to the floor
As they rose up in anger that night
Seeing this… the devil himself
Laid his chips down
As Sam and Dan readied to fight

Gum in Dan’s wound holes were pluggin up fine
As soon I, beheld an ominous sight
The beer that Dan drank
Had no place to go
‘Cept to the bubble gum sealing him tight!

Mr. "D" then rose up in anger, now afire
Pointed with ill warnings to them all
"I’ll burn anyone, who comes directly in my path"
"Look out Sam"
"You’ll be the next one to fall!"

"Ya can’t threaten me…I’m already dead"
"You can’t burn me now, I’m well singed!"
Sam then placed Dan, on his shoulders upright
While the gum plugged, fillin Dan to the fringe

"Let her rip!" yelled out Sam, to the beer filled Dan
Just then Dan popped his corks all askew
Beer doused the Devil and poured him down home
Sam and Dan thereby collected past dues

After their rising, the two bid farewell
Their task in the Klondike was now done
And they never did return
To refuel another fight
After I saw them both bring that Devil down

Now I sit in my cabin, watchin northern lights show
And reminisce bout my gold diggin days
Howls of the wolves
Lone cry into the wind
As I imagine Sam and Dan, stop to give the odd wave

charlotte mair

A Few more words

Hectic, crazy tiring, yet still the message is "Peace on Earth, goodwill to all men", may this be your experience as you celebrate the season.
    The next issue will be in the year 2001 ( opening notes of Also sprach Zararustra).  Maybe I'll talk about the movie in the next issue.
    What about the plans for the future.  Well, the theme for January is "music". I figure we'll all be getting some new cd's so if you have a favourite disc you'd like to review, here's your chance.  Just send me the e-mail, at the usual address and put in the subject line "Review".  Also, if you have written any songs, send it to me, I'll place it in the next issue.  Or, maybe you want to write abou the influence music has in your life, go for it. Right now, I have some exciting poetry already to be copied into the issue.
    What else is coming up, well, I'm thinking of having a special issue dedicated to the poets of Australia.  There are some exciting things happening down there and I would like to bring it to you all the incredible things.  Just wait until you read some of the poetry that has been sent to me from that nation.  This issue will either be out in March or May.
 
Until then, keep writing and reading poetry.  See you in the new year.

As usual, all material is copyrighted by the various authors.  Respect their rights.  The rest of the material is copyright by Paul Gilbert ©2000.

To submit any work, poetry, short stories, pictures and photos, send to pabear_7@yahoo.com
Merry Christmas