Being Canadian, it was only a matter of time that I would have to have an article on 'winter'.  After all, what season best defines and has shaped the psyche of Canada like winter?  We have been referred to as ' a few acres of snow', by Voltaire.  The tourist who flock my land are impressed to see that we don't all live in igloos but actually have houses, heated by natural gas and other modern fuels.  Well, the past three month have seen winter return with a vengence.  After a few years of moderate temperature and below normal snow accumulations, its here in all its glory.
    What does winter mean, cold days and crisp nights, when the heavens are ablaze with stars not visible during any time of year. It's clouds heavy with the birth of another snow storm.  It's also the season of sleet and salt, slush and finding those blasted gloves you had on last night.
    If summer is viewed as lazy and crazy, then winter is the season of effort.  Most people find it an effort to get out of bed, to shovel the drive and clean off the car.  To walk anywhere, what with having to put on pounds ( or kilograms) of insulation and to walk through ankle deep snow in heavy boots.
    As I write these words, I can look out my window and see the wonderful contrast of winter.  It is in the contrast of white and the dark natural colours that give winter its attractiveness.  As winter seems to only have a few colours, yet each colour and shape is so well defined.  The sharpness of the white and everything else brings a sense of depth lacking in the other seasons.  Also, when did white look so good.  Not the 'white' along the roads, but in the woods, and pathways, where only a few have left signs of their passing.  There is a beauty to the winter landscape that worths discovering and admiring.
    This issue features;  poems of the season, some romance, after all this is February and that does mean Valentine's Day, some reviews and other features for you to read about.

Review

On the world of Marna, there are thirteen gods who watch over the people.  These gods are worshiped by most of the races of the land.  The proud and stoic Grom. The calculating and logical Anai.  The playful and child-like Zithaen.  The varied and adaptive Humans.  On the lost continent of Telnir, a young savage priestess has a vision that will change her life and her destiny.  Outcast by her people, the young priestess leaves her land and is thrust into a world she had only dreamed of.
    Her vision had a purpose.  She is "The Child of Thirteen", a figure of prophecy and legend.  Surrounding herself with a band of unlikely companions, they travel the lands discovering the fullness of the prophecy and her place in the world. There is a force at work against her.  Born of darkness and hatred, "The Child of None" a necromancer and priest of the god of destruction, Dealthagar, is determined to kill her and her companions.
    Marna is at a crux.  In her hands lies the fate of the world.  If the Child of None succeeds, "The Reckoning", an apocalyptic nightmare, will come to pass and Marna will be destroyed.  If she is able to triumph, the world will know peace for the first time in generations.

Adrian lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin with his wife and muse Katrina, and his son and primary distraction, Raistlin.  When not writing, which isn’t often, he can be found banging on his computer or pursuing his hobby of medireview armor making.
Adrian Drake follows the druidic path and most of his writing reflects that feel.  His series of novels, the first titled The Legend of Hawkwind, are a new look at fantasy compared to many of the current novels on the market.  Instead of the typical 'priestess' that seems much too close to one of the christian stories, his main character in this series is a shamaness, strong in body as in spirit.  Come join us and take a peek.  We have several excerpts as well as a special surprise, a small piece from the still being written book two.
You can feel free to check out the available excepts on our website at http://www.geocities.com/worldofmarna
 
 

Poems of the Season

FRIEND OF FUNERALS

There's someone in this pew
who makes habit of pale lilies
against gravid stone, January's
ice in the limp handshake
and the one-arm hug.
What sudden widow would know
him, who scans the obits
and signs an X to guest-books
from here to the Methodist
fortress on the hill?  Maybe
he loves the lowering of music
to a relinquished march;
the cadence of prayer and eulogy
transgressing sect.  As if
Episcopalian dead were no more
nor less than Baptist, and all
gone some where while
the congregation holds
its mortal breath.
 

ENIGMA VARIATIONS 3

See how heaven's awash in its winter stars,
he says, and the owl calls.  Autumn
was a rod that lost all its leaves and any hope
of flowering.  Just remember,
time sings through its teeth.

No, she said.  The spring's first daffodil
is a bland little devil, and seeming
is deceiving.  Already the year
is composing at its typewriter.  Dawn
is always the color of ice.
 

CABIN FEVER

Morning like a five-watt bulb:
snow is writing the world again.

If you hadn't drowned
in the deep brown bottom
of your coffee,
I might have asked you what to do
with the day.

Instead, your shirts, your pillowcase,
your handkerchief step out
and drape themselves in casual attitudes of you
around the living room.
I read the front page headlines
under the stare of fifty buttons
and try not to hear
the titter of your seams.

The end comes suddenly
when your newspaper takes flight
and, from the ceiling,
drops a thousand punctuations
on my head:

Snow.
 

Taylor Graham
Snowflake Haiku

Where I begin
your end
snowflake haikus
melt into
crystalline awareness.

I guard
your quivered sleep.
Your skin beats moisture.
The beckoning jugular
that is your mind.

My pointing teeth.

A universe
of frozen sharp relief,
the icy darts your voice
in my inebriated veins
in yours.

Sam Vaknin


Park bench Still life                

empty bench
save for a season's accumulation
of winter
no takers to rest their feet
and meditate on the scene
of snow and cold

no one ventures to sit
and stare at the white
only its stays
to wait out the months
and to be used again.
 

Snow Land

    I surround myself
with the snow and ice
cold air fills my lungs
    as the breathe brings a mist of warmth

Each step leaves my presence
for others to see
a marked path that no one may follow
until buried by another fall of snow

I look up to see the sky
grey with colour
and filled with the promise of more,
    more snow, more cold
    more effort in each step I make

Hold tight the scarf and hat
    to stay warm against the growing cold
then I watch
    as new flakes fall from those clouds
slowly with wind and gravity to guide them down
each flake unique, uncopied
    an original to be lost in the cover that grows
to hide those steps I just made
    through this world of white and snow.

Paul

 

Scenes of the Season


 
 












 


 
 

Poems from  other Scenes

Whirlwind

By Dan Steward

When my thoughts drift to those of you,
I lift myself above the warm earth in a whirlwind.
Our hearts have collided in a frenzy of passion,
our souls a hurried gasp.
Fantasy would breathe into it, life.

I see nothing except your face,
touch my being if only once more,
and bring my inner core to life again.

Your name so long ago, was a soft light shining,
I've never known it. yet I once did.
Passion was our feast, destiny bound us to one another.
Our souls played in the forest of fine memories and strolled on
the shores where your sweetest dreams can come to life.

The pleasure of you, your sweet seductive scent,
the brilliance of your eyes spark electric in my body.
Hold my hand once more, see it all again now, no turning back.

Ecstasy, heat, emotion. My most intimate being is touched by you.

Petal

By Dan Steward

The rose gave love unselfishly.
Each petal a velvet memory of our time together.
Every tiny piece of this delicate bloom, a story.
Of you, the wind, brilliant crescent moonlit evening.

Your being ached to surrender.
The petal so much like the softness of your skin.
It's heart so incredibly warm and always beautiful.
Made rich by the rays of the sun and a loving touch.

We both feel so alive tonight.
A petal falls from the flower upon your fine self.
Love so steamy, passion aflame in the dark of night.
Everything that is you, bright by the flower's part.

Know that we will never be alone again.

Delight

By Dan Steward

Unlock my soul, free from the bonds that held it so long.
Two beings soar in fantastic rhythym from our song.
We delight in the company of one another.
A romance totally unlike any other.

Free to be ourselves touched by a magic flame.
A kiss to seal this delight a taste that has no same.
A single kiss begins this night.
A soulmate always, our delight.
 
 

Be France with me today!

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 Reserved
 

=====From Net Love to Life==========

Chance loves to play with mortal eyes and ears.

For I do dance with songs of conjecture;

In states of being-Your retinue; my tears.

You free inwards-ebriety puncture.

For cut a found from heart to fill my ens;

And keep one for yourself; The grist infinite.

For cut a found from trust; world peace by tens;

Electronic by form to sealing granite.

For tranquillity rings a summer kiss;

Our love does parallel a glass of seas.

Jovial I am - Choices made in bliss;

To choose a path and stray from angry pleas.

Present thy face and we shall grow to more;

And waltz to athanasia; I do implore.

======The Limo======

For asphalt beckons stranger’s magnificence;

And shining quarters mass in millions --

The lambent blackness glides in inference.

For masses stand with awe ; He’s rich -- billions;

They cut a fancy particle for rent.

They scrap for lunch in poverty ; trillions.

It grabs the advertness of countless cent;

For worth is taught in economics class.

A soup of people -- Saltines graze a dent;

To state a sublevation -- cloaked in glass.

Josh Jenks Wisconsin, U.S.

 

Searching Souls
Elizabeth Gage

I close my eyes
Seeing you in my mind
Your spirt wild and free
Trying to find

Feeling you in my dreams
Wondering where you are
Hearing your voice call me
Hopeing you cant be far

I lie in sleepless nights
Looking up at the dark sky
Seeing the moon so bright
Feeling your soul by my side

I feel your stength with the blowing of the wind
Senseing your warm gaze thru the sun
Feeling you with me as i bath in a stream
Whispering in my ear this love has just begun

You are a part of my soul and heart
This i know and believe to be true
Our hearts will never part
Till then i will never stop searching for you

written Jan.7,2001
 
 




Closing Words

    As I have been announcing, next month will feature poems and other literary works from Australia.  You ma be wondering why would a Canadian ezine feature Australian work, well because I find the work fascinating.  As you know I've showcased the poetry of Les Wicks over the last number of years, and other artists have joined him in sending me work. The style, language, imagery and themes are both familiar and foreign.  It is simply stuff.  To give you a taste, here's a preview of some of the work.

The Hill of Life

drinking strong & sweet tea
listening to Mal Morgan
climb dark stairs & tell
moon stories awake to the world
he says meditate on a bed of lime.

on my mattress red barbed wire
green plastic soldiers boys hold hands &
dream of the Pyramids & the bird
a princess parrot calls to me
wrestles plastic farm animals then
falls back content to dream

of street pedlars selling Ramakien battle scenes
and children combing smouldering heaps
of refuse & living beneath cars
in starving cinereous light.

to my right the monkey-king Hanuman
levitates on a cloud struggles with demonic agents
of Ravana then like a blazing comet he flies
fast & generous speedy & bright to the hills
where luminous plants shine as cold white fire

to the hills where day is night & night is day &
holy saints retreat to icy cliffs to contemplate trees &
stones & elephants atrophied limbs & coloured
veins of ore pockets of snow & falling rivers

to the hills where cheap wine is nectar & the obituary of a poet
is headline news & the dead have no choice but to huddle on the shelves
of the black library while those they left behind stand at the shore
of the dream-sea & announce I am all this, All this Life; I am all this.

    This work comes from Paul Hardacre, who lives in a suburb of Brisbane called West End.  He is just one of a number of poets you'll be reading and learning about in the next issue.  Issue #33 will be out around the 8th of March, so look for the notice in your mailbox, or at rec.arts.poetry and other relevent newsgroups.
    I had another surprise in my maibox recently, CJACK has given my website the:

    Thanks for the honour, the recognition and all the support you've been to my ezine over the last couple of years.
    The April issue will have as its theme, "Spirituality".
 
    Each issue is a collaboration of the skills and talents of many people.  Each work is copyright by the author, so please respect their right to own the product of their creative ability.  ©2001.  "Above Ground Testing" accepts poetry, short stories, reviews, essays, photographs and artwork of all styles.  If you want more information, visit the homepage and follow the link to the guidelines.  Send your work to: pabear_7@yahoo.com.    Do write, also, if you want your letter printed, I can do that too.   Hey, I can do anything, its my ezine.  Also, if you want to say 'hi', that's acceptable too.If you want more information about this issue, go to the table of contents.  Thanks all for making this possible.  Watch for next month's issue, its going to be good.