Issue #38

Over the last few nights, I've been watching the sight of Mars make its way across the sky. Not having a telescope I'm left to just sight observation, yet it's very interesting.
Welcome to the August issue of the ezine. It has been my pleasure to read the various contributions that have made their way to the mailbox. I hope that you are considering sending some work my way.
I've also been considering what my plans are for the next few months. I plan to continue to develop this ezine and continue to make it a place where both seasoned and new writers can find a place to post their work. I'm also thinking about futures themes, and you can read about them in the closing of the ezine. Now, read away.

Long time readers of this ezine know that I like Science Fiction. Its one of my favourite styles of literature. So my mini-review this month is the movie "Final Fantasy". The animation is fantastic, the various characters are extremely life-like, you will find yourself staring at the screen thinking 'this can't be all computer generated', yet it was. The plot has been down-played but it is quite acceptable. In fact it is one of the better sci-fi plots in movies as of recently.

Poetry
This month's issue features the work of a number of new poets, as well as favourites. Enjoy the various themes and ideas that are expressed in the works.

On this lava outflow landscape
the moon ducks through stormclouds.
Will we see the comet
that’s been promised us tonight?

Cold is in charge here,
rattling our tent against wind
that drives the snowclouds closer.
The first flakes melt on the frying-
pan still warm from supper.

Time holds the line. How long
did it take to form these outskirts
of caldera with their stunted
juniper and pine?
How long since this same comet
stood streaming in the sky?

The moment fades out of amber,
whatever may have happened
here today, while darkness
contrails westward.
Count the stars, the planets,
any lit-up window.

Down here, nobody cares
for politics or Daylight
Saving. But when uniforms
drive through, they'll find
nobody home. Dark windows.

Afterward somebody steps
outside to sniff the breeze.
Must be an east wind blowing,
change of weather. Take
a deeper breath, exhale.

It could be so peaceful here.
But somewhere across the county
or even farther off,
something is about to become
a Code. Listen.
You can almost hear thunder
grinding in the badlands, rain
shredding someone’s roof.

He swore it would be different,
no midnight call-outs, no packs
already packed because he’s going
to be called away.

The bed can rock itself to sleep
on its four good legs, the sheets
whisper soft as lies. It’s only
a freshening breeze outside.
But you know, somewhere
lightning considers
where it’s going to strike.

Behind the closing mirror
with its northern exposure,
you’ve put on your first face
of morning. May it not
chip before luncheon.
You’ll meet a friend
at Chez Gervaise and,
over the Koi pond, exchange
reflected smiles
then slip away to the ladies’
room for a fresh-up, a second
appearance. Or is it
already the third face
of the day?

It takes more money
than you’ve got
to afford a face that wears
till bedtime
without shattering.

Nerves, he says, just nerves.
In a hundred years none of this
will matter. No more than the smashed
walnuts on asphalt parking lot,
this huge old walnut tree that’s seen
at least the last hundred, and keeps on
dropping its black fruit wrinkled
for tires to crush along the edges.
Not a seed survives to carry on
the life of walnut on pavement.
When this old tree dies, what matter
to someone who can’t see beyond
this Friday morning? This immanent
morning when the blue October sky
is a headache, and breakfast egg-
muffin with coffee is queasy
in the stomach. See that dog
trotting down the sidewalk –
an aging limp about to die.
Nothing’s right, and tomorrow
all of it will matter.

Avoiding the Subject

Bitter poison darts
thrown in genuine hate
complete contempt
Society’s war of the sexes
Battleground on the homefront
the he said she said
evil boogie down blasting rod
The bastard and the bitch
rearing their ugly head

But we’re avoiding the subject
for the sake of our love

Oil on water
rushes to slick
on the surface
too much and it sinks to the depths

There is a Tao
to this dance
this sad compromise
Because maybe
the war
is someone else’s idea
of a good time

And we’re avoiding the subject
for the sake of our love

maybe the words
stand for a feeling
and not
themselves
the actions are reactions
A chaos
starting
with the fall
of a dominoe
-------------------------
The Request

Requesting
a measure
of happiness
please

you see
expectation died
lied
so I spied
the autopsy report

death by complaint
old happiness escaped
moving on
like sun
without the clouds
--------------------------
Da’ath

Da’ath
Poised in
Detatchment
Contemplation
Of origins
Evil, Ego,Will, Destiny
Coaglia Solve.

Cast oneself
Against the rocky shore
Of mystery, abandonment, destiny
Nothing can be done.
Cry Out! Cry Out!
Annubis!
Opener of the ways
Lion of the abyss
Bull of the night
Eli Eli Lama Sabacthani!
Nothing is done
Nothing is real
Nothing matters
Nothing happens.

Bliss!
The sunrise is the sunrise
the SUNRISE is!
Hail unto thee who art Ra!
The day is the day.
The DAY is!

Bliss!
For ALL is NOTHING
and NOTHING is REAL
------------------------------------

DIANA

Struck Awake
In Paralyzed Trance
I saw a maya missle
and Shiva’s open eye

Imploding dreams
pop pop slamming
with water torture precision

I saw Saturn stabbing
ripping slashing laughing
pop pop slamming

As bloody aphrodite
lay oozing naked desolate
trampling trails of
scorned ecstacy

Who can stop this
cold blooded violation
This demonic penetration of liberty

Well, Venus in ambush
spitting Dragon scales
at a shapeless perpetrator

Pop pop piercing
enflaming, enraging
the procession of ticking torment

Crying out
by the power of
Diana Lauritana
make them see

And Diana replied:
they shall die in
Ego Bloated Misery.
--------------------------------
So Bad

make a laundry list
your own personal
hell on wheels

Curse your luck
you shoot your foot
you are what you invoke

so bad
but is it really

why act now
add emotion
to the evil
first you own it
then it owns you
so bad but
is it really

Flash flood
where's the boat
a bridge
watch untouched
by rage
rantings of the
tortured mind

Wait
clouds passing
sun peeking
bright beams
golden lining

unseen to
priests of the
belly button

Because:
lives the life of a dog.
-------------------------------
REAL LIFE

Real life is around here somewhere
I just had it.
I must have laid it
down on the counter
and got distracted.

It's like
if they only knew
but no one understands
and then it came to me

you just have to
open your eyes to it.
It wasn't 'til
the meaning was exhausted
and the reason gone forever
that I noticed
Let me just retrace
my steps and
all of a sudden
I'll just remember.
One step at a time
One foot in front
of the other and sure enough
Real life will just appear.
Voilà.
------------------
Shoah

I won't remember
I can't go back
but humanity
demands
this of me

I have seen
the glory days
of abomination
hissing bliss of
Sauron
in Mordor

We cannot reach
any new
conclusions
ibm set them up
for shoah

The road to heaven
the funnel
and the cries
of the saints
human ash
falling on
ignorant city folk

registration
bureaucratic services
no jewish stone unturned
with perfect ibm efficiency
six million jews
herded to
the shoah

hurray for
corporate america

C. Dana Evans

in the letter:
"most of the work can be found in hard copy in the magazine
"Musings"
which I publish."

Waiting eats away at you piece by piece.
You wait silently as time has its feast.
Every tic and every tock the hands can't reverse.
GOD said live. not forever was our curse.
For he doesn't tell you how much longer.
Patience takes your endurance each hour you must be stronger.
The hands of the clock whirl slower then grass grows.
But the minute's left of waiting your wristwatch doesn't show.
You cant replace time only make every day be relevant
Cause when you lose time then you know of its importance
Wishing it was later then it was before
I ask you my friend what are you waiting for?

Corners

Wherever two lines meet

become the shadow of each other

the life and death of each other

wherever east meets west

or reluctance meets anticipation

there lies the root of all analogy

I have been watching it for hours

and I realise now that the horizon

where the wide world waits

is a corner not a line

this poem is a corner

wherever you stand or sit or lie

every idea is a corner

every syllable

the subjunctive in every yawn

we cry at beginnings

wherever east meets west or birth meets death

in whatever corner we call home

because the thing appearing

has already pledged its vanishing

it’s why children stand dry-eyed

at our weddings, baulk

at our simplest analogies

because they are strangers to corners

- Justin Lowe 2001

THE GREAT DRY

the great dry broke like an old aunt’s kiss

where a million eyes opened on the baked flats

and skeleton hands clapped in the glass hills

as the curtain dropped

but come night the curtain lifted again

and the brown snakes slithered up the rise

to insinuate a vision of her that morning

outside the only pub in town

where she had gazed imperious

as the gathering clouds

over the stir of dogs

and shop talk of rain

axe handle legs spread wide

gutting a roach by the rusting bowsers

when suddenly the light changed

to the colour of steel

and the sky came low

as before some old battle

the whole world clenched like a fist

beyond the reach of its shadow

- Justin Lowe 2001

CASTRO

I have worked

this same tiny patch of ground

for half my life now

but all I have harvested are fences

and I have watched those fences grow and grow

until they have grown too high to cast a shadow

now I am bound by fistulas

of sky and earth

of stone and hatchling feather

whatever comes away in your hand

is mine, the years speeding by

like clouds in search of a mountain

my old tongue rotting in the furrows

- Justin Lowe 2001

AQUINAS

I see you still kindle blame

in this new morning of yours

I see her lisping flames still leap

like daggers from your eyes

while I am merely a taste

of cold ashes in your mouth

an infernal scent of frankincense

auguring the grave’s slow ruin

did I burn too brightly

or not brightly enough?

were my shadows too long

or not long enough?

such is the time false gods take heart

for your blame is like your hope

a torch hurriedly kindled

to light our path

but it requires two of us for that:

one to point the way and one to navigate

in fact a man could be forgiven for thinking

there were no more mountains in your hearts no more valleys

just a straight flat road through the eye of the world…..

well, these mornings of yours

they are always the same

always serving up some new god

some new demon washed in with the tide

always filleting the palliative sounds of night

the curious shapes of night

- Justin Lowe 2001

The sands of time
kept turning,
left me forever burning,
trapped by my own desire,
burnt by a familiar fire.

Rub my lamp baby.
Call me out baby.
Your wish will become my dream.
I promise
it'll be better than you imagined
it could be.
Rub the lamp and you will see

I have saved myself for you,
thousands of years just for you,
awaiting your truth.
You are my perfect one.

Command what you will of me.
I will be what you will of me.
Don't you want to be with me?

Beneath this sunless sky
obscurity blinds judgement
and I come
to be deep inside your mind.

Rub my lamp baby.
Call me out baby.
My wish has become your dream.
It is so much more than you thought it would be.

Inexplicable notions
set your mind in motion.
I quickly become you
and you become me
while lost in time's obscurity.

Finally i am free
and you are left to be me.
I leave you to eternity
You are now the new genie.

You brought yourself here.
You surrendered yourself to me.
You left yourself open,
took hold of my hand
willingly.

Choices made:
fates, destinys,
mere fraud
threads to be woven
by my knowing hands and fingers
to touch ethereally the diaphanous
veil of Will.

Won't you give of yourself willingly?
Cut yourself willingly?
Embrace the negativity
to find the positive entity
within you
willingly.

If you have any photographs, or artwork you would like to share, attach it to your file and I'll make room for it.

I got this letter from Roger Bagula. He is responded to my comments on getting that government grant and enjoying the riches of being a cultural maven

Dear Paul Gilbert,
I got this news from Patricia Prime:
A friend of mine, Ernie Berry, had his name in the Sunday paper as he won $4,000 last year with a haiku he'd entered in a Japanese
competition. It makes him the highest paid NZ poet, per word!

September-
October- "Gothic"
November-"Peace"
December-"Christmas"
January-Special Feature and Interview with Christine Fellows