tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43597285482113844562024-03-08T04:55:19.782-08:00Neon Highway Poetry Magazine ArchiveAlice Lenkiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04020676166907047838noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4359728548211384456.post-71882471146607960592013-05-28T00:47:00.000-07:002013-05-28T00:53:13.137-07:00ISSUE 12a <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Neon Highway ISSN: <br />
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issue 12a<br />
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Hi readers!<br />
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I am happy to tell you that this is the re-launch of ‘Neon Highway’. It was Alice’s idea to get the magazine going online, where we published a good batch of poems and interviews but unfortunately after a while, we did not feel that the online experience in terms of publishing was for us and therefore we decided to return to the original hardcopy format. ‘Neon Highway’ will now be issued twice a year. Subscription information is at the back of the magazine and information can also be found online at www.neonhighway.co.uk<br />
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Well, where do I begin? We have now got two other editors besides, myself and Alice. Dee McMahon and Matt Fallaize will also be editing this magazine. Please welcome them aboard!<br />
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In this issue, the poet, Allen Fisher will be interviewed by, myself and Dee.<br />
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And we hope you enjoy this issue with a new bunch of poets, as usual some of them known as well as unknown. ‘Neon Highway’ is happy to promote the unpublished poet as long as his/her work is basically, good!<br />
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We will be running reviews and listings. The website is updated for subscription and archive information. We do prefer poems and artwork to be sent in via snail-mail but obviously if you are abroad we will understand email submissions.<br />
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Well, I’ll leave you to it. Hope you were as amazed as I was by the summer rain. I had one particularly strange experience where I just gave up and lay down under a tree and allowed the rain to just fall down through the leaves and branches upon me. It really was most exhilarating. When I eventually got up, soaked and bedraggled, a teenager walking his dog ran away from me thinking I was some kind of lunatic! Of course, I wasn’t, just simply enjoying the rain, like you do, as simple as that. <br />
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All best for now.<br />
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<br />
Jane Marsh<br />
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Contents<br />
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Note from Jane: Page 1<br />
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Poems<br />
<br />
Joanne Ashcroft: p. 3-9<br />
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Iain Britton: p. 9-10<br />
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Geoff Stevens: p.10<br />
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Jonathan Timbers: p.11-12<br />
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Brendan McMahon: p.13-14<br />
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Carol Thistlethwaite: p.15<br />
<br />
Robert Shooter: p.16<br />
<br />
Kathleen Kenny:p.17<br />
<br />
Allen Fisher Interview: p.18-21<br />
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<br />
<br />
Poems<br />
<br />
Tony Trehy: p.21-22<br />
<br />
Jan Oskar Hansen: p.23<br />
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<br />
<br />
Reviews<br />
<br />
p.24-26<br />
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<br />
Poems<br />
<br />
Graham Fulton: p.27-28<br />
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<br />
Listings<br />
<br />
p.29-30<br />
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<br />
Note from Editor, Matt Fallaize. p.31<br />
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<br />
Subscription. p.32 <br />
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<br />
Joanne Ashcroft<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
An Irreversible Equation.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
0 + 2 = 1<br />
<br />
- 1<br />
<br />
you<br />
<br />
can not still must be<br />
<br />
somewhere<br />
<br />
I no ‘we’ am<br />
<br />
somewhere not home<br />
<br />
a place expecting you<br />
<br />
one hour<br />
<br />
I saw you move speak<br />
<br />
(the eyes die first)<br />
<br />
willed life back<br />
<br />
breathe<br />
<br />
gone ?gone<br />
<br />
__________________<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
left-alone dry-shock<br />
<br />
words can lie think<br />
<br />
written is done undone<br />
<br />
is that you? the wind<br />
<br />
mocks belief you are<br />
<br />
‘are’ must be then but<br />
<br />
no you are unspeakable<br />
<br />
‘are not’ absented<br />
<br />
in everything<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
did you know, feel<br />
<br />
fear pain remember<br />
<br />
me absent<br />
<br />
one cheated one stolen<br />
<br />
delayed<br />
<br />
a cold goodbye<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
1 > 2 ?<br />
<br />
drinking your smell<br />
<br />
a resurrection<br />
<br />
your hair on my chest <br />
<br />
I wear you<br />
<br />
to become you<br />
<br />
sleep foetally in you<br />
<br />
burned on your image<br />
<br />
damp pillow cold bed<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A Parlour<br />
<br />
painted from a good likeness<br />
<br />
I kissed you cold<br />
<br />
left tokens<br />
<br />
and you<br />
<br />
burning<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Graveside<br />
<br />
you are not black marble, not green grass, flowers or plants<br />
<br />
do not sit here alone<br />
<br />
I bind you to me, make you alive, address you<br />
<br />
unanswered<br />
<br />
but not here. grey powder in a beach box is<br />
<br />
grey powder in a beach box<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Conjuring<br />
<br />
you are dreams<br />
<br />
soothing trick<br />
<br />
my senses feel<br />
<br />
your ghost<br />
<br />
wake you gone<br />
<br />
beating in fear<br />
<br />
drink to sleep again<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Trick of the Light<br />
<br />
you phoned while I slept<br />
<br />
existing in bliss <br />
<br />
why do you cry?<br />
<br />
a warning <br />
<br />
love<br />
<br />
must live in death<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Buried Alive<br />
<br />
erasing your name = redeaths<br />
<br />
I resist<br />
<br />
memory rebels you gone<br />
<br />
I write you<br />
<br />
write you into resurrection<br />
<br />
non sense words<br />
<br />
search for you<br />
<br />
no voice no reply<br />
<br />
too hard<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Enchastened<br />
<br />
only ever with you <br />
<br />
in me no more<br />
<br />
desire lives and is dead<br />
<br />
hands and mouth putrefied<br />
<br />
beyond touch<br />
<br />
irreplaceable sensation<br />
<br />
phantom simulation<br />
<br />
can not re-place<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Judas<br />
<br />
is a smile is dressed is an unclouded sun<br />
<br />
is wearing not-black is uncrying<br />
<br />
alone<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Necrosis<br />
<br />
condemned<br />
<br />
to solitary confinement<br />
<br />
consequential <br />
<br />
to loving the dead<br />
<br />
I a ghost<br />
<br />
haunt myself<br />
<br />
meander memories<br />
<br />
for company<br />
<br />
in brain imploding silence<br />
<br />
these wracking wounds<br />
<br />
are numbing me<br />
<br />
beyond existence<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
desperation = hallucination<br />
<br />
a non-conversable you<br />
<br />
gut slashing torment<br />
<br />
no consolation<br />
<br />
no conclusion<br />
<br />
no definition<br />
<br />
no you<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Maths<br />
<br />
am I <br />
<br />
an improper fraction<br />
<br />
spinning chords in a broken circle<br />
<br />
an unmirrored axis of symmetry<br />
<br />
a dead rooted square ?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Workings Out<br />
<br />
If<br />
<br />
0 + 2 = 1<br />
<br />
then 1 from 2 = a baby<br />
<br />
therefore, 0 +2 + 1 = 3<br />
<br />
3 – 1 = 2<br />
<br />
therefore ½ of you<br />
<br />
in real terms<br />
<br />
0 + 2 = 1 (no + 1) – 1<br />
<br />
= ?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sum up<br />
<br />
irreversible equations<br />
<br />
are the whole<br />
<br />
minus one<br />
<br />
where one is the whole<br />
<br />
the whole can’t be halved<br />
<br />
I am half of one<br />
<br />
can’t be half only one<br />
<br />
zero became one<br />
<br />
from two<br />
<br />
two fused into one<br />
<br />
defied logic<br />
<br />
and died<br />
<br />
leaving<br />
<br />
not one<br />
<br />
but the whole minus one<br />
<br />
I conclude <br />
<br />
1 – 1 = <br />
<br />
0<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Revisits<br />
<br />
in lulls you<br />
<br />
surprise me<br />
<br />
a scent a song invoke<br />
<br />
hair tingling horror<br />
<br />
reigniting you dis-ables me<br />
<br />
- rewounded<br />
<br />
unerasable replays of <br />
<br />
you = unavoidable<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Not 0<br />
<br />
I alone<br />
<br />
can recreate<br />
<br />
you<br />
<br />
in that insane zero<br />
<br />
nothing is non sense<br />
<br />
reject that conclusion<br />
<br />
I retire the maths<br />
<br />
and spin yarns<br />
<br />
in memories silk<br />
<br />
for comfort’s sake you<br />
<br />
shall not be dead<br />
<br />
while I exist<br />
<br />
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<br />
Iain Britton<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A Consciously Diminishing Equation<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Quarried from a rockfall of disused angels <br />
<br />
and put together to fulfil a purpose, we begin <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
to track my scent across town, lamppost by <br />
<br />
lamppost - a town that flops in terraces<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
down to a river where locals, crouch, wash <br />
<br />
and push away parts of themselves. They wait <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
as if for long-legged streaks of divine light <br />
<br />
to touch them. In Anzac Park<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
we squash into the backseat of my father’s car,<br />
<br />
listening to hedgehogs<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
grunting in the grass, the footsteps of someone<br />
<br />
very close. We move like conjoined moons <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
in slow motion – touching, searching – and for a <br />
<br />
while, we go into ourselves<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
consciously diminishing. A family<br />
<br />
stares at us from trees pruned back <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
for the winter, the oldest male seems incomplete, <br />
<br />
cannibalised – he sits at roots<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
bulging from the grass. The oldest female <br />
<br />
is crumpled up, reshaping the branches, unsure<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
about the reality of resurrection - whether it works<br />
<br />
or not. I’m alert to the pedestrian<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
history of this town,<br />
<br />
the reconstructive touch-ups that begin annually. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Each year the streets look different. <br />
<br />
I repossess sightings of the two of us<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
leaning against walls and fences, or standing<br />
<br />
under windbreaks in overgrown sections, <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
behind a library, or amongst the framework <br />
<br />
of a face-lifted church. I repossess a shrivelled-up <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
passion, the vapour of a faded hunger, two young<br />
<br />
people trapped in their own artwork. In this park<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
there are lovers doing what we’ve done all along.<br />
<br />
They burrow into themselves, become<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
inconspicuous, motionless. They stain<br />
<br />
the grass, their intimacy only a whisper.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
Geoff Stevens<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
GREY ROOM<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I am theatre in reverse.<br />
<br />
Front of curtain<br />
<br />
the chaos of partially built sets<br />
<br />
abandoned scenery<br />
<br />
unfitted costumes<br />
<br />
unapplied make-up<br />
<br />
and rehearsal rooms<br />
<br />
where mistake after mistake<br />
<br />
is displayed<br />
<br />
Backstage the complete play<br />
<br />
slick and entertaining<br />
<br />
a one man show<br />
<br />
for a one man audience<br />
<br />
a production deserving of success<br />
<br />
But critics sit out front<br />
<br />
amongst the debris <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
Jonathan Timbers<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Oh, No, it’s Andy!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He did not hunker down<br />
<br />
in the carriage <br />
<br />
next to our table or bow<br />
<br />
his head to show off<br />
<br />
‘a machete scar’;<br />
<br />
I did not comment<br />
<br />
on his hair loss;<br />
<br />
or was he going<br />
<br />
to a BNP march in Leeds<br />
<br />
with an amateur boxer<br />
<br />
because he was<br />
<br />
‘a lifelong socialist’.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Likewise, the other passengers<br />
<br />
didn’t notice him<br />
<br />
nor did they glare at us<br />
<br />
when we disembarked<br />
<br />
at our destination<br />
<br />
(undisclosed),<br />
<br />
not minding that we<br />
<br />
hadn’t said,<br />
<br />
‘Don’t take any risks, Andy!<br />
<br />
Don’t give them<br />
<br />
Any propaganda!’<br />
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<br />
TV Quick<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Harbajhan traps Lara lbw for 11. Lara doesn’t agree and puts his head to one side and rolls his eyes. But walks. They’ll be sparks in the dressing room, it’s like Time is a tap that won’t stop leaking. Change channels. There’s whiskey <br />
<br />
in the larder and chocolate soya milk in the fridge. Change channels. On the embankment, rosebay willowherb and bindweed, its white flower a satin euphonium, speckles of yellow-headed ragwort. Remember the marsh thistle, more blades than a Swiss ary knife, the way it rises above a barbed wire <br />
<br />
fence and growls, ‘Go away’. Change channels. Feel the weight, there above your belly. Put it down. Pick it up. Change channels.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
That one and that one and that<br />
<br />
Until I hit white noise.<br />
<br />
It goes on like it always does, <br />
<br />
Around, underneath,<br />
<br />
Just like the room<br />
<br />
And silence.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Chanderapaul is stranded on 123 not out.<br />
<br />
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Brendan McMahon<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
EVERYTHING<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
No future and no past. Just this<br />
<br />
Attenuated moment which will whimper<br />
<br />
To a stop sometime soon. Till then<br />
<br />
Let’s practise nothingness, and sink<br />
<br />
Our minds in wells of silence, so deep<br />
<br />
We cannot hear the angel voices<br />
<br />
Proclaim the end of everything.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
THE CHILD<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
You can’t do endings, but might eat us out of house<br />
<br />
And home, or come to love the river or the sea,<br />
<br />
Or other dilute deaths.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Black mouth and eyes of glass, sleep<br />
<br />
Broken by the heart’s dark captains,<br />
<br />
Warm and dirty, how she bends to you,<br />
<br />
Reeking of hay and the sun. Even<br />
<br />
A small soul shines like the moon,<br />
<br />
Like the stars whose feet the ocean washes.<br />
<br />
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SYSTOLE<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Membrane, the shadow of excluded rain,<br />
<br />
old fight of borders to maintain themselves,<br />
<br />
hands pressed to an encroaching dark.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Red rush feeds muscle, nerve, capacities<br />
<br />
for action, hamlet-wise persist so long<br />
<br />
as only this capillary tidal crash.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Listen, how it pulls and beats,<br />
<br />
the song reverberates, the body’s caves.<br />
<br />
The echoes, drumming shadow thoughts, <br />
<br />
scurry to light and blink and best<br />
<br />
inexorable rhythms out to worlds and stars. <br />
<br />
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Carole Thistlethwaite<br />
<br />
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willow warbler<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
hu-eet <br />
<br />
hop hu-eet<br />
<br />
leaves fluttering flit-shadow hu-eet <br />
<br />
flutterigleaves hop flank leavesfluttering <br />
<br />
flutteringleavesflutteringtwig flank shadow leavesfluttering<br />
<br />
flutteringleavesbranchflutteringleaves hop tail hu-eet leaves<br />
<br />
flutteringleavesbranchflutteringleaves flit shadow leaves<br />
<br />
flutteringleavesbranchflutteringleaves shadow flit fluttering<br />
<br />
flutteringleavesbranchflutteringleaves head flit fluttering<br />
<br />
flutteringleavesbranchflutteringleaves hop tail leaves<br />
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flutteringleavesbranchflutteringleaves hu-eet flit tail fluttering<br />
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flutteringleavesbranchflutteringleaves willow leaves<br />
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flutteringleavesbranchflutteringleaves warbler leaves<br />
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flutteringleaves back flit flutteringleaves<br />
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flutteringleavesbranchfluttering hu-eet shadow branchfluttering<br />
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flutteringleavesbranchfluttering willow branchandflutteringleaves<br />
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flutteringleavesbranchfluttering warbler branchandfluteringleaves<br />
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flutteringleavesbranchfluttering flitting branchandflutteringleaves<br />
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flutteringleavesbranch further branchandflutteringleaves<br />
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flutteringleavesbranch back branchandflutteringleavesbranch<br />
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flutteringleaves hu-eet into branchandflutteringleaves<br />
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flutteringleavesbranch the branchandflutteringleavesbranch<br />
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flutteringleavesandbranchandflutteringleave<br />
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Robert Shooter<br />
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Lip l-l-l lip s-s-s service<br />
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l-l-l labial, l-l-l letting my l-l-l lips c-c-c close,<br />
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or p-p-p partially, to l-l-l let it out,<br />
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p-p-p pray, kick-start p-p-p projection,<br />
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or the w-w-w word cannot f-f-f form.<br />
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l-l-l letting through understanding<br />
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b-b-b bugger inar-r-r-t-t-t ticula sh-sh-sh tion<br />
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b-b-b bringing us b-b-b back to the w-w-w word.<br />
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f-f-f phonetics demands it<br />
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l-l-l lips p-p-p playing b-b-b ball.<br />
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b-b-b but the c-c-c conundrum t-t-t to t-t-t- truth <br />
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t-t-t telling of <br />
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l-l-l living <br />
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t-t-t truth the<br />
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w-w-w word<br />
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l-l-l lies<br />
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enou f-f-f gh<br />
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c-c-c - nowhere near lips -c-c-c- cannot<br />
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s-s-s sp-sp-sp spell<br />
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oo-oo-oo u-u-u you r-r-r require r-r-r rounded<br />
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l-l-l lips - they l-l-l lie in t-t-t truth - u-u-u oo-oo-oo you - d-d-d- do…<br />
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t-t-t too<br />
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f-f-f for the oo in t-t-t- trooth lies like <br />
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u-u-u you and I d-d-d do<br />
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w-w-w which is s-s-s so-so-so- s-s-s sound<br />
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w-w-w wh-wh-wh- y-y-y- why?<br />
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Kathleen Kenny<br />
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Day Trip<br />
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I’m going backwards<br />
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in an airline seat,<br />
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in a charabang,<br />
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The last strobes<br />
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of natural light<br />
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dashing through the sky.<br />
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The Editors ask the poet, Allen Fisher questions about his poems.<br />
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Brief Biography:<br />
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Allen Fisher is a poet, painter, publisher, editor and art historian, lives in Hereford, Crewe and ‘in transit’, works at the Manchester Metropolitan University, Cheshire, where he is Head of Contemporary Arts. He has exhibited in many shows including London 2003, Hereford 1994 and York 1993. Examples are in the Tate, the Living Museum, Iceland and various private collections. His last four books were Place, Entanglement, Gravity and Singularity Stereo. <br />
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http://www.allenfisher.co.uk/afwebindextemp.htm<br />
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JANE: Hello Allen,<br />
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I hope you are well and thank you for agreeing to have us ask you questions. I am just about to read your book, ‘Gravity’. I want this to be a spontaneous process without any pre-planning so I will simply read the book and get back to you.<br />
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Jane.<br />
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Ok, a very quick reaction to first piece titled Banda. I do want to read on and I am enjoying the book but can’t resist interrupting. <br />
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Surprised at how much I enjoyed this. I imagined it far more clinical and using a language that may be more distant and heavy perhaps influenced by the title of the book, ‘Gravity’ but it is surprisingly light and sensual. There also seems to be some hope for humankind in amongst the urban ‘big brotherish’ post war city atmosphere.<br />
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She bathes in rainwater at last clean<br />
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For the first time in decades (p.13)<br />
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You give the reader hope of a beautiful world. You bring in smells such as cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg, (my favourite spices by the way) and then you somersault into a grocers! This just made me laugh. The image of someone somersaulting into a grocers is, to put it mildly, utterly hilarious! Thank you for making my day!<br />
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And then we have wonderful use of sounds;<br />
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Launch from the ramp and the joy<br />
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Wet zings say it as wasps<br />
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And I enjoyed your use<br />
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of irony<br />
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Bird carpets copied get copied p.14<br />
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Can I ask you, are these poems a kind of thought process of something you have experienced as you walk through Brixton? Do you jot down as you experience, a little like a diary or do you reflect and write later after the experiences? <br />
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The experience of walking through Brixton is part of what Gravity<br />
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includes. I make brief notes, research, accumulate and then<br />
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assemble using a system of transformational procedures. Sometimes this<br />
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is a quick process; sometimes it takes a long time.<br />
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Do you place a lot of emphasis on the editing of your poems?<br />
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Sometimes poems are radically edited; sometimes I get it as I want it<br />
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immediately.<br />
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How would you describe your poetry?<br />
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The poetry in Gravity varies, but most of it works through<br />
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transformations of previous poems.<br />
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What are you working on at the moment?<br />
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I am building a set of 35 emblems each of which consists of a poem, an image, and a commentary (it’s a Renaissance and then Baroque idea). In 1980 or 81 Brian Ferneyhough, the composer, wrote a piece called Lemma –Icon, “Epigram, which uses a similar<br />
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tri-part set. The images are all done, the poems are underway. The commentaries have only just started.<br />
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I know that you are an artist as well. Could you tell me of anyone who has influenced you in particular and in what way they have done this?<br />
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I was initially very strongly influenced by John Cage and many of the conceptual artists in the 1970s. Having rejected art as object for a decade, in 1978, Jasper Johns London exhibition lifted my spirits and I started to make paintings. He was able to show me how painting was about thinking and feeling and transforming as extended processes.<br />
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How would you describe poetry that avoids creating a dialogue between the writer and the audience and vice versa, poetry that creates a dialogue between writer and audience?<br />
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My aesthetic stance demands that the work is in process as soon as a<br />
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reader or viewer engages with it, I wouldn’t call it a dialogue. The work is made by the viewer/reader in responses to the work initiated by the poet or artist.<br />
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Do you write about your own personal experiences?<br />
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I include record of my personal experiences in my work.<br />
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Who is your favourite poet and why?<br />
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I read about 100 American and British poets. The idea of favourites varies daily. I usually include Denise Riley, Tom Raworth, Joanna Drucker, Clark Coolidge, Muriel Rukeyser, Charles Olson, Jennifer Moxley, Ed Dorn, Lissa Wolsak, Frank O’Hara, Andrea<br />
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Brady, J.H. Prynne, Gertrude Stein, Hugh McDiarmid and translations of Paul Celan in my list.<br />
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Dee Mcmahon<br />
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Questions for Allen Fisher, following my reading of <br />
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Transformed extracts from iDamage<br />
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using keywords ‘pattern’ and ‘damage’<br />
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1.<br />
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Here you explore your theory of damage in its relationship to visual perception and cognition, supported by examples from image in art, and poetry. Do you find other strong relationships between these two worlds, art and poetry? Do theory and concept in poetry inform art, and visa versa? Any other examples?<br />
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I do find a strong relationship between many of the arts. I practice<br />
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poetry and art, so I give these areas more emphasis. I find that theory and concept are to some extent embedded in the poetry and art, but I do go through a process that has a theoretical<br />
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and conceptual base. This base is partly derived from bases I have recognised elsewhere, in others work, and partly from my experience and practice. I recently listed a set of headings to<br />
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describe a practice as research process and showed how it helped with planning a calendar and it may apply here. The headings are: Enquire, Investigate, Accumulate, Analyse, Select, Transform. Like all analyses, this list unnecessarily damages it its small bits<br />
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from a larger whole, but it helps articulate the duration and space needed. How poetry or painting articulate 'Enquire' may of course seem to be widely different. If painting starts a one<br />
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moment in making sketches or collecting fragments of visual material, poetry could be, conceptually, doing the same. Anyway that may be now off the point you were encouraging. I know that I was very influenced by the conceptual art of the sixties and later,<br />
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along with the hole 'dematerialisation of the object' debate.<br />
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2. Do you wonder what other abilities and skills such as writing music could bring to the development of theory in poetry?<br />
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I have tried 'other abilities and skills'. I find that aspects of one approach to method can be applied to another and often this exchange of method within the parameters of appropriateness, can be efficacious. In 1975 I used Bach's The Art of the Fugue as a pattern-basis for a sequence of poems (The Art of Flight). I followed this in 'Birds Locked in the Roof' (in Unpolished Mirrors which used Beethoven's last Quartet, then in other poems used piano works by Schoenberg and by Stockhausen. In the early eighties I wrote Defamiliarising ____________* which used the note pattern in Brian Ferneyhough's Time & Motion Study I. More recently I<br />
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have been using his Lemma-Icon-Epigram in a similar way. These pattern sources have been the basis of musical compositions for Bach, Beethoven, Schoenberg, Stockhausen and Ferneyhough, and through my transformation of them have become patterns for my work.<br />
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They don't lead to poetry that is recognisable from these patterns, what they do is to break my pattern habits, my own speech patterns for instance, and encourage my invention. There's a sense in which poets using a riming pattern encouraged their own transformations from song and proportionate design. You could think of Spenser and Sidney and their use of spectacular arithmetic<br />
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and pattern in The Fairie Queene and Asphodel & Stella. Patterns can provide the bases for conceptual understandings of what to plan to for. The use of large and small patten can be as readily available from architecture or design. When Bartok composed some of his Sonatas he had natural elements in mind which in turn could beinterpreted or analysed through Golden Section ideas in<br />
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Euclid and then Fibonacci. Rather than taking the easy option of repeating a natural pattern, I prefer to transform into a new pattern. You could say that has a metonymic dimension, a kind of requirement not to repeat, that stands for the ethos of not repeating.<br />
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3. Transformed extracts, is very detailed. What allows you to have such focus? Is full immersion necessary?<br />
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I think your implication of immersion sounds about right. It's possible to recognise an overview or conceptual preparation, which may not be immersion, but when the engagement starts it becomes necessary and effective to stay there.<br />
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Thank you for taking the time to answer our questions, Allen.<br />
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Yours.<br />
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Jane and Dee.<br />
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Tony Trehy<br />
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Calculus<br />
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0. monotonic the fall. In the cot, of equilibria and reducing <br />
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complexities, the baby recognised my death as our eyes <br />
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another reason to avoid the butchery of children’s <br />
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moment Cut, a form of transitivity when the engine stops <br />
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and you can't go on, but you get out of the car and go on. <br />
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A prepersonal intensity corresponding to the passage one <br />
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experiential state of the body to another implying <br />
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augmentation or diminution in that body's capacity to act <br />
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She reminded me of what we could have had - and it was <br />
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remarkably paradisiacal, only less so. The dynamics <br />
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hovering bird wings, the public are mad those that aren't <br />
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found in any species in city park ascriptions of method. <br />
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Two opposing points connected by positive and negative<br />
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charge tired but it was there, something about never <br />
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getting there – the slender margin language object – daily <br />
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routine of back and forth sine wave study to the quaint <br />
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notions of windswept steppe and desert’s unequal <br />
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presumption of innocence without fear of retributive <br />
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access will be the end of memory: 1<br />
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Epigones<br />
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0. Second-rate or loosely prehensile, our heroes forgotten, <br />
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the principle of least privilege delegated accrues for sun <br />
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kings, sons richly apprenticed His, corrupt variance <br />
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toward the meaning in its use; the universe of all small <br />
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types, which contains names for all the attributes <br />
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forgotten; facilitating removal of exotics as nonalgorithmic <br />
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monuments: telomeres thin between every regeneration. <br />
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Children haunt with the smell of butchery, cost and <br />
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elections deplete memory of us, heroes, our movements <br />
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recorded and forgotten, from one traffic light junction to<br />
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the next top of the range sports car accelerates <br />
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ostentatiously away to wait to surge by system of<br />
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apologia-inertia by proxy’s excluded other, middle and<br />
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below, effectiveness derogating to ‘the same point in space <br />
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repeated times’ as last season’s telomeres thinned toward <br />
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brown, became fashionably black, decisionally <br />
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incapacitated by golden lineage, modelled proudly by <br />
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Akhenaten’s daughters, with tanned, luxuriant, pierced <br />
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bellies, the statute delegation: we were all epigones will be <br />
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again, singular in the infernal drilling noise of extractor <br />
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fans. A changed voice would stand out saying: one day you <br />
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will be someone who lived long ago: 1<br />
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Jan Oskar Hansen <br />
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The Reason <br />
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The bells you hear, when busy voices briefly ceases, <br />
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are made of brass and polished, at dawn, by the spittle <br />
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of seven deeply religious monks in the far away Tibet; <br />
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where they use yak butter in their morning tea. <br />
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When first light strikes the bells there is and explosion <br />
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of the colours, blue and green, that lives inside the sun,<br />
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without these tones the seas would have been dull as <br />
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a rain puddle, outside Gare de Lyon, a fall afternoon. <br />
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Reviews<br />
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Purple Patch no. 117<br />
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An enjoyable edition of Purple Patch with many scene setting poems such as Leaving Vyrnwy by Jane Moreton, and Empty House by Michael Newman. Landscape imagery throughout but the imagery is more striking when used otherwise, for example, in the return to childish speech ‘melt like a lolly on a hot day’ in For Glynn by William Burroughs, and the description of an impoverished scene in Arts Centre by John Denham:<br />
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‘with the impossible heroism<br />
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of the one kilowatt convector heater<br />
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as it strives alone in a dusty corner.’<br />
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Some flashes of unexpected language, for example Kate Edward’s ‘snarling’ in Absence. Despite that many of the poems are predictable and conclusive, leaving little to the reader to work with. The Most Depressing Day of the Year by Frank Burton is an exception, as is Paul Walker’s A Kind of Freedom. Probably the editor’s intention, but there was little in the way of experimental poetry. Interesting concepts were explored in Paul Walker’s Long Year of Unreason, and Gordon Scapen’s A Certain Age. <br />
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The review section cuts to the quick and looks for the positives in each publication. It is informative rather than patronising or overly critical, and a reasonable basis for choice of reading, I felt. The gossip section is interesting and controversial.<br />
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50 Heads by Tony Trehy<br />
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From a striking cover to a hugely enjoyable set of poets prose. The cover shows the mid-section of a high rise glass and steel structure, appealing in its mathematical, ordered image of contained clarity, appropriate to the poetry within. <br />
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Trehy’s set of 49 poems are all in the same prose format, and take up space within the centre of the page with an overall square or rectangular shape. They begin with 0. and end with : 1. I was unsure of the reason for this during reading, but Trehy explains that he has invented this ‘Head’ form, and that it relates to Mathematics, where ‘the probability of something happening is defined as a number between zero and one – with zero meaning that the thing didn’t happen and one meaning that it did.’ The titles are arranged alphabetically. <br />
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There seems to be within the poems a mathematical as well as poetical approach to the possibilities of language, and recurrent themes are mathematical theorems, linguistic concepts & syntax, and a sort of reflection on human nature. Within quite dissociated texts, phrases appear in more than one poem, and the reader recognises as old friends. There is a sparseness of imagery with some exceptions, such as in the first half of Poem. The poems are predominantly temporal, although there exists in many of the poems a type of mathematical imagery which leads the reader into, out of, and around part concepts, as in Content. The concepts, thoughts and images are presented fleetingly as part phrases, phrases leading to further phrases or concepts presented within the same sentence. Perhaps this is the way the brain links things instead of the formalised order imposed by societal systems, including commonly used language phrasing and syntax. <br />
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Most of the poems are made up of phrases rather than sentences, with only an occasional complete sentences within the text, occurring at the end of the poem as a possible conclusive sentence. In general there is permission to interpret the phrases and group them as the reader wished. <br />
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Tony Trehy makes up relationships between words and phrases and presents these relationships as texts that can be read and re-read, interpreted at a moment in time a first instance, then again. These are poems to be taken in small doses like 80% cocoa solid chocolate – they are intense and immensely satisfying, if you like this sort of thing. <br />
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Dee McMahon<br />
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Review of ‘countersyncopationyeah’ by Mark Sonnenfeld <br />
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This is probably the fourth time I’ve read this piece of work, written by Mark Sonnenfeld in collaboration with artist Jose Roberto Sechi. A line on what I’ll call the title page tells me its ‘about electricity and THE DOORS’. I have a basic knowledge of each, but am happy to have my belief that poetry contains no truisms confirmed here. For me this piece is quite simply about art and text and the relationships between them.<br />
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This piece of work spans nine pages and appears as collaged columns from a Spanish newspaper, possibly from the ‘looking for’ or ‘for sale’ ads, overlaid with short sequences of letters in alphabetical order, and black dots of varying sizes in varying positions. There are text and symbols, or collaged text above and below the columns on each page, and these columns never exactly fit the page. The overriding result for me is stimulation on a poetic, conceptual and artistic level. The relationships between the various texts on the page and from page to page is well disassociated although I do form an impression of both snapshots from daily life, and occasionally, an approach towards a moral commentary. The fact that the font is different for each line of text on each page and page to page, makes for more and more dislocated reading. For this and other reasons the work is unusually compulsive and draws me back to read, re-read and observe it.<br />
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One of the most compulsive elements is created by the presence of black dots on the newspaper columns, always two per page. I wonder about the balance of the dots themselves, if one is large on the page, must the other be small; do they equal the same square area in each case; are they sequential; what text are they hiding; is the point the interruption of the column text or the size and position of the dots; their relationship to the text outside the columns. They engender a gracefulness, and artistry in the piece that is outside of the texts but at the same time part of the whole. In a strange way I feel related to the artistic nature of the work through these black dots, and in their simplicity and movement through the text, they make me happy! <br />
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The relationship between text and art works as counterpoint, the text dissociating, the artwork uniting. Constants are the newspaper columns, the presence of black dots, the presence of text. Variables are the black dot size and position, the content of the text, its font. It becomes apparent why countersyncopationyeah was chosen as title to the work.<br />
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That this is a work is both poetic and artistic in nature does not mean it will necessarily command repeated reading and observation. That it is stimulating and interesting on many levels means countersyncopationyeah will interest poets and artists alike.<br />
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Dee McMahon<br />
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Review of ‘A Fiery Sunset’ by Omar Musa Ballouta<br />
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A Fiery Sunset by Omar Musa Ballouta<br />
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ISBN:0-7951-8671-1<br />
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Watermark Press<br />
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3600 Crondall Lane<br />
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Suite 100<br />
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Owings Mills, MD 21117<br />
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‘A Fiery Sunset’ is a book of love poems, beautifully written from the heart. Read it all in one go and you know where Omar is coming from. For most of us at some point in our lives, we have been there. It reminded me of those relationships you have, no matter how short or long, you never forget the fleeting magic of it all, even though quite often there is pain and loss involved. We don’t know why it may sometimes end but that is the mysterious side of life. At least we can capture these memories as Omar has in this interesting and sensual book of poems. I enjoyed this collection.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Jane Marsh.<br />
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The Life of Fergus in the Hall Cupboard <br />
<br />
During the Very Wet Summer of 2007<br />
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<br />
<br />
The highest shelves<br />
<br />
are full of dad objects such as<br />
<br />
a birth certificate in Spanish a flag<br />
<br />
of Chile a strip of photographs<br />
<br />
of a young boy in a sailor suit<br />
<br />
smiling up at his father<br />
<br />
on a street in Valparaiso each one<br />
<br />
a small epic a heartbeat more<br />
<br />
than the one<br />
<br />
before letter<br />
<br />
about an earthquake in 1906<br />
<br />
a snowscape in the Andes<br />
<br />
a Panama Canal souvenir brochure<br />
<br />
stories still lifes poems<br />
<br />
cigarette cards film star cards<br />
<br />
Brigitte Helm Loretta Young<br />
<br />
bats of the British Isles cards<br />
<br />
famous Scottish people cards<br />
<br />
David Livingstone Thomas Carlyle<br />
<br />
carefully pasted cowboy scrapbooks<br />
<br />
carefully written bicycle diaries<br />
<br />
diaries from the war he shouldn’t have<br />
<br />
kept in case he was captured killed<br />
<br />
without having seen mum<br />
<br />
without having made love<br />
<br />
without having ridden the pulse<br />
<br />
of longing completion creation a ship<br />
<br />
in a bottle<br />
<br />
Made by a German soldier<br />
<br />
in exchange for cigarettes and chocolate<br />
<br />
I can still smell the cork pieces clipped<br />
<br />
from victory sheets I can still smell<br />
<br />
the V flowers pressed<br />
<br />
in a heavy book I can still smell<br />
<br />
the perfume letters<br />
<br />
about love<br />
<br />
threads a framed picture of a sailing ship<br />
<br />
slicing the waves of an imaginary sea<br />
<br />
braces glasses a shaving razor<br />
<br />
the blood plugged with tiny papers<br />
<br />
cufflinks armbands lists of things<br />
<br />
lists of worlds lists of music he loved<br />
<br />
lists of music he needed to love list of things<br />
<br />
to lift him a heartbeat more a letter<br />
<br />
he wrote the week before<br />
<br />
a death certificate in English a photograph<br />
<br />
of a young boy smiling up at his father<br />
<br />
turning into his father<br />
<br />
on a hill of ferns in Argyllshire<br />
<br />
who has to make the list of everything<br />
<br />
on the highest shelves because<br />
<br />
I can no longer be sure of<br />
<br />
what he laughed like what he <br />
<br />
sang like what I look like beneath the dust<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Puppy Love<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A weekend redneck<br />
<br />
with his boot on a chain<br />
<br />
transforms<br />
<br />
his Alabama drawl<br />
<br />
to a Greenock snarl<br />
<br />
mutters<br />
<br />
fuck off<br />
<br />
after singing<br />
<br />
every second line<br />
<br />
of fuck off Freebird<br />
<br />
by Lynyrd fuck off Skynyrd<br />
<br />
to his chocolate-<br />
<br />
coloured fuck off pup<br />
<br />
as it plays growls<br />
<br />
shakes<br />
<br />
his tatty-coloured<br />
<br />
guitar-shapped bag<br />
<br />
scatters<br />
<br />
his earnings<br />
<br />
all over the slabs<br />
<br />
looks up at his fuck<br />
<br />
off face for approval<br />
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<br />
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<br />
Graham Fulton<br />
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Listings<br />
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<br />
<br />
Purple Patch<br />
<br />
Editor: Geoff Stevens,<br />
<br />
25, Griffiths Road,<br />
<br />
West Bromwich<br />
<br />
B71 2EH<br />
<br />
England<br />
<br />
www.geoffstevens.co.uk<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
West House Books, 40 Crescent Road, Nether Edge, Sheffield S7 1HN<br />
<br />
www.westhousebooks.co.uk<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
www.poemsinthedark.com<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
www.thewordtravels.com<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
www.mslexia.co.uk<br />
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<br />
http://ac-cygnusx.blogspot.com<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
www.Stridemagazine.co.uk<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
www.cinnamonpress.com<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
www.publishandbedamned.org<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
www.writeoutloud.net<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
http://www.planetmagazine.org.uk/html/contrib.htm<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Measure: an email magazine of poetry and prose<br />
<br />
http://hometown.aol.co.uk/jumpcatrod/myhomepage/writing.html <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
http://www.poetsletter.com<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Trespass<br />
<br />
trespassmagazine@yahoo.co.uk<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Journal & original plus<br />
<br />
Sam Smith <br />
<br />
17 High Street<br />
<br />
Maryport,<br />
<br />
Cumbria CA15 6BQ<br />
<br />
UK<br />
<br />
http://members.aol.com/smithsssj/index.html<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
See also The Select Six - www.bewrite.net/select_six.htm <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Book Of Hopes And Dreams: a charity, poetry anthology, published to raise money for the Medical Aid, Afghanistan appeal of the Glasgow-based charity Spirit Aid.<br />
<br />
www.rimbaud.org.uk/bookofhope.html <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The anthology features the work of many well-respected poets, including Margaret Atwood, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, John Heath-Stubbs, Carol Ann Duffy, Simon Armitage, Tony Harrison, Alasdair Gray, Edwin Morgan, Penelope Shuttle, Anne Stevenson, Jon Stallworthy, Alan Brownjohn, Ruth Fainlight, David Constantine, Moniza Alvi, Cyril Dabydeen, Elaine Feinstein, Vicki Feaver, Michael Horovitz, Tom Leonard, Robert Mezey, Lawrence Sail, Jay Ramsay, Charles Ades Fishman, Geoffrey Godbert and Ian Duhig, amongst others.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
http://www.ginoskoliteraryjournal.com/<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
www.stimulusrespond.com.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
POETRY KIT (www.poetrykit.org)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
http://www.thunderburst.co.uk<br />
<br />
davidcaddy.blogspot.com<br />
<br />
http://www.onthepremises.com/<br />
<br />
http://www.incwriters.co.uk/<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Points of Reference: cd by Edge Hill University Poets Alice Lenkiewicz, Andrew Taylor, Cliff Yates, Angela Keaton, Matt Fallaize, Dee McMahon and Robert Sheppard. £4.50 p&p from Alice or Dee<br />
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<br />
<br />
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Stories of the Line: cd by Dee McMahon. £4.00 p&p 14 Tower Hill, Ormskirk, L39 2EF<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Message from Editor, Matt Fallaize. <br />
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<br />
Neon Highway – Here to help <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
With the vast array of poetry magazines in the marketplace, it’s not always easy to send your work off confident that it’ll receive a sympathetic reading. Each editor has their likes, their dislikes, their pet hates, their secret loves. Every poem deserves to be given the best chance possible. Likewise every editor needs to spend less time sorting through submissions pile weeding out work which simply isn’t what the magazine wants. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So to make your life, and our lives, easier, let us clarify: <br />
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<br />
<br />
Here at Neon Highway we want work that is, for want of a better word, experimental. We want innovative poetry, we want interesting, engaging, poetry. We want poetry that is trying something else. We don’t care if you’re published a thousand times over, or if you’re submitting for the very fist time. We’re committed to breaking new work. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Experimentation can be linguistic, it can be thematic, it can be procedural, structural, topical. Experimental does not necessarily mean obscure, high-brow or any of the other narrow descriptions writers use unnecessarily to define themselves. It is a freshness, a state of mind, a willingness to take a risk on behalf of your writing. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
What is doesn’t mean is formulaic, polemical, hectoring, old hat. A political poem is fine, a rant is not. A love poem is fine, yet another poem about how sad you are because your partner left you is not. Descriptive work is fine, work that groans under the weight of its own adjectives is not (remember what Bunting said about them bleeding nouns). Simple poems are fine, obvious ones are not. Poems about cats will be going straight in the bin. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
If you think we’re the ones for you, we’d love to hear from you. If you don’t, then relax, there’s someone out there for your work. It just isn’t us, and you’ve just saved yourself a lot of time.<br />
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Subscription<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Neon Highway, the magazine for experimental and innovative poetry.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Submissions of innovative poetry to be sent to editors:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz: 37, Grinshill Close, Liverpool, L8 8LD<br />
<br />
Dee McMahon: 14, Tower Hill, Ormskirk, L39 2EG<br />
<br />
Matt Fallaize: 67, Lea Crescent, Ormskirk, L39 1PG<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Neon Highway is available bi-annually, with 2 issues costing £5.50, or a single<br />
<br />
Issue available at £3.00. Order your next issue by sending a cheque to Alice Lenkiewicz 37, Grinshill Close, Liverpool, L8 8LD.</div>
Alice Lenkiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04020676166907047838noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4359728548211384456.post-18671972819957019482013-05-28T00:45:00.001-07:002013-05-28T00:45:28.677-07:00ISSUE: 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Neon Highway ISSN 1476-9867 <br />
<br />
<br />
Issue 2<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
September 2002<br />
<br />
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSPCJLYi2uI/AAAAAAAAA1U/e-8FY00uzEg/s1600/coverissue2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" n4="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSPCJLYi2uI/AAAAAAAAA1U/e-8FY00uzEg/s640/coverissue2.jpg" width="438" /></a></div>
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Contents:<br />
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<br />
David Grubb: two poems: 1/2<br />
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<br />
A C Evans: three poems/three images: 3/4/5/6 <br />
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Ken Edwards: poem: 7/8/9<br />
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Robert Sheppard: poem: 9-15<br />
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<br />
Mark Mendoza: poem: 15/16/17<br />
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<br />
Helen Berry: two poems: 17-22<br />
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David Clemson: poem: 22-23<br />
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Rupert Loydell: two poems: 23-26<br />
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Adrian Clarke: poems: 26/27<br />
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Jas Maddock: poem/image: 28/29/30<br />
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Alice Lenkiewicz: poem/image: 30/31<br />
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Sheila Murphy: poems: 32<br />
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Trevor Landers: poem: 33/34<br />
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<br />
Jim Bennet: poems: 34-36<br />
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Matt Fallaize: poem: 36-38<br />
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Bill Griffiths: poems: 38-42<br />
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Cover image by Jas Maddock<br />
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<br />
<br />
With special thanks to Ken Edwards and Bill Griffiths for contributing towards this issue.<br />
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Copyright is retained by the authors <br />
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<br />
David Grubb<br />
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<br />
Learning to Fly<br />
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<br />
My children fall out of the wall into dreams<br />
<br />
where flying is the first thing you do. They already<br />
<br />
know that this is not possible when we are around. They<br />
<br />
also know that some of the animals cannot be mentioned<br />
<br />
or it leads to questions, frowns, disbelief and even harm.<br />
<br />
In church they see saints doing the fantastic and beasts<br />
<br />
wandering between miracles and battles and all the animals<br />
<br />
fall down in front of St. Francis when he commands them.<br />
<br />
The nearest we get to this is in stories of walls that go for<br />
<br />
a walk and zoos where the people are in cages and when the sun<br />
<br />
and moon speak in sonata-form. Ballet also gets near to it<br />
<br />
but when the adults try too hard you get bad sculpture<br />
<br />
and long poems and operas where the small bellowing heads<br />
<br />
of ugly females fog-horn rapture above mossy bosoms<br />
<br />
and the sight of unicorns makes some of the men cross their legs.<br />
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OTHER<br />
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And when he had hurled himself at the mirror<br />
<br />
in an attempt to discover other<br />
<br />
we found his two shoes beneath the mirror frame<br />
<br />
placed as if he had just exchanged them for boots<br />
<br />
and had walked out into the wilds of Dartmoor<br />
<br />
to be with the singing stones and the women turned into<br />
<br />
trees and the places where children would sometimes be heard singing<br />
<br />
and in the letters he had left all of the words had become<br />
<br />
birds and his books stank of berries and old orchards.<br />
<br />
This being a dream of course so that we may believe<br />
<br />
in it. This being a fable so that we can refer to it<br />
<br />
and not let the silence hide it, giving his two shoes<br />
<br />
to the Oxfam shop, his letter to the zoo and his books<br />
<br />
hurled into the compost bin until they were quiet.<br />
<br />
This being what we stuff between the prayers and the<br />
<br />
orthodoxies and what we wish our children to discover<br />
<br />
after the singing detectives have been and made<br />
<br />
comments about the size of the mirror, big enough<br />
<br />
to swallow a man whole if the truth were told.<br />
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2<br />
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A.C. Evans<br />
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<br />
IN EXTREMIS<br />
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In my suffering<br />
<br />
I looked out of the window<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Far blue evening sky of clouds<br />
<br />
Lit from below; a flashing, red light<br />
<br />
From an aircraft overhead-the scene<br />
<br />
Reflects my mind, or<br />
<br />
The images in my mind,<br />
<br />
Arising- how?<br />
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3<br />
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In extremis, I feel convulsions<br />
<br />
Taking my singular presence<br />
<br />
Beyond, or among, the clouds above.<br />
<br />
So-in this uncertain space where<br />
<br />
A cold, burning mist shrouds<br />
<br />
The remains of ancient buildings<br />
<br />
Abandoned carcasses scattered<br />
<br />
Across scrubland hillside, rising to a<br />
<br />
Monumental crown of stones<br />
<br />
Standing motionless in time,<br />
<br />
I see that I am dying-slowly,<br />
<br />
And in pain.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
I also see, with another sense,<br />
<br />
A white, slender figure approaching.<br />
<br />
Perhaps we can talk,<br />
<br />
Is it possible<br />
<br />
That, without words, there is, at last,<br />
<br />
An answer?<br />
<br />
But no-I hesitate-and<br />
<br />
Quietly, the figure passes into shadow.<br />
<br />
Everything fades slowly from my sight<br />
<br />
As, without a sound, I drift<br />
<br />
Into oblivion-into darkness.<br />
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4<br />
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<br />
WAITING HERE<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Images of star death.<br />
<br />
Polished flooring, waiting,<br />
<br />
I’m waiting - jazz music – impressions,<br />
<br />
Mistaken impressions – Elektra, still<br />
<br />
Waiting, child’s voice, silhouette,<br />
<br />
Figures – plate glass vistas-all<br />
<br />
Around me, while I wait, here,<br />
<br />
Still-and outside the hothouse,<br />
<br />
Not my time, light-bird waiting<br />
<br />
Here sleepmask cool, the sky<br />
<br />
Reflected-no, I am…waiting<br />
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5<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
LOOP DECAY<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
1. Dawning Sickness<br />
<br />
Legend-time-love-remorse<br />
<br />
Endless-loop-loop decay<br />
<br />
Endgame-future-memorial-hope<br />
<br />
Deny-time-love-decay<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
2. Death Inventory<br />
<br />
Comprehension tonal-trial-black<br />
<br />
Ignorance-ecstasy-life-decay<br />
<br />
Help-smile-deny-endless loop<br />
<br />
Legend – endgame – time-decay<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
3. Loop Alarm<br />
<br />
Away-thought-remains-remorse<br />
<br />
Help-time-legend-decay<br />
<br />
Save-deny-alarm-loop<br />
<br />
Endless-future-love-decay<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
4. Picturesque Concordance<br />
<br />
Dust – ecstasy – mem-orial – hope<br />
<br />
Past – l e g e n d – decay<br />
<br />
Sa…ve…(deny – alarm – lo-<br />
<br />
-op – t I m e – remain – fall…ing – d e c a y<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
5. Sick Decay<br />
<br />
Unkn-ow-n…) remain – hope – endless<br />
<br />
Loop – loop – d e c a y…ing<br />
<br />
…unknown…u n k n o w…n…///<br />
<br />
]legend – love – re-mor-se-<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
6<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ken Edwards<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Four poems from Eight+ Six (from a much longer sequence consisting of 98 poems due to be published as a book)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
THEY DIDN’T GO HOME<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The poets and their entourages, appendages,<br />
<br />
Readerships, theoretical props and absences<br />
<br />
Are variously and severally assembled.<br />
<br />
A shows pictures and reads the words.<br />
<br />
B takes seriously the notations in cowboy comic balloons<br />
<br />
C vacillates, and comes down on the side of externality<br />
<br />
D demonstrates conviviality (again).<br />
<br />
E emphasises the smallness of the audience.<br />
<br />
F is quiet and has with him a pair of roller blades<br />
<br />
G, as usual, enigmatic.<br />
<br />
H waxes shaven.<br />
<br />
I have had my hair newly cut but have forgotten about it.<br />
<br />
Sound travels from the street below because it is a warm<br />
<br />
Night & there is no reason for folks to go home.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
THE POETS GATHER<br />
<br />
(Theory of poetry 2)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The poets gather. They, like poetry itself,<br />
<br />
want to be, not seem. Which is seemly.<br />
<br />
These are their stories, and the summation<br />
<br />
of them is this: that they reject story.<br />
<br />
Why, they are paralytic with joy: on their plastic chairs<br />
<br />
they identify the depth of field of such paradoxes<br />
<br />
and exult in it – they presuppose no need<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
for emotional closure.<br />
<br />
That was then. And now?<br />
<br />
Well, only you & I are left, and we’re engaged<br />
<br />
In refutation. Yours is a pint of bitter,<br />
<br />
mine’s a Guinness. This proposition is true. We raise<br />
<br />
our glasses, we refute it<br />
<br />
and refute again.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
SHIFTS GENRE OFTEN<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The poet is one who commits<br />
<br />
acts of barbarism out of<br />
<br />
social urgency. She babbles<br />
<br />
and is a rejection of the<br />
<br />
language of. She keeps the context<br />
<br />
problematic, pivots as often<br />
<br />
as possible, which permits<br />
<br />
the tide. This is kind of lingo<br />
<br />
phrase for those sorts of people lost<br />
<br />
in “the water of the river”<br />
<br />
when the water is the river.<br />
<br />
Its maps are metamorphic not<br />
<br />
atemporal, a comedy of<br />
<br />
metonymic chains, of logics<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*For Lyn Hejinian, some of whose presentation in the King’s Talks series, King’s College London, April 1998, I have paraphrased freely here.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
BECOME GEMS HERE<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The map has got scrambled & we are all<br />
<br />
delighted. My foot is ambiguous, it has<br />
<br />
locationality but not<br />
<br />
positionality. Don’t stop. “Those useful choreographies<br />
<br />
can easily become a baleful aerobic”* and<br />
<br />
once the stultifiers have a hex on warp agencies<br />
<br />
who knows where it’ll end up?<br />
<br />
But I am certain of a noble uncertainty, it’s OK<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
now I see that you in your way<br />
<br />
radiate and this is legal & good<br />
<br />
And everyone says you got the look<br />
<br />
of the artist formerly known as god.<br />
<br />
We are conversant with our glorious plangent mess<br />
<br />
gazing rapidly past this which into here<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
• The quotation is attributed to Chris Cheek in New Hampshire, September 1996<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
31 Basalt Wind-chimes for the Window-Box of Earthly Pleasures<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The End of the Twentieth Century 2<br />
<br />
Implosive Samples 2<br />
<br />
Human Dust 5<br />
<br />
Twentieth Century Blues 64<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Not a book of ayres not a solid monotone. An eye. An ear. Willed to pleasure, let's take a note for a walk across the humming strings. Human<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Human dust on which history overdosed twice (at least) in one century<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
This dance means bumping into things, yet jump back from the path of Creation's clockwork <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Atheism does not exist because god invented it! A force to vent: Velopoesis<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A single voice on a single page - there's music enough. The newspaper vendor cries: ‘Echo ... Echo <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Plonk (see plunk); his rush of pleasure haunts the paths of sense with sensation<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But that spooky charm is not earthly goodness as one would want to know it! <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The fat, melting, dissipates more energy than it conserves. As does repeating the spiky line that unravels into a force larger than its parts<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
‘There ain't no way they can replace this vacuum I created in human history <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The discipline of hazard and high quality shoots aloft the victims' pitiable admiration that builds under the crust of pain while Creation adjusts its ancient braces<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Author of Bangs, against which we nuzzle the footnote of something like human justice. If he is condemned to time, push the eye out and climb out, as from a shell into the bright dream of tomorrow. Obtain your liberty and fiery scope, a phoenix of ‘Socio-Pleasurableness’!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Routes bloomed across bound wastes: up to off and over and out until they feel like jelly: ‘Your faire lookes enflame<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A sensation that is almost an emotion an aubade an algorithmic simulation<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(a vacuum<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Suck parody? Constituents of pleasure are not to be taken for granted<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(sings:) Dear, if you change, I'll melt away like lard! <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Jaunty now, where the lyrics are dainty. Its opposite, in semantic counterpoint, a miraculous parliament! <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Keep Creation dramatic and didactic, that's the trick! Each single eye is plugged tight with transformations<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The strange persistence of the meanings of certain words through centuries. Which syllable shall we elongate to quench again with love? <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The right to pleasure, as under statute. A unit of pleasure, its animus (Who needs devils with gods like that?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Born again, to free Poetic Fury? Dust caught in bees' wax. Turn your lamp up in unbelief. Pleasure has no balance<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
to catch the almost-involuntary spurt of semen or the spiritualist who contacted Bradlaugh after death to catch his confession! Weightless epiphanies<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
‘Shine him off that window!’ This goes with saying<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Who said purity wove their words, advertising just one admired synthesis? <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Has an oath truer currency for being underwritten by fear and by stone-eyed defenders of monuments? Cease to be pleasuring response is lost until it sings far from a said<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Shifting rime that easie flatterer a cat chasing a fly<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Pleasure's twin. Standing by his word, a god of flesh she forms<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Clocking form, the infectious eye catches pleasure being caused. The unhasty song when responsibility descants as response<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The sigh of a cosmos, cooling, expanding; the resurrection of an idea of the word as<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Unseal the lid at last! A chamber of twentieth century echoes rings. Soiled prose-songs of Velopolis<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
June 1999<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Robert Sheppard<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Mark Mendoza<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
fringe saddles<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
unsaturated<br />
<br />
student disaster oils rated/reacted<br />
<br />
from the smeared throne exchange heat<br />
<br />
system freezers firmly- the compost<br />
<br />
surface scrolled fingers reduce & protract the pie<br />
<br />
induction in this matter unusually absent<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
investiture harbours<br />
<br />
herbivore grades blest<br />
<br />
professions or social shorts<br />
<br />
profoundly refunded<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
tune general tardy<br />
<br />
demand smoke<br />
<br />
function pull off<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
with traveller’s joy/ a child of 7 years needs<br />
<br />
testa splits) to bury for nothing: <br />
<br />
46firsts.com<br />
<br />
place & appliance a-<br />
<br />
greed with the employer<br />
<br />
in funding the deep fringe saddles as follows:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
1) production of the Basidium Nexus Plan (BNP)<br />
<br />
2) deamination of isolate force-pump & graft<br />
<br />
3) storage of cupped garden soil will do- essence<br />
<br />
of yellow torch; &<br />
<br />
4) regulation of the chromolume in plundering<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
equation of the last<br />
<br />
items ad valorem advert expenditure<br />
<br />
whereabouts & come smaller<br />
<br />
assigned a fiscal place in a tokonoma rivulets<br />
<br />
& droplets react<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
without throat rate<br />
<br />
looking like homozygous<br />
<br />
or vestigial wings war<br />
<br />
on worthwhile<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
wear on any cut godwottery<br />
<br />
not yet raised to a yodel<br />
<br />
multiple asset tubers<br />
<br />
& polythene side-lines sovereign clap<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
largely backward or handicapped for the secular<br />
<br />
chambr´e at the momentary canal they turn<br />
<br />
thyme-eaters to credit<br />
<br />
“dust yourself off there<br />
<br />
let alphas decide weather a headlong stop-gap<br />
<br />
or warped flax engine will cross inert phenotype<br />
<br />
suicide in the same<br />
<br />
ludic counters to a prejudice<br />
<br />
chin up” you can wig out<br />
<br />
if you wag trails <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
-----------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Helen Berry<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
THE TASTE OF THE ONION<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
OUR nation is at WAR <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
OUR ECONOMY is in RECESSION<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The civilised world F<br />
<br />
A<br />
<br />
C<br />
<br />
E<br />
<br />
S UNPRECEDENTED DANGERS<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
YET <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
THE STATE OF OUR UNION <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
HAS NEVER BEEN STRONGER <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
OUR NATION HAS <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
CAPTURED<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
ARRESTED<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
AND RID<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
THE WORLD OF THOUSANDS <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
OF TERRORISTS<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
SAVED A PEOPLE<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
FROM STARVATION<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
FREED A COUNTRY <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
FROM BRUTAL OPPRESSION<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A $$$ BILLION DOLLARS $$$ A MONTH<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
TODAY * * * * <br />
<br />
WOMEN * * * *<br />
<br />
ARE * * * <br />
<br />
FREE <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
OUR PROGRESS IS A TRIBUTE TO THE <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
MIGHT <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
OF <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
THE UNITED STATES MILITARY<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(THEY) HAVE DELIVERED <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A MESSAGE<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
YOU WILL NOT ESCAPE <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
THE JUSTICE <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
OF THIS NATION<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
SEMPER FI MY LOVE<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
OUR CAUSE IS JUST <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
TENS OF THOUSANDS <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
OF <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
DANGEROUS KILLERS <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
SCHOOLED <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
IN THE METHODS <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
OF <br />
<br />
MURDER <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
THE MEN AND <br />
<br />
WOMEN <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
OF <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
OUR <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
ARMED FORCES <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
SPREAD<br />
<br />
THROUGHOUT<br />
<br />
THE WORLD<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
LIKE<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
TICKING<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
TIME BOMBS<br />
<br />
SET<br />
<br />
TO GO <br />
<br />
OFF <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
WITHOUT<br />
<br />
WARNING<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
AMERICA IS ACTING <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
AMERICA AND AFGHANISTAN ARE NOW ALLIES<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
LET’S PASS A STIMULUS PACKAGE <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Girl from Ipanema<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Carnival carnivore casting worms<br />
<br />
Jewelled watch, sleek chic bait<br />
<br />
A gluttonous feast of flesh<br />
<br />
pretty,<br />
<br />
preened<br />
<br />
and primed await<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Metre high plumes on glittering crowns<br />
<br />
Fandango frippery<br />
<br />
Fringing flickery<br />
<br />
Hormones transported in<br />
<br />
sweaty rivulets<br />
<br />
Amazon rivers coursing <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Maraca beads <br />
<br />
swirling white noise<br />
<br />
Tom-tom pacing <br />
<br />
pelvic thrust<br />
<br />
Native rhythms evoke<br />
<br />
lustful swelling <br />
<br />
Wave pulses to the edge<br />
<br />
Hairs twitch<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
In-breath <br />
<br />
held <br />
<br />
waiting<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Heartbeat re-sounds<br />
<br />
throb<br />
<br />
Crescendo approaches<br />
<br />
Pace quickens <br />
<br />
Pupils dilate<br />
<br />
Flesh judders<br />
<br />
Globs trickling over<br />
<br />
glistening skin <br />
<br />
pulled<br />
<br />
translucent <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Precocious gutter child <br />
<br />
re-turned<br />
<br />
Chicken bones <br />
<br />
line <br />
<br />
the Street<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
David Clemson<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Before reconstruction<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Horsetails whipped by the hot wind<br />
<br />
as the crocodiles scrape their scales<br />
<br />
against the dead oaks<br />
<br />
blistered by the Sun<br />
<br />
desiccated statues of forgotten shade.<br />
<br />
Brown-eyed deer flicker<br />
<br />
through the tall golden grasses<br />
<br />
laden with fat ticks, <br />
<br />
scenting the water,<br />
<br />
fearing to drink<br />
<br />
under the lion’s, snarl<br />
<br />
over the dead lambs.<br />
<br />
While pink, grey and green<br />
<br />
lampreys suck the life from<br />
<br />
the great salmon as they<br />
<br />
lie in the gravid beds.<br />
<br />
All must come to this course?<br />
<br />
This Eden where the key<br />
<br />
is jammed in the lock.<br />
<br />
Overwound climate?<br />
<br />
Broken Spring?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Rupert Loydell<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
HOUSE OF GLOOM<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I flew home each night from wherever I had been<br />
<br />
To watch my father die, slept on the floor beside him.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Colours bleached out while I was away, everything<br />
<br />
turned to brown: ochre, tawny, mustard, spice.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Death continued about its secret business;<br />
<br />
no-one ever spoke about what was going on.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Stumps of bushes are sending up shoots,<br />
<br />
Often in the form of prophecy or story.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
No-one listens. I am somewhere else by now,<br />
<br />
at a standstill. Waiting for Dad to arrive.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I must stop turning to see if he is following,<br />
<br />
must learn to speak in the past tense.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Only the hardiest can stand the present;<br />
<br />
I do not understand the word memory.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
At the bottom of my heart it is proven:<br />
<br />
melancholy makes everything right.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Turn on the light and play music til daybreak;<br />
<br />
Loss must be burnt into the world.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
My father is now cross-referenced,<br />
<br />
a man no longer in the public domain.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
‘Don’t pull that innocent routine on me’<br />
<br />
is something he once might have said.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I twitch and fidget, pace the field;<br />
<br />
he zips and flickers through the world.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
River of Breath<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Already, I know<br />
<br />
some of my clothes<br />
<br />
will outlast me;<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
and that there won’t<br />
<br />
be time to read my books<br />
<br />
or hear my CDs again.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Past and future<br />
<br />
stretch tight between<br />
<br />
loss and promise,<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
an intersection<br />
<br />
where topography<br />
<br />
becomes narrative:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
a dangerous turn,<br />
<br />
hills, bridges, towers,<br />
<br />
an underpass<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
all possible routes<br />
<br />
through the woods<br />
<br />
to where clear skies<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
and rivers wait.<br />
<br />
We have drifted away<br />
<br />
from the moment…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I wish for nothing<br />
<br />
to change, should<br />
<br />
probably worry more<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
as ambition slips<br />
<br />
out of sight. Time<br />
<br />
is not my property,<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the end of the work<br />
<br />
is in view. I snuggle<br />
<br />
into a tent of words.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Adrian Clarke<br />
<br />
from Skeleton Sonnets<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the age <br />
<br />
of what<br />
<br />
to input<br />
<br />
profiles idem<br />
<br />
a fleur<br />
<br />
not inflated<br />
<br />
full face<br />
<br />
in your<br />
<br />
one step<br />
<br />
from the<br />
<br />
edge pretty<br />
<br />
as a <br />
<br />
puncture’s high<br />
<br />
pitched collapse<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Who will ever read these slips…?”<br />
<br />
Li ho (trans J.D. Frodsham)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
tips windswept<br />
<br />
neglect stirs<br />
<br />
a flicker<br />
<br />
within silk<br />
<br />
sheathed speckling<br />
<br />
leaves illegible<br />
<br />
pits beetle<br />
<br />
drilled piecemeal<br />
<br />
deliver the <br />
<br />
insinuative image<br />
<br />
scenting drizzle<br />
<br />
spirits twitter <br />
<br />
a relict<br />
<br />
bled script<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Jas G. Maddock<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I USED TO FEEL INTENSE IN MY DEFENCE OF MY DIFFERENCE- NOW I’M COMPLETELY INDIFFERENT. A study of dreams…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I met two floral decked boys on the way to nowhere<br />
<br />
They greeted me with a bow and a shower of fragrance<br />
<br />
Shrank to the size of small and crept inside my eyes<br />
<br />
Stayed there beautiful and danced until I died<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
If you look closely at things far off you mistake them<br />
<br />
Splendorous pretty youths bedecked in dazzled flowers<br />
<br />
Asters, camilias, dahlias, passiflora purple divinity boys<br />
<br />
Then as they draw nearer the magic sours<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Rotten carcass pickled sickly malicious men and women<br />
<br />
Smell of burnt flesh and goats, dressed in the same coats<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
All humans are covered in boring skin and inside are boring bones<br />
<br />
Corpuscles, muscles, kidneys: heartless marauding drones.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I believe in nothing, I live out my lifeless days dazed<br />
<br />
But a tiny pinhole of a crack screams out inside of me<br />
<br />
Not very loud of course, cracks cannot shout very loud<br />
<br />
That I must carry on drained, pained and maimed emotionally.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I dream of bees, of wasps with cigarettes in their arses<br />
<br />
In pink lipstick rooms with strange men by white windows<br />
<br />
I dream of mazes and of running feared I feel the beads of sweat<br />
<br />
Palpitating excruciating; the scare from which I froze<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I see men with teeth like waylaid graveyard tombstones charred<br />
<br />
Walking silent; prowling, the growling; it might be their empty stomach<br />
<br />
But they might just growl as that’s what weird men are supposed to do<br />
<br />
To scare young maidens and princes and leave them wary and flummoxed.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I hear my name called over the waves of the sea by the beach<br />
<br />
Echoing, dancing over the fresh, white, salty foaming milk<br />
<br />
The mermaids and men protect me from the human scurf<br />
<br />
Pox-like and wormy they spread disaster from old age to birth<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The birds talk their bird language all full of mystery and riddle<br />
<br />
Provide a kind of company and punctuate the silent nothing<br />
<br />
I listen and strain to make sense of the twittery flittery<br />
<br />
But after a while it gets me feeling a bit jittery.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I block out the sounds of the past in my present head<br />
<br />
Threatening to take me over and pull me fully back into pain<br />
<br />
I think of golden boys, winged and fragrant with dark hair<br />
<br />
They fight to banish the morbid memories, of more I will gain<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
milieu <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
now she’s back again<br />
<br />
inside the illusion <br />
<br />
preferred this time<br />
<br />
maybe you should persuade me <br />
<br />
that insects fly <br />
<br />
all i see is the earth move in waves<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
when this is over <br />
<br />
will you consider me or <br />
<br />
will it change<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
something vacant <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
blue glass blue snow <br />
<br />
something perhaps <br />
<br />
another random ricochet <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
…so we lit some cigarettes<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
kissed<br />
<br />
despised each other <br />
<br />
laughed<br />
<br />
walked our separate ways <br />
<br />
in-between artificial displays <br />
<br />
of glass fish<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
transparent gaping heads<br />
<br />
one or two reflections<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
i gave the visitor directions <br />
<br />
yes over there <br />
<br />
then watched her search her bag <br />
<br />
as they played that song<br />
<br />
… thought I was someone good <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
she still couldn’t find what she was <br />
<br />
looking for <br />
<br />
put her hand over her mouth <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
31<br />
<br />
Sheila Murphy<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Aggravated Asphalt<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Time and against the granular induction chevrons placed their amber laves where<br />
<br />
Chipped rock seemed intact. For all practical precipice, there seemed a comely<br />
<br />
Avenue to fake. Tensions modestly enveloped see-through evanescence. Mainly<br />
<br />
From the spun confronting shack presiding near the temples. Brains [dry] before<br />
<br />
Beauty. Age is the retort by vitamins, the lock of pear, the whole meal caveats that<br />
<br />
Lank into comportment. The coronary altar cloth ′eclairs that any mandible will<br />
<br />
Do. Maintained by birds of prey still skivvy although posthumous. That might fray<br />
<br />
Semblances before the bake themselves into a twist. This rightly shakes the<br />
<br />
Veered foundations into mountable renewals. Plagues come back to haunt what<br />
<br />
They have taunted once. And then the sway, the showplace and the cult.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Pronouncing the death sentence in a nice way, the surface as altimeter<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Nary a Ration<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
She kept using the word natural. I was very tired. The afternoon seemed to have<br />
<br />
Shelved energy that might have been within the spigot and eventually fallen into<br />
<br />
Use. I could not hear the altar in her humdrum range of motion. Tentacles were<br />
<br />
Aching to give back to Morse Code tincture of a ravishing and soon-to-be<br />
<br />
Announced young fact. The mercy of this wish waltz was its semblance to the<br />
<br />
Known. A welding class would have fortified. Likewise, a modest sum of clash.<br />
<br />
The penury in which her limbs were steeped made soak time seem inanimate.<br />
<br />
Then the worry of the free, the timber out in back, the mere thought of a coast.<br />
<br />
These intrepid shoulder-length reflections on a dish of vindaloo were nearly posh<br />
<br />
Compared with petty actuals that graced the nearby boulders. All one would have<br />
<br />
Wanted was surprise to be indicative of rest. But this seemed creviced with<br />
<br />
Invasion. While telling the tale, one reminisces brilliantly until the headrest won’t<br />
<br />
Include the dromedary motion sickness one considers as an antidote to a learned<br />
<br />
Severity.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Roan latitude, a vague sense of the nest alongside promises<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Trevor Landers<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
House on Oeo Road<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Paint runs from cracks in the ceiling<br />
<br />
as if the room were wounded –<br />
<br />
This body, and we inside.<br />
<br />
perhaps it is running<br />
<br />
from a spear-pierce into our own<br />
<br />
visional vision.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Where words and burgeoning<br />
<br />
shapes fail<br />
<br />
The birth of painting is reflected<br />
<br />
From color above the ceiling.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the black backing shows through<br />
<br />
where a mirror has been partly shattered –<br />
<br />
scalloped edges of glass fallen away,<br />
<br />
so that there is a central<br />
<br />
sculptural night<br />
<br />
surrounded by the day lit<br />
<br />
reflection of trees<br />
<br />
that sway<br />
<br />
at the edge of the anxious mind.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
In fine heat<br />
<br />
two images flash,<br />
<br />
one into the other:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
a ceiling of painted stars, pale-blue fluorescence<br />
<br />
and an unkempt lawn,<br />
<br />
glistening<br />
<br />
from a recent rain.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
By the curve of the earth<br />
<br />
night’s depth is amplified<br />
<br />
as from the sill<br />
<br />
of a bay window from the house, on Oeo Road.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Jim Bennet<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
City of Culture<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
start on bricks<br />
<br />
add the people - the I who have<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
then I who have nothing<br />
<br />
there is something<br />
<br />
see if a people see<br />
<br />
looking for a city's strength<br />
<br />
looking good<br />
<br />
trivialised<br />
<br />
because trivialise is in the viewpoint<br />
<br />
see the city of us<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Liverpool<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
we work writing<br />
<br />
human for ourselves<br />
<br />
and of pieces a side of a face<br />
<br />
a face of subsistence<br />
<br />
of where the desperate<br />
<br />
bring misery<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
so you mostly take on<br />
<br />
the form of squalor<br />
<br />
shut sad as if ashamed<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Liverpool while first aside<br />
<br />
accept reflection<br />
<br />
a struggle in diversity<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
raise another state<br />
<br />
at stake the state<br />
<br />
that inhabits kindly<br />
<br />
but I and us have<br />
<br />
no direction home<br />
<br />
lost because<br />
<br />
people lost hope<br />
<br />
turn don't position<br />
<br />
don't do snapshots<br />
<br />
one shot failure<br />
<br />
write of the problems<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the homeless<br />
<br />
protect people<br />
<br />
create underclass<br />
<br />
what is not should be<br />
<br />
the Liverpool that is<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
who writes of the system<br />
<br />
and worth of city<br />
<br />
cries for Liverpool<br />
<br />
everyone from people<br />
<br />
drug foisted everywhere<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
history induced<br />
<br />
and who is history<br />
<br />
it's crap money but it happens<br />
<br />
need your eyes and everywhere<br />
<br />
talking only of architecture<br />
<br />
banks own the wit<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
we have been the way of poverty<br />
<br />
suffering people<br />
<br />
living think say<br />
<br />
what this picture is<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Liverpool<br />
<br />
city of culture<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
__________________________________<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
when the cold wind blows<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
there are places we go<br />
<br />
in the southern end of town<br />
<br />
where decaying ships<br />
<br />
rust out a wasteland<br />
<br />
we walk back alleys<br />
<br />
the weather against us<br />
<br />
hands with woollen socks for gloves<br />
<br />
coat collar turned against the wind<br />
<br />
this is the reality<br />
<br />
the crackling<br />
<br />
ark cutting<br />
<br />
weld flashing night<br />
<br />
and here we rut<br />
<br />
bum fuck the future<br />
<br />
and cry sometimes<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
yes cry<br />
<br />
when cold winds blow<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Matt Fallaize<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ad-Ban<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Took the colours emphasised, looking changes<br />
<br />
into the mathematician, invariant climbs eight<br />
<br />
to the schemers, where, believing sunlight made<br />
<br />
separate perception dream burning myself.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Beneath next, a gate, hinged white singularity,<br />
<br />
a quicksilver should, better surround the<br />
<br />
objectification, smothering the improvisation.<br />
<br />
The super-structure examined, type fixed.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Clarity sighs into realising peripheral, glanced, indefinite euphony<br />
<br />
until analytic dropped, shifted, lowered, pushed<br />
<br />
over reflex record.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Recollection: lying in a eucalyptus, the gravity opposes the lot.<br />
<br />
Water to our walkway, scattered sonata co-operatively subsiding.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The trumpet rolls<br />
<br />
hits<br />
<br />
and one wall blows. Rush the damage.<br />
<br />
Your black fingers roll temporal air and the <br />
<br />
force felt increases. The shared hole,<br />
<br />
the switch.<br />
<br />
37<br />
<br />
Two, three, carry two. Face dancing visitors, see<br />
<br />
the stationary shadows, under a field<br />
<br />
calls out, exhausted. The untimed unified uses<br />
<br />
signify filling, exhaling in the between so hurts.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Balcony shatters, erupted windows. A walkway<br />
<br />
where fire, the fact, came. We wanted retrenching, the open<br />
<br />
through telephone-cross. Listen. Wings before resistance<br />
<br />
the functions fraught without possible<br />
<br />
following drops and background, in noting glass colour.<br />
<br />
Broke, the congruent roof. Bird wood. Silence. Haywire.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Began once, precise the start. I,<br />
<br />
knowing, upright<br />
<br />
just steel, run the directions, the market,<br />
<br />
incapable curve, jerk. From notions before<br />
<br />
Perfect you. The shoulder circular, just<br />
<br />
passing your moving: poetry.<br />
<br />
It takes it’s surprises, it takes changing a rebound<br />
<br />
labelled “unattended”, marked “decay”. The eye<br />
<br />
with a shouting someone calls physically, the walkway<br />
<br />
with tearing, the energy of the distance.<br />
<br />
Silence, a doubt passes, regarding discarded zero<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sighs in his page, eyes vigorously drawn. The crossing,<br />
<br />
knowing anger. Momentarily in blazes, his bright sirens<br />
<br />
in the inescapable reflections call the dust.<br />
<br />
The utility sends winter to the alternations on the imagined,<br />
<br />
realised sword, and the price.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Dancing down in turning digits, a Fireman in<br />
<br />
unliquidated blank-screened yesterday necessity.<br />
<br />
To the weather, and a history.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Lovely light, the sky strictly duplexed<br />
<br />
with the freedom, measured down their wheels.<br />
<br />
A torch, light circumvents description. My<br />
<br />
time in each moment marks still potent, unbroken. But you<br />
<br />
become another arrangement. I, my uneven changes moves<br />
<br />
it selectively. Self-love flattered a new folded past, sprays the<br />
<br />
pepper- my pillow perception.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The notes are gone. Clean the sign. Beware the distance.<br />
<br />
Accompanied sighs secretes cloves. My somersault flurry<br />
<br />
hit the city, opens on where it’s hesitant sound launch, say<br />
<br />
our distance was copied. Value for reality, simply the<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
disturbing violins. Watch, fixed, the cordon from distance.<br />
<br />
I, outside. One desire, with glass.<br />
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<br />
Bill Griffiths<br />
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<br />
<br />
BEE-BIKE<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
For unto us<br />
<br />
we are sluggish<br />
<br />
in honey-diesel<br />
<br />
a chamber a six-facet fruit-transparent<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
SLIF SLIF SLIF<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
beat and a <br />
<br />
BUMB BUMB BUMB<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
finding we are unemployed again<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
slif at a shiny rim of wax<br />
<br />
float<br />
<br />
booling boon and hint<br />
<br />
no Royce no north no land-fill<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
extra-ordinary<br />
<br />
revolve<br />
<br />
and but a tiny tube of living contact for passage<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
pleases like low-apple syrup<br />
<br />
rods of flavour<br />
<br />
shook to lemon dust<br />
<br />
slight sips fat-water<br />
<br />
in fret-strut<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
solid burgher<br />
<br />
but glow-in-home a lamp<br />
<br />
of wings<br />
<br />
and will we see Mother?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the wall<br />
<br />
of slow soapstone<br />
<br />
rice-glum hinting light<br />
<br />
what these mysterious barricades<br />
<br />
I eat<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I emancipate<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
wing-leg<br />
<br />
arm-head<br />
<br />
leached in the rain<br />
<br />
of loose liquid food our<br />
<br />
first bath<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
or<br />
<br />
euphoric<br />
<br />
deep-root<br />
<br />
plum<br />
<br />
a-rotted snort pip<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
a fellow hum<br />
<br />
to preen<br />
<br />
crawl explore<br />
<br />
foot each-over<br />
<br />
the melody today is ‘Dargomel’<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the chant<br />
<br />
a tumbled walk<br />
<br />
for we are to pay our respects<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
and the Queen<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
roseate and bile<br />
<br />
love-fur fire channel of<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
mill of the loving she-workers<br />
<br />
and we too shine<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
gold and global<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
rasp-castle rigs<br />
<br />
on leg<br />
<br />
a rude mark<br />
<br />
we wake to<br />
<br />
as prussic glamour<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
stripe<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
a grow, crèche<br />
<br />
glow to growl<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
they shake<br />
<br />
sting<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
SPIDER MAN<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
long<br />
<br />
bus-stop<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
man maybe<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
shiny as new<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
only the dull plaques<br />
<br />
sockets<br />
<br />
if you glance, catch a glance<br />
<br />
stands perch-rigid<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
preternatural thin, long<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
still-stannary pipe-crunch clamp-hog-teeth<br />
<br />
hidden<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
How!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
After a familiar while,<br />
<br />
an elegant leg<br />
<br />
seems to almost shuffle<br />
<br />
a beginning of a little dance<br />
<br />
(I do not know what---<br />
<br />
Galliard? Bootlegger Shimmy? Country Jig?)<br />
<br />
lop-sided<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A terrific burst<br />
<br />
Rustle and rush up to,<br />
<br />
tear away from<br />
<br />
bald beserk aggression against a nearby sky-wall<br />
<br />
up and up<br />
<br />
we say, “Oh no! he’ll fall!”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But slapstick-stylish<br />
<br />
then he rives his shirt open<br />
<br />
and SPINS<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
something to web him to safety<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
that gluey confusion of middle<br />
<br />
(waving, behaving, saving)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
all because of the bus<br />
<br />
well, we run<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
well, he knows<br />
<br />
Spider-woman is inside<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
acrid<br />
<br />
svelt<br />
<br />
snaky-necked<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
she rides<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
and her neat bundles beside her<br />
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<br />
Publications<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ken Edwards: Poems published here are from a forthcoming collection: Eight + Six<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sheila E. Murphy: Most recent book-length collection is from Stride Press, titled THE STUTTERING OF WINGS (2002).<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
AC. Evans: Forthcoming collection of poems from Via Dolorosa Press.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Cory Harding: memories of air: Collection of poems and images.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Robert Sheppard; Patricia Farrell: The Blickensderfer Punch: Ship of Fools 2002<br />
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Fucking Time; six songs for the Earl of Rochester: Ship of Fools<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Robert Sheppard: the necessity of poetics: ship of fools, Liverpool, 2002<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Journals<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Radiator: a journal of contemporary poetics. Editor. Scott Thurston.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Oasis: Edited by Ian Robinson and Yann Lovelock.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Paper: Editor: David Kennedy.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Journal: Editor: Sam Smith.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Gallery: COLLECT in Liverpool<br />
<br />
Art Exhibitions<br />
<br />
49, Lark Lane, Liverpool.<br />
<br />
http://home.btconnect.com/collectgallery<br />
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43<br />
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<br />
Contributors<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sheila E. Murphy’s most recent book-length collection is from Stride Press, titled THE STUTTERING OF WINGS (2002). Murphy’s work appears widely in literary presses. Her home is in Phoenix, Arizona, where she and Beverly Carver founded and coordinated the Scottsdale Center for the Arts Poetry Series for twelve years.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Robert Sheppard has now completed his long project Twentieth Century Blues. The most recent parts published were Empty Diaries, Stride, 1998, and The End of the Twentieth Century, Ship of Fools, 2002. Senior Lecturer in Writing and English at Edge Hill College of Higher Education, he has also published widely on contemporary poetry and on the discourse of poetics.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ken Edwards was born in 1950 and lives in London, where he works<br />
<br />
as a journalist. He is currently editorial director of Reality Street Editions. His own publications include: Intensive Care (1986), Good Science (1992), 3,600 Weekends (1993) (collections of poetry); Futures (1998) (novel). The poems published here are from a forthcoming collection: Eight + Six.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
David H W Grubb. B. 1941. Poems and prose published in UK, USA and Austria. THE MEMORY OF ROOMS (new & selected) published by STRIDE last year. New collection due in 2003 as well as a novel.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Helen Berry: Has worked as a systems engineer and business analyst. Currently on the MA Writing course at Edge Hill University College. Interested in Drama and Poetry.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Matt Fallaize: Lives, works and writes in Ormskirk, Lancashire. An MA graduate, he is a member of the Poetry and Poetics research group at Edge Hill University College, where he is in constant fear of being found out for the chancer that he clearly is.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz: Artist/Poet. Brought up in Plymouth. Presently lives in Skelmersdale where she is studying her MA in Writing Studies and editing Neon Highway. Published in Fire and Smoke. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Mark Mendoza celebrated his twenty-second birthday with a one-man Mariachi band in a cactus garden close to Brighton and Hove. He is currently writing the critical autobiography Finder’s Keepers: The Life and Work of Aaron ‘The Animal’ Gill. Network information and material<br />
<br />
containing the words ‘host’ and ‘explosive’ may be forwarded to markmendoza64@hotmail.com.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Jasmine G Maddock: A surreal, imaginative and quirky artist/writer. Graduated in 1996 from John Moores University in Literature. Has undertaken a cornucopia of art/poetic work, including work selected for unesco. it (poetry) in 2001, poetry in ‘Twisted Shadows’, out now from ‘Spotlight Poets’, winning the society of All Artists (SAA) 2000 Experimental Professional section with ‘Manwoman’ and work on www.absolutearts.com/portfolios/j/jasmine.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Trevor Landers is a Lecturer in Communication at The Open Polytechnic of New Zealand. Trevor’s recent publications are in Never Bury Poetry, Poetic Hours, Pierian Springs and The Voice of the Turtle. He is currently reading the lesser known books of the French surrealist author, George Bataille, and intends to write an academic paper on them.<br />
<br />
Jim Bennett is a writer, poet and lecturer, who is married with six children and living in Merseyside (UK). He has over forty books published, covering many subjects including, transport studies, marketing and poetry. He is a lecturer at the University of Liverpool where he delivers courses on such diverse subjects as, travel writing, science fiction, journalism, and other aspects of creative writing.<br />
<br />
Down in Liverpool. A new CD of Music and Poetry from. Jim Bennett. "an authentic voice bringing the sound of beat to Liverpool" http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Academy/1127/<br />
<br />
David Clemson was a teacher and University lecturer in mathematics, science and education. He now makes his living from writing mathematics and science books. All of his previous experience and qualifications have been in mathematics and science. David is now taking the MA in Writing Studies at Edge Hill and having the most exciting time discovering new things about himself.<br />
<br />
Rupert M. Loydell’s writing has appeared in hundreds of magazines in the UK, Europe and America; in many anthologies; and in several solo collections. New work was recently commissioned by the Bath Literature Festival, Devon Arts In Schools Initiative (DAISI) and by Exeter Health Care Arts. Rupert Loydell is Managing Editor of Stride Publications, which he founded in 1982. He also edits the associated Stride magazine-now an online journal at www.stridemagazine.co.uk<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Adrian Clarke’s collections include “Ghost Measures” (Actual size, 1987), and “Obscure Disasters”, “Millennial Shades & Three Papers” and “Paradise Gardens” (all Writers Forum). Work anthologised in “verbi visi voco” (Writers Forum, 1992) and “foil” (Etruscan Books, 2000). He co-edited four issues of “Angel Exhaust” during its two incarnations, and “Floating Capital:new poets from London” (Potes & Poets Press, 1991) with Robert Sheppard. He currently edits “And” with Bob Cobbing.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A.C. Evans<br />
<br />
Born in Hampton Court in 1949, A.C Evans lived in South London until 1963 when he moved to Essex. Moving back to London in 1973, he currently lives in Mortlake, near Richmond. His artistic activities include both poetry and visual art. His drawings, collages, reviews, articles, translations, poetry and poetic fictions have appeared in numerous magazines including Stride, Fire, Fisheye, Cold Print, Memes, Penny Dreadful, Angel Exhaust and Terrible Work.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Bill Griffiths<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Bill Griffiths, born Middlesex 1948, now living in Seaham, Co.Durham. Mixed career, from odd jobs to poetry publishing to studying Old English to (currently) dialect research with the Centre for Northern Studies, Northumbria University. Poetry first published in Poetry Review, 1972 (when edited by Eric Mottram) and subsequently booklets from Writers Forum (Bob Cobbing) and many other little presses. Recent publications: A book of spilt cities (Etruscan Books), Ushabtis (Talus Editions), Durham & other sequences (West House Books).<br />
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NEON HIGHWAY. POETRY / ART MAGAZINE <br />
<br />
Neon Highway publishes, poetry, poetics, art, reviews and letters.<br />
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Alice Lenkiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04020676166907047838noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4359728548211384456.post-67838608361897297902013-05-28T00:45:00.000-07:002013-05-28T00:45:10.161-07:00ISSUE: 3<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSPDfT45KwI/AAAAAAAAA1Y/QCoAjLp-syI/s1600/coverissue3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" n4="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSPDfT45KwI/AAAAAAAAA1Y/QCoAjLp-syI/s640/coverissue3.jpg" width="630" /></a></div>
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Contents:<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
In this issue:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Note from the editor: p.2<br />
<br />
Tribute and poem for Bob Cobbing by the poet Scott Thurston: p. 2-4<br />
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<br />
<br />
Adrian Clarke: Poem: p.5<br />
<br />
Patricia Farrell: Poems and images: p.6-8<br />
<br />
Andrew Taylor: Poem: p.9<br />
<br />
Cliff Yates: Poem: p.10<br />
<br />
James Murphy: Poem: p.11<br />
<br />
Sam Smith: Poems: p.12-15<br />
<br />
Dave Ward: Prose poem: p.15-17<br />
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Lester Smith: Poem: p. 18-19<br />
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Rupert M Loydell: Poem: p.20<br />
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Ian Robinson: drawings: front cover and p.11, 20, 21<br />
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Reviews: p.21-22<br />
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<br />
Publications and Journals: p.23-25<br />
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<br />
Biographies: p.26-27<br />
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Subscription Details: p.26<br />
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Welcome to the 3rd issue of Neon Highway. It is Thursday 6th February 2003. In this issue I would primarily like to pay tribute to Bob Cobbing the sound and concrete poet who died September 29, 2002.<br />
<br />
I never met Bob but having read his ABC in sound and read through his book Word Score Utterance Choreography in Verbal & Visual poetry, edited by Bob Cobbing and Lawrence Upton, I was extremely impressed. I also can’t avoid mentioning bob jubile and bill jubobe texts by Bob Cobbing, works of art in their own right and beautifully put together. Bob also edited And with Adrian Clarke and I would like to point out that issue 11 edited by Bob and Adrian is now available from Writers Forum press, details of which I have put at the back of this magazine under the journals section.<br />
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<br />
<br />
Robert Sheppard and Scott Thurston performed a wonderful performance of Cobbing’s work on 15th October 2002 at Edge-Hill from his ABC. I listened with great enjoyment at this wonderful display of sound text, words coming to life and resonating as if they had been discovered for the first time. <br />
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<br />
In this issue, I am very pleased to be able to publish a personal tribute to Bob by an interesting and talented poet. I would therefore like to pass you over to Scott Thurston. Thank you.<br />
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<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
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<br />
A TRIBUTE TO BOB COBBING (1920-2002) by Scott Thurston<br />
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I first encountered Bob Cobbing at a performance at the Festival Hall, London in early 1990. He was performing as one third of ‘Konkrete Canticle’ with the poets Paula Claire and Bill Griffiths. This was the second poetry event I had ever attended and I was astonished by the extraordinary sound produced by this group. At one point the poets began moving round the audience showing us a copy of the poem that they were performing – when Cobbing came over to me I looked down to see a totally abstract image in black and white and suddenly I was performing it too! This experience had a profound physical effect on me: afterwards I felt overwhelmed, but exhilarated. Afterwards I found out that the ‘concrete’ poetry I had heard and performed worked by creating abstract images and then ‘reading’ or ‘performing’ them with the sounds of the human voice and/or instruments – as if you began spontaneously to read aloud in a language you did not know how to pronounce, yet somehow made ‘sense’. It involved interpreting the marks, lines, textures and shapes of a visual text as if they were analogous to the marks, lines, textures and shapes that make up the characters of writing systems. Cobbing was not only a concrete poet but also produced sound poetry; creating poems which used recognisable characters of the English and other writing systems but patterning them to emphasise their qualities of sound rather than sense. He also produced works which can be described as found poems, collage poems and cut-up poems, indeed claiming to have created cut-up works before the technique’s more often credited creator – William Burroughs – did.<br />
<br />
But Cobbing’s legacy extends beyond his creative contribution to his support for creativity in seemingly endless forms and guises. His Writers Forum press, still in operation after his death, published over 1000 titles of poetry over a period of almost forty years including work by Lee Harwood, Maggie O’Sullivan, John Cage and Allen Ginsberg. I consider myself immensely fortunate to have had my first two pamphlets of poetry published by Cobbing; an early and generous start which gave me momentum for years to come. In the second pamphlet’s case I had the pleasure of actually working together with Cobbing to create the book, page by page. His alert eye constantly picked up on anomalies and opportunities. He even sent me off (to his own photocopier in the basement) to progressively reduce a photocopy of the word ‘trills’ which appeared over and over in one of my poems. I had explained that in performance my intention was to say each successive ‘trills’ more quietly than the last. He persuaded me to show this in the ‘score’ of my poem, which I duly did (you can find it in Stateswalks). In addition we also saved going onto another page and thus solved a pagination problem! Such are the joys of small press publication – one is connected with the means of re/production and can therefore explore creative ways of presenting text whilst remaining fully in control: the book becomes part of the poem.<br />
<br />
Another important legacy of Cobbing’s manifold energies was the monthly Writers Forum workshop (on-going) which he presided over in various venues in north London. This was the most genuinely open reading space I have ever had the pleasure to come across: a place where many poets came to try things out and to learn: some only once, some returning for years. Although in the wider culture the ‘writing workshop’ has connotations of the masterclass and being corrected in one’s mistakes, Cobbing’s presence at these gatherings allowed poets to learn about themselves and their work through the very act of articulation, without judgement. The only advice I ever heard given was to read either ‘louder’ or ‘slower’ or both. The space allowed you to work it out for yourself. Cobbing also created opportunities for exploration. On one memorable occasion, after I’d just been given the louder and slower treatment for a hesitant performance of one of my poems (on the second run I was rather startled by what came out) Bob handed myself and the poet Johan De Wit a copy of Gerry Loose’s poem ‘Bob in the News’, one of the many birthday poems dedicated to Bob by workshop participants over the years. It was my first performance of a sound poem – no preparation, no practice – and, with the briefest of mutual direction: ‘OK, let’s turn pages at the same time and finish here’ – we were off! Again there was that incredible sense of exhilaration – of one’s voice literally being stretched to things one would never before have felt it capable of. Amazingly, Johan and I kept in time and finished the piece simultaneously! Although I’ve rarely written pure sound poems since – the understanding of sound and the possibilities of performance that I gained during sessions like these were an apprenticeship that has not only informed all of my live reading work since but also my relationship to poetry on the page as well.<br />
<br />
It’s with difficulty that one recognises the passing of a truly generous and creative spirit – one who felt no need to hide his talents but who made more effort than most to create spaces in which his abilities also allowed others to be nurtured, to grow and to flourish. British poetry needs more poets like Bob Cobbing.<br />
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<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
FOR BOB COBBING<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Rough drafts delaying<br />
<br />
You trusted I knew the s goes up<br />
<br />
A person <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
What I was saying comes down<br />
<br />
To a lower limit<br />
<br />
Slower in delaying the centred poet<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Upper limit is what if we tried<br />
<br />
The s comes down<br />
<br />
Simple testing it that way<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Trusted that I knew what<br />
<br />
I was saying<br />
<br />
And if I didn’t<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
that I would find out<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Scott Thurston<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Adrian Clarke<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
For Robert Sheppard & Patricia Farrell<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
JEUNES FEMMES ROUGES<br />
<br />
FLAG CHALKED IN<br />
<br />
PYROTECHNIC SHOWERS GUN<br />
<br />
SIGHTS CHRONICLE RAW<br />
<br />
FISTS STRUCK FROM<br />
<br />
CONCORDE CONJUGATE ARCHIVES<br />
<br />
WITH MECHANICAL DAMAGE<br />
<br />
UNDERGROUND CALLIGRAPHY ELECTRIC<br />
<br />
BLUE NEW YORK<br />
<br />
PRAGMATICS SMOKE SCREEN<br />
<br />
RECEIPT COBBLESTONE CURTAINED<br />
<br />
BLOSSOM SHED SQUADS<br />
<br />
STEP A GESTURAL<br />
<br />
TOUJOURS PLUS BELLES<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Patricia Farrell<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Patricia Farrell<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
it’s nice to watch you dancing<br />
<br />
not even map yr. silver trail<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the little man<br />
<br />
on whom you burn yr.fingers<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
inherits nothing<br />
<br />
except the doors already broken<br />
<br />
believing it’s already dead<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the death of passion<br />
<br />
the death of fingers<br />
<br />
the death of coffee<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
his feathers are a printout<br />
<br />
face down digging in warm snow<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
within a paving<br />
<br />
jumps around another stone<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
or the man with small ears<br />
<br />
small ears to concentrate the sound<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
they all come through the floor<br />
<br />
and celebrate<br />
<br />
across the carpets<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
♦<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
practising the next war<br />
<br />
we smashed a goldfish with a stone<br />
<br />
in dead of night<br />
<br />
the velvet paw descends<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I stole the rain<br />
<br />
vomiting fragments<br />
<br />
of fool’s gold<br />
<br />
back into the earth<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
who are those young men knocking<br />
<br />
at your front door?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
in the surface<br />
<br />
thru small cracks seeping<br />
<br />
these visitations<br />
<br />
are called Shirley<br />
<br />
his little face revolving<br />
<br />
as he feeds<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
who are these young men knocking<br />
<br />
at your front door?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the cunning tongue darts silent in the ear<br />
<br />
sliding over edge<br />
<br />
of knife and razor<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
♦<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I have no time for that<br />
<br />
I am just a heartbeat<br />
<br />
within a fortnight I am gone<br />
<br />
I live<br />
<br />
but for this moment<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
twirling from the trees<br />
<br />
in ecstasy<br />
<br />
without ecstasy<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
pulling earth<br />
<br />
from in my ears<br />
<br />
but only when I hear this music<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Andrew Taylor<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So Modern Everything Seems Pointless.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(for Scott Thurston)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Hum of air conditioning: a kind of comfort as the hour<br />
<br />
grinds on with lights low and the click of computers<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Feel the need for Melatonin, to paper over the cracks,<br />
<br />
lead into the cauldron of sleep where animals roam<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
safely through streets, cars give way and people<br />
<br />
show respect! images high of failing aeroplanes and<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
evacuation procedures from the 72nd floor of<br />
<br />
buildings.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Close visage and open invis window, a DIFFERENT<br />
<br />
view on the world! tread carefully on the streets of the<br />
<br />
Village, especially in the month of January. Go to Zinc,<br />
<br />
to see the cats through the smoke.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Please be careful this Ritazza beverage is extremely hot.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
how that would bring cheer down the icy blast of Bleecker Street!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sleep deprivation and the queue for fast food at The Peacocks<br />
<br />
Centre do not hang well together. Cavernous space with lifts,<br />
<br />
escalators and stairs. Shops seem secondary, somehow.<br />
<br />
Once Public Space, now<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
‘The public are invited into the shopping<br />
<br />
Centre by courtesy of the management’<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
security guards follow people badly, while a minimum wage<br />
<br />
cleaner polishes a glass balcony, all day.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Cliff Yates<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
BACK THEN<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Back then it was live, crowded, blue (the sky)<br />
<br />
different, easier, much more fun, a good laugh<br />
<br />
longer (the days in winter), February, an hour<br />
<br />
before midnight, after<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Yes it was crowded the atmosphere was<br />
<br />
words can’t describe the atmosphere.<br />
<br />
It sounded like a joke but wasn’t. You were<br />
<br />
there weren’t you? How old were you<br />
<br />
in those days?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
cellotape the sky the doorhandle door<br />
<br />
open a table in it on end skirting the tower<br />
<br />
on the horizon sky above it clouds<br />
<br />
the window sill distance cup<br />
<br />
on a shelf lino scuffed carpet nervous<br />
<br />
beauty smell of your hand in the sunshine<br />
<br />
a deckchair like sand the ocean small<br />
<br />
creatures not together separating<br />
<br />
(like the of like like in the)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
man called Walker walking a queue<br />
<br />
outside a cinema harmonica out the window<br />
<br />
the couple eating breakfast on a stranger’s verandah<br />
<br />
Hannibal setting out over the alps the Band’s farewell<br />
<br />
view of the Pacific over that bit of flat all<br />
<br />
downhill Polish houses like in Poland<br />
<br />
the field of gear boxes at the breakers in Flint<br />
<br />
the gear box that clicked in first Michaelangelo<br />
<br />
on his scaffolding with a bad back the pope<br />
<br />
coming to a decision the pope coming<br />
<br />
my brother before his bike is stolen<br />
<br />
the third reich entering Paris leaving<br />
<br />
the roads asleep the melting tarmac melting<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ian Robinson<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
James Murphy<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Day Of Tears<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It was pure madness as gunshots echoed<br />
<br />
looking out over the morning sunshine<br />
<br />
within a lost wish and prayer it had started<br />
<br />
one and one, two alone, they were just kids<br />
<br />
living out of their world of disbelief<br />
<br />
birth, life and death, it happened very quickly<br />
<br />
with each breath taken away<br />
<br />
moonless become the night sky, darkness<br />
<br />
consuming change in stillness<br />
<br />
bruised and torn<br />
<br />
lasting, burning tears of grief<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sam Smith<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Room 20<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The rule here is<br />
<br />
no cross-contamination.<br />
<br />
So all undress,<br />
<br />
shower, wear smocks<br />
<br />
that fasten at the back.<br />
<br />
In the centre<br />
<br />
one lies on<br />
<br />
the steel table.<br />
<br />
The others render<br />
<br />
him, or her,<br />
<br />
unconscious.<br />
<br />
The leader then<br />
<br />
takes a blade<br />
<br />
and cuts<br />
<br />
the body open.<br />
<br />
None in the room<br />
<br />
question<br />
<br />
their right<br />
<br />
to be doing this.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(notes for reading:- To a background tape of steam engines receding. Use large<br />
<br />
arm gesticulations.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Room 21<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Stolen key in hand<br />
<br />
he slips through the door,<br />
<br />
feels for the switch.<br />
<br />
There is no light.<br />
<br />
Crawling over the windowsill<br />
<br />
he sits panting on the floor,<br />
<br />
pleased to have arrived.<br />
<br />
He frowns,<br />
<br />
sees no furniture.<br />
<br />
He says a last<br />
<br />
charming word at the door,<br />
<br />
closes it softly behind him.<br />
<br />
The walls are bare.<br />
<br />
With a sledgehammer<br />
<br />
he pounds through the wall.<br />
<br />
Coated in dust<br />
<br />
he stands grinning<br />
<br />
in the centre of the room.<br />
<br />
It collapses about him.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(notes for reading:-Wear cricketing whites. Between stanzas bowl yellow<br />
<br />
and red marigold heads at audience.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Room 29<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
In the room of sorrowful flowers<br />
<br />
catkins have become allergic<br />
<br />
to pollen, and sobs are coming from<br />
<br />
the freckled throats of mimulus.<br />
<br />
In dark corners are glowing<br />
<br />
lace discs of elder, pleading<br />
<br />
to be moons. A magnolia<br />
<br />
is a flock of white doves<br />
<br />
trapped in the instant of flight.<br />
<br />
The golden laburnum weeps<br />
<br />
for them. And still the daisies<br />
<br />
are unblinking credulous.<br />
<br />
(Next door<br />
<br />
sealed off from the aura<br />
<br />
of beckoning perfumes,<br />
<br />
all old smells, carried there<br />
<br />
in the wake of shoulders,<br />
<br />
have long since<br />
<br />
sunk to the floor.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(notes for reading:- Go onto tip-toe, as if calling over the heads of a crowd.<br />
<br />
Come down onto heels when finished. Look around puzzled.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Room 30<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
If this was a zoo of human relationships<br />
<br />
and behaviours, then observe Room 30,<br />
<br />
which has one table, six chairs,<br />
<br />
three beds and three couples.<br />
<br />
All come to the table to eat, go in pairs to the beds. Returning to the<br />
<br />
table they arrange themselves differently, go in pairs to the beds. Back at the<br />
<br />
table, seating is again re-arranged, the talk is animated, laughter quick. Bed to <br />
<br />
table, table to bed, all permutations finally exhausted, they are as they began,<br />
<br />
have made themselves a history, think themselves wise. They start again.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(notes for reading:- Hold two fingers straight together like a gun. Point the gun<br />
<br />
at your temple. Do not attempt to shoot. Lower gun slowly when finished.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Room 34<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Inside only their own moisture<br />
<br />
the silver & blue fish<br />
<br />
slither and slide between<br />
<br />
and over each other. Their mouths<br />
<br />
stay open, two rows of<br />
<br />
pointed white teeth before<br />
<br />
palates and gills of fresh pink.<br />
<br />
The floating heads of stuffed animals<br />
<br />
(their mouths are blackened, also open)<br />
<br />
move about on top of the fish.<br />
<br />
Zebra, elk and bison nod<br />
<br />
and bow as if conversing.<br />
<br />
Hung from the ceiling<br />
<br />
are dried humming birds.<br />
<br />
When touched, occasionally,<br />
<br />
by horn, antler or muzzle,<br />
<br />
their jewelled husks rotate.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(notes for reading:- Wrap a pillow around your lower face. Feel the words<br />
<br />
hot on your cheeks.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Room 35<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Stacked here are<br />
<br />
the trunks of trees that will become<br />
<br />
the room’s furniture. Beech & pine<br />
<br />
will combine to make a table.<br />
<br />
A broad oak will be hollowed out<br />
<br />
into a wardrobe. Shavings and woodchip<br />
<br />
will be burnt in the quickly blackened<br />
<br />
fireplace – its mantle a spare plank<br />
<br />
of pine. The twisted hawthorn<br />
<br />
will be turned into a hatstand.<br />
<br />
In the corner a tub of wax waits<br />
<br />
to be applied. Maple & rosewood<br />
<br />
will marry into chairs. The many gaps<br />
<br />
and spaces left will be filled<br />
<br />
with the smell of dessicated and<br />
<br />
crystalline sap.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(notes for reading:- Place 6 shimmering angels in a line facing the audience.<br />
<br />
At beginning of poem start along the line. Take the harp from each angel,<br />
<br />
Drop it to the floor and casually push each angel over.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Dave Ward<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
BLACK NIGHT<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
As she gets off the bus she lights another<br />
<br />
cigarette. She tries to light another cigarette.<br />
<br />
Her fingers fumble its shape to her mouth. Jabbing<br />
<br />
it between the red of her lips. The matches slip as<br />
<br />
she tries to strike one. The flame goes out, blown<br />
<br />
out by the slipstream fumes of the bus as it<br />
<br />
retreats down the street.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
She doesn’t know where she is. The street is dark.<br />
<br />
The lamps are broken, unlit. Watching. She knows<br />
<br />
when someone is watching. Someone is watching her<br />
<br />
now. But nobody is here. An empty street.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
She strikes a match. She lights her cigarette.<br />
<br />
Clings to it like a stick. For protection. To<br />
<br />
guide her. Its glowing tip the only light as its<br />
<br />
ash spills down her dress.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“The sky’s full of rain…I can feel it in my <br />
<br />
head…in a cloud shaped like pain…”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The pain has led her here. She is not in the room<br />
<br />
where the pain lives with her. Beside the empty bed<br />
<br />
where she never sleeps.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“It’s cold…and it’s dark…so I don’t want to go<br />
<br />
out…so I get on the bus…okay?…OKAY.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But the bus has gone. Its lights have gone. Its<br />
<br />
warmth has gone. The other passengers who looked at<br />
<br />
her but did not look at her. Were there. But are<br />
<br />
not here now. Nobody here now. But someone is<br />
<br />
watching her.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
She can feel the eyes.<br />
<br />
She knows. Most people do not want to see her.<br />
<br />
Look away. Or they stare. And she knows.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Now no-one is here, but she knows.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The road slopes away. Uneven paving stones.<br />
<br />
Slipping between the terraced houses, down towards<br />
<br />
the river. Waiting like a darkness, like a <br />
<br />
stillness at the bottom of the hill. She cannot see<br />
<br />
it, but she knows it’s there. Can feel its tug.<br />
<br />
Feel that chill.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Maybe it’s only the river that watches. She shrugs,<br />
<br />
shivering, going that way. But no, she knows.<br />
<br />
There is someone else. Not eyes behind the<br />
<br />
curtains. They don’t count, they are always there.<br />
<br />
No, there’s someone else there, out here, with her.<br />
<br />
Someone in this street.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
She stops. Her feet miss a beat. Are those the<br />
<br />
echoes of other footsteps? Is someone keeping time<br />
<br />
with her? She turns to look. A swirl of smoke from<br />
<br />
her cigarette’s stub.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
There’s no-one here.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Distant sirens. A riverboat’s moan.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
She hugs herself. She would like someone to.<br />
<br />
Someone to hold her. Anyone would do. Just to be<br />
<br />
held. She looks again. Her eyes pulse pain, like<br />
<br />
the pain in her head. She smudges red lips with the<br />
<br />
back of her sleeve.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
In the doorway, in the darkness, where there is no-<br />
<br />
one, where there is nothing. There is someone<br />
<br />
there.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He does not surprise her. She is not startled. She<br />
<br />
always knows when someone is watching. But she did<br />
<br />
not expect the eyes. The eyes that see her without<br />
<br />
seeing her. Which look at her and through her and<br />
<br />
do not see.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But see everything.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And she wasn’t expecting the touch of his body. So<br />
<br />
moist, so warm. Like a day-old baby, but fully<br />
<br />
grown. Wrapped in long darkness. Like a cloak,<br />
<br />
like a coat. To protect them. As they dance, in<br />
<br />
the silence, in the darkness.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And what did he expect? As she brushes his skin<br />
<br />
with two rouged lips. That skin which feels so<br />
<br />
thin, so frail. A web of colours which shift and<br />
<br />
break.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He takes her to another place. She does not know<br />
<br />
where she is now, though she did not know where she<br />
<br />
was before. They dance through darkness, through<br />
<br />
hidden walls. Through gardens of light.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A dervish waltz, to and fro, to and fro, feeling the<br />
<br />
salt, the oil, the flow, till her skin seems to glow<br />
<br />
in contact with his own.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
They dance through cities beneath this city, where<br />
<br />
sunken rivers run.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
They go there.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He takes her.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
She is not alone.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Lester Smith<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Cubism<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Comfortable chairs are like comfortable faces.<br />
<br />
Circles look comforting... Deceptiveness is like a microwave. A fluttering fan falls when He wakes us.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Flowers wilt. Large ear. Nose-dull.<br />
<br />
Brows prove guilt. Flowers are beautiful<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ear. Wig. “Olga!” Small eye glowers<br />
<br />
if only for a matter But... of hours.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Synthetic material tempts us. We float. We hover.<br />
<br />
We hoover up panoramic vistas. Seas of shadows support illusions. Is it all seen through His eyes? <br />
<br />
I pray I pray I pray. No I don’t.<br />
<br />
Back to Braque, analytical, synthetic.<br />
<br />
An eye for a leg. Sensory deprivation?<br />
<br />
A jest, a chest. Bulls. Chesty, jesty bulls<br />
<br />
in synthetic vestibules?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
One egg or two. Give us a clue.<br />
<br />
Blue moons disguise gashes.<br />
<br />
Blown in rose-tinted glasses.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A painter strokes a painter.<br />
<br />
Creating primitive patterns.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The plainest hat, the dullest belt.<br />
<br />
Lips where butter would not melt.<br />
<br />
If only the butter knew.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
CUBISM<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Please do not force <br />
<br />
the square pegs into<br />
<br />
round holes.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Lester Smith <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Two years old <br />
<br />
Only a learner<br />
<br />
Toying with ideas could win him a Turner.<br />
<br />
Strong Russian stocks. Big hat, slight face.<br />
<br />
Quick from the blocks.<br />
<br />
Big eyes, fine shape. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Time flies by when you’re the father of a child. In and out of fruity pastel memories, impossible to hide.<br />
<br />
Under stated, over stated. Breathing, breathing, breaths.<br />
<br />
Such a big hat.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Fuel sweeps material being <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Pale innocence cocooned by a mother who knows what is out there <br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The hatred is an extension of herself. She knows<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“I paint as I see fit not as I see:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Yes, there are large eyes and huge arms in my head.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
What a carrion, this is not a bench. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I like the ruff it accentuates her charms.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Poetry is in motion. Art tempts devotion. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
True. Cezanne was an influence.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Shapes you insist! Is it a couch?”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ian Robinson<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Rupert M Loydell<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
NO FORMAL INNER LANGUAGE<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Awake since 3am,<br />
<br />
I note death much in evidence:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
meandering down the slope<br />
<br />
like a rain-flushed stream.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I prefer not to get wet<br />
<br />
in the middle of the day.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Give the viewer<br />
<br />
a feeling of space:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
connect with sorrow,<br />
<br />
sympathise with age.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Electrical discharges<br />
<br />
sputter along the margin,<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
colour wouldn't dare<br />
<br />
to hang on to my easel.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thought is ephemeral,<br />
<br />
a site-specific installation.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The rest of the space is dark.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Reviews<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ian Robinson<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Blickensderfer Punch<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Robert Sheppard: text<br />
<br />
Patricia Farrell: images<br />
<br />
Ship of Fools 2002<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Interaction between text and image allows the eye to translate the work fluidly. At the same time the juxtaposition between image and text create a 'mechanical' rhythm that dictates and re-interprets the 'voice' and 'image' of the typewriter.<br />
<br />
Patricia Farrell's stark but mellow black and white images float beautifully across the white page melting effortlessly into Sheppard's experimental sound based text. An interesting read , exploring a visionary world of the language of the typewriter,<br />
<br />
'The Blickensderfer Punch'. Beautifully presented.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A World Elsewhere by Ian Robinson: ten dream stories & two fragments.<br />
<br />
Eidolon press MM ll<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ian Robinson explores the idea of place and relationships through the language of dreams. Visionary and surreal, the stories are written in a matter of ‘fact’ way that accentuates the unusual and sometimes ‘absurd’ subject matter. An interesting worthwhile read. More of this kind of writing needed, I think. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Reviews Continued…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Road Of Sighs, Poems 1985-2001 by James Murphy.<br />
<br />
Red Wolf Press: 2002<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
In Road of Sighs, James Murphy explores the psychological journeys of the misfits of society. The world of substance abuse and street life is vividly and sensitively portrayed in this collection of realistic poems. This collection allows the reader to contemplate not only the difficulties encountered but also the genuine love and affection between people who are at odds with society. I recommend this as a worthwhile book to experience and read.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sheetlight by Tim Fletcher: text of Poems with CD. <br />
<br />
Illustrations by Claire Fletcher<br />
<br />
First Offense Publication: 2001<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A collection of experimental sound-based/visual text. Fletcher experiments with poetry on and off the page. Tim Fletcher explores his work using a combination of voice, and a variety of instruments. The visual text and CD demand attention and thought from the listener and reader. Although not for the ‘feint hearted’, an experimental piece of work, pushing the reader beyond any conventional and comforting boundaries.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Publications<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Robert Sheppard, The Lores (£7.50)<br />
<br />
Lawrence Upton, Wire Sculptures (£5)<br />
<br />
Ken Edwards, eight + six (£7.50)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The first two are available now and the third in late summer. Postage & packing is added at the rate of one pound for one book, one pound fifty for two books, two pounds for three books, four or more books ordered together post free.<br />
<br />
Ken Edwards, Reality Street Editions<br />
<br />
4 Howard Court, Peckham Rye, London SE15 3PH, UK<br />
<br />
Tel: 020 7639 7297<br />
<br />
Web: www.realitystreet.co.uk<br />
<br />
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ian Robinson: The Glacier In the Cupboard: copy/copies of this book are £5.00 each, post free. Cheques and P.os should be made out to:- ‘Permanent Press’ and sent to 5B Compton Avenue, Canonbury, London N1 2XD.<br />
<br />
(Ninety-six black and white drawings, with an introduction by Rupert Vas Dias.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ian Robinson: A World Elsewhere. ten dream stories & two fragments<br />
<br />
Eidolon press MM ll, 34 Nightingale Square, London SW12 8QN<br />
<br />
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
The Blickensderfer Punch<br />
<br />
Robert Sheppard: text<br />
<br />
Patricia Farrell: images<br />
<br />
Ship of Fools 2002<br />
<br />
Email:sheppard3@supanet.com<br />
<br />
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
the necessity of poetics<br />
<br />
Robert Sheppard: <br />
<br />
ship of fools liverpool, 2002<br />
<br />
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
New Tonal Language<br />
<br />
Patricia Farrell<br />
<br />
Shelby Matthews<br />
<br />
Simon Perril<br />
<br />
Keston Sutherland<br />
<br />
Reality Street Editions: 1999<br />
<br />
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
James Murphy: Road of Sighs: Paperback, July 2002 $17.95<br />
<br />
• Paperback: 162 pages<br />
<br />
• Publisher: Red Wolf Press; ; (March 20, 2002)<br />
<br />
• ISBN: 0971724458<br />
<br />
Available to order on Amazon.com<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
'Turn For Home' <br />
<br />
Andrew Taylor<br />
<br />
published by The Brodie Press (www.thebrodiepress.co.uk). Due out end of March, beginning of April.<br />
<br />
www.andrewtaylorpoetry.com<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Andrew also has work published in 'The Liver Bards' poetry and prose anthology published May 2002. Copies can be ordered by emailing the publisher James Bainbridge at theliverbards@hotmail.com<br />
<br />
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
Memories of air: Cory Harding. <br />
<br />
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
<br />
Men Hate Blondes: Poems and CD to accompany with music and vocal.2003<br />
<br />
Available from Neon Highway. £2.50.<br />
<br />
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
Rupert Loydell: Recent books of poems:<br />
<br />
The Museum of Light [Arc], The Museum of Improvisation [Wild Honey] and two collaborative works: The Temperature of Recall, with<br />
<br />
Sheila E. Murphy; and A Hawk Into Everywhere, with Roselle Angwin.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
read Stride magazine at<br />
<br />
www.stridemagazine.co.uk<br />
<br />
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A.C Evans<br />
<br />
Poetry Magazine contributions (Dec 2002 - Feb 2003)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Pulsar #32 (Dec 2002)<br />
<br />
To An Aesthete Dying Young<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Inclement #8 (Dec 2002)<br />
<br />
Reflections In A Mirrors<br />
<br />
Only Shadows<br />
<br />
Angels Bring Us<br />
<br />
Lost Words<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Awen #20 (Feb 2003)<br />
<br />
The Night Alone<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Moonstone #89 (Feb 2003)<br />
<br />
Most Adored<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Journals<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
AND No. 11 is now available.<br />
<br />
Edited by Bob Cobbing<br />
<br />
And Adrian Clarke<br />
<br />
Writers Forum. 89a, Petherton Road, London. N5 2QT<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Oasis: Editor Ian Robinson and Yann Lovelock.<br />
<br />
12 Stavenage Road, London, SW6 6ES<br />
<br />
Oasis can be found on First Subscriber website at www.firstsubscriber.com<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Radiator: Edited by Scott Thurston. Rad #2 out now<br />
<br />
Ira Lightman 'On the Composition of I-CHING PIECE and O TO SUBJECT'. In a specially commissioned piece Lightman reflects on the composition of two poems which are also published here for the first time. The complexity of Lightman's procedures is an engine for an extraordinary poetics of generative form that acknowledges influences ranging from John Cage to Woody Allen.<br />
<br />
ALSO STILL AVAILABLE Issue 1: William Rowe “‘Language . . . poisoned to a wreckage’: on contemporary poetics in Britain and Latin America”. Rowe’s reflections on Ana Maria Pacheco, Barry MacSweeney, Raul Zurita, Mario Montalbetti and Maggie O’Sullivan.<br />
<br />
Subscriptions are welcomed at:<br />
<br />
The Radiator, Flat 5, 48, Upper Parliament Street, Liverpool, L8 7LF, UK <br />
<br />
and cost £5.00 sterling for 3 issues (£10.00 institutions), £2.00 for single issues (£4.00 institutions), surface mail post paid to anywhere and payable to 'Scott Thurston'. The Radiator publishes essays on poetics by contemporary poets.<br />
<br />
scottthurston@btinternet.com<br />
<br />
Future issues will feature poetics and new poetry by Allen Fisher and Jeff Hilson.<br />
<br />
Smoke: Edited by Dave Ward and Dave Calder<br />
<br />
Published by Windows, Liver House, 96 Bold Street, Liverpool L1 4HY<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Fire: Editor Jeremy Hilton. Field Cottage, Old White Hill, Tackley, Kidlington, Oxfordshire OX5 3AB. www.poetical.org<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
First Offence: Edited by Tim Fletcher. Syringa, Stodmarsh, Canterbury, Kent. <br />
<br />
CT3 4BA.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Paper: Edited by David Kennedy: 29 Vickers Road, Firth Park, Sheffield, S5 6UY, UK. Email: dgk@kennedyd.fsworld.co.uk<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Journal: Editor: Sam Smith<br />
<br />
Jacobyte Books. Editor: Sam Smith.<br />
<br />
http://www.jacobytebooks.com/poetry/: <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Poetry Salzburg Review<br />
<br />
Wolfgang Gortschacher<br />
<br />
psr@poetrysalzburg.com<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Stride online journal: Edited by Rupert Loydell<br />
<br />
read Stride magazine at<br />
<br />
www.stridemagazine.co.uk<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Tremblestone: Edited by Kenny Knight: Tremblestone, Corporation Buildings, 10. F How Street, The Barbican, Plymouth, Devon. PL4 ODB.<br />
<br />
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Biographies<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Adrian Clarke's collections include "Ghost Measures" (Actual Size, 1987),<br />
<br />
and "Obscure Disasters", "Millennial Shades & Three Papers" and "Skeleton<br />
<br />
Sonnets" (all Writers Forum). Work anthologised in "Verbi Visi Voco"<br />
<br />
(Writers Forum, 1992) and "Foil" (Etruscan Books, 2000). He co-edited<br />
<br />
"Floating Capital: new poets from London" (Potes & Poets Press, 1991) with<br />
<br />
Robert Sheppard, and five issues of "And" magazine with the late Bob<br />
<br />
Cobbing. Since Cobbing's death he has been continuing Writers Forum's<br />
<br />
activities with Lawrence Upton.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
IAN ROBINSON edits Oasis Magazine and Oasis books. His most recent publications are ‘How Do You Spell Bl…gh?” (Short Stories, Redbeck Press, 2002). And ‘A World Elsewhere’ (10 dream stories, eidolon press, 2002). Redbeck also published his ‘The Invention of Morning’ (poems) in 1997. Ninety six of his drawings were published in 1995 under the title ;The Glacier in the Cupboard’ by Permanent Press and S-Editions; And in 2001 two small pamphlets of visual work, ‘landscapes’ (10 drawings) and ‘Theorems’ (16 collages) were published by , respectively, Oasis Books and Offerta Speciale Visual Editions (Turin).<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Scott Thurston's publications include Poems Nov 89 - Jun 91 (1991), Stateswalks (1994) (both Writers Forum) and Two Sequences (RWC, 1998). He also appeared in Sleight of Foot (Reality Street, 1996). He edits the poetics journal The Radiator and is publishing a series of interviews with contemporary poets in Poetry Salzburg Review.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sam Smith recently employed as an amusement arcade cashier, Sam Smith has been a psychiatric nurse, residential social worker, milkman, plumber, laboratory analyst, groundsman, sailor, computer operator, scaffolder, gardener, painter & decorator........ working at anything, in fact, which has paid the rent, enabled him to raise his three daughters and which didn't get too much in the way of his writing. With poetry and articles widely published, especially in Britain, he already has 5 poetry collections, 10 novels and a history/biography to his name (see his own website for more details - http://members.aol.com/smithsssj/index.html). Editor of The Journal (once 'of Contemporary Anglo-Scandinavian Poetry'), publisher of Original Plus books, he is also proud to be Poetry Editor of Jacobyte Books (Australia) and Associate Editor of The River King Poetry Supplement (Illinois, USA). He was born in 1946.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
James Murphy has been writing poetry for many years drawing off his personal experiences with the drug culture and the damage it can wreck. His poetry has appeared in newspapers, magazines and several national anthologies in the United States and his work has appeared in poetry corners in the United Kingdom. Murphy's first collect of poetry entitled "In Search of A soul" was published in 1996 with a Canadian copyright. Murphy has the rare ability to offer vivid imagery, life experiences and with his gift of storytelling to create entertaining, informing and spellbinding poetry.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
DAVE WARD’s Publications include JAMBO (Impact), TRACTS (Headland), THE TREE OF DREAMS (Harper Collins), CANDY AND JAZZZ <br />
<br />
(Oxford University Press).Poems in Poetry Review, Ambit, Poetry Wales, Oasis, etc.<br />
<br />
Co-ordinator The Windows Project. Toured to Singapore. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
"Patricia Farrell has had books published by Reality Street and Writers Forum. Her work has appeared in a number of anthologies and magazines. She has also taken part in exhibitions in London, Birmingham, Portsmouth and Cologne."<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Andrew Taylor is Poet-In-Residence at Liverpool Architecture and Design <br />
<br />
Trust; a PhD Student in Poetry; has had work published nationally and <br />
<br />
locally in print and on the airwaves and his first collection is due out in <br />
<br />
Summer 2003, published by Sheppard Bainbridge. Andrew Taylor has a book <br />
<br />
coming out Summer 2003, as yet untitled, to be published by Sheppard <br />
<br />
Bainbridge publishers. Andrew has a collection due out in April titled 'Turn For Home' published by The Brodie Press (www.thebrodiepress.co.uk). <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz: Artist/poet. Lives in Skelmersdale with her two children. Presently studying her MA in Writing Studies at Edge hill College and editing Neon Highway. Member of the poetics research group at Edge hill, she has completed her music and poetry project Men Hate Blondes and is currently working on the Adventures of Maxine, a collection of short stories and poems. She exhibits her art and has written poems and two plays, St Catherine and Wrappers.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Lester Smith writes prose fiction for the most part but has written the occasional poem over the years. His only recorded poem won a prize in the Lancaster Literature Festival. At that time he was a fifteen year-old and full of angst. He felt inspired to take up a pen full of concentrated poet’s ink after exploring and being impressed by the poetry of other writers on the Edge Hill MA programme. Cubism is an interpretation of five paintings by Picasso and is intended to be formed into a cube shape prior to reading, using as a box for keeping strong mints in or replacing misplaced dice.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Cliff Yates' collection of poems 'Henry's Clock' (Smith/Doorstop) won the Aldeburgh prize in 1999. He wrote 'Jumpstart Poetry in the Secondary School' as Poetry Society poet-in-residence, and teaches at Maharishi School in Skelmersdale where his students have won many awards for their writing.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Rupert Loydell is the Managing Editor of Stride, Royal Literary Fund Fellow<br />
<br />
at Bath University and Visiting Fellow at Warwick University. Recent books<br />
<br />
of poems include The Museum of Light [Arc], The Museum of Improvisation<br />
<br />
[Wild Honey] and two collaborative works: The Temperature of Recall, with<br />
<br />
Sheila E. Murphy; and A Hawk Into Everywhere, with Roselle Angwin.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
NEON HIGHWAY. POETRY / ART MAGAZINE<br />
<br />
Subscription<br />
<br />
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<br />
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Submissions sent to the editor:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
<br />
35, Glebe Road<br />
<br />
Skelmersdale<br />
<br />
Lancashire<br />
<br />
WN8 9JP<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(cheques made to Alice Lenkiewicz)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
All artwork in black and white.<br />
<br />
Originals not necessary.<br />
<br />
Please enclose s.a.e.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Neon Highway supports Animal Aid<br />
<br />
http://www.animalaid.org.uk/</div>
Alice Lenkiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04020676166907047838noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4359728548211384456.post-68013778498158929522013-01-07T02:04:00.001-08:002013-05-28T00:42:02.115-07:00ISSUE: 22<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Neon Highway 22 <br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">ISSN 1476-9867 </span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PaxvJc_Gu-o/UOqboEipAII/AAAAAAAAFqM/FtPO_AwTbuw/s1600/col.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PaxvJc_Gu-o/UOqboEipAII/AAAAAAAAFqM/FtPO_AwTbuw/s640/col.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><u>Contents:</u></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><u>Artwork and front cover
by George L Stein</u></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">3. Note from Jane Marsh:.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">4-5. Debbie Walsh</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">6. George L Stein</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">8. Robin Marchesi</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">9-10. John McKernan</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">10-11. Clive Radford</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">12. Liz Goulds</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">13. Jenny Hockey</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">14-15. A. F. Williams</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">15. Jeff Bell</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">16. John Simpson</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">16-18. Isabalino Anastasio</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">18-19. Ali Rabie</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">19. Christodoulos Makris</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">20. Graeme Smith</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">20-21. Mark. Gifford</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">21-22. Melissa Spiccia</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">22. JPV Stewart</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">22-23. Geoffrey Godbert</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">24-25. REVIEW: AC Evans.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">26-27. Listings</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">28. Subscription</span></div>
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4359728548211384456" name="_GoBack"></a>6/5/2012</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xVbL1pPwo9U/UOqb8xK8hsI/AAAAAAAAFqU/XdeTbGPx-vQ/s1600/col2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xVbL1pPwo9U/UOqb8xK8hsI/AAAAAAAAFqU/XdeTbGPx-vQ/s1600/col2.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I am Cleopatra, I am
Cleopatra…</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">This is a very good way to
gain strength. Strength for women I have always believed is created
by creating a magic ritual, lighting incense and imitating a strong
woman from history.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">You light the candle,
meditate, write down your wishes, place them in a bottle with herbs
and then bury the spell in the earth, chanting all the time,
listening to Egyptian music and recanting the ancient prophesy of
wisdom and truth.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Today Jane Marsh will
become Cleopatra, queen of Egypt. I have come to show you my world of
magic and beauty, the powers that be and to tell you how to worship
nature, to sail the ships of the sea in style and to behold the
magical ocean and sky. Oh great gods of the universe, behold, one day
we will all become one, intermingling with the sea and the stars, so
that our souls form spirals of love through time. Our words will
transform into poems, our hearts into crystal, our dreams into flames
of desire, our lives into microscopes.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Oh great deity, behold. I
am Cleopatra, oh divine one, I love thee, I love thee. No more
cruelty, no more poverty, no more boredom, oh divine one, I ask thee
to bring your wisdom into our lives, to turn the world into a haven
of sun and truth, no more cruelty to animals, no more wars, no more
boring politics, oh divine Ergon, bring us magic and the strength of
the sun, transform London into a quartz crystal! </span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">And now, oh great one, I
worship thee. Understand I am only a poor woman from Cuba who has
settled in the UK. Please bring me strength to cope in this foreign
land. Make others understand me.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Please ask my mother to
forgive me. I can’t help it if I am obsessed with poetry, shoes and
love my cigarettes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Oh please divine one,
forgive me for I am only human. Forgive me, forgive me.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I love thee, great Ra, god
of the sun. I love thee.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Jane</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">x</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Debbie Walsh</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>This
poem, Habibi.</b></u></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">This poem </span>
</div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"> this time</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">when life wakes
</span>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"> welts.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Summer</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"> spars rain
against ground</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">and</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"> sometimes
wins.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">You say</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"> my fingers
mime breath</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"> upon
your skin</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">say only</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"> what love might be.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Look Habibi</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"> the veil’s
thin</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">dove-down a</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"> silk-kiss</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">warm and roused</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"> between</span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: medium;"> us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>Hyperbole.</b></u></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Fractured angulation</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> elbowed</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif; font-size: medium;"> west &</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif; font-size: medium;">east.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">How
they laughed quaffed the</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">moment</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> full</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> rounded</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> taut. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Inside.
I stood alone.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Watching
ambulation thrash.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Laughter
as developed torment rebounded</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> dysphonic</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> laceration
.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">An</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> un-silence.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> The hollow mute </span></span>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">shrilled
an earless</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> vacuum</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">un-stilled.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>George
L Stein</b></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">voodoo</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
spoke your names today and thereby granted life to you both</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">not
to bone and flesh but to substance and aura, image and illusion</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">the
natives make the sea one of many gods, but it is not the water</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">that
laps sand and rock along these beaches, it's the depth and peace</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">the
soul behind the raucous, the goddess who gives and who receives,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">displaces
herself, effortlessly,to the hard and unbending,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">without
thought, without words, without judgment</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Life
is lived at the extremes, and merely exists between</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
the crossroads, inscribed within the perfect circle</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">where
the senses meet the ephemeral, the people make their gods</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">benevolent
if only because they need to, strong, because</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">they,
themselves are so frail. Perfect because.....</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: -0.5cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
god of the soul of the sea seeks a lover, her compliment,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">and
then fire comes to woo her. Impatient and impetuous,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">he
does not know time excepting as it is measured in aspects of his
destruction.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Water,
who possesses depth and breadth and peace, seeking the lower,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">while
desire is always seeking and always climbing. Consuming.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Patience,
she thinks. Time is with her and against him,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">but
someday on, even the sun will seize.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
wise men stare into earth, sky, horizon, argue how the world will
end,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">some
say fire, some say water and ice, but none will live to see it</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">while
their gods fear only one outcome, listen, now listen</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">for
the voices who used to invoke and praise their names. They are</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">silenced.
Not even the wind whispers anymore</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Robin Marchesi</b></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;">ALSTON CUMBRIA</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A silence</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Not outside</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But inside</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Still ness</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Like a stone</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Over which</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Waterfalls.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I remain</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Beneath the river,</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Furnishing my depths</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Before silently,</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I dissipate</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And thrown outside</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Become mercurial,</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.66cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Like a moon...</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>John
McKernan</b></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">THE
PICTURE WINDOW</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Is
coated with India Ink</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Silent
on both sides</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
went outside</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">To
look and listen</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Starfree
Moonless Fog everywhere</span></span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A
new shade of black</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Seems
to have crawled</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">From
the shadows</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Beneath
the grass</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
image on this glass</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Could
drive my bones</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And
their borrowed name</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">To
the center of the earth</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">To
return as a scream</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">SELF PORTRAIT? MIDNIGHT
WINDOW</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Is this a mirror Or a
page</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Of autobiography when the
cloud arrives?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Pure form</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Of emptiness Inside</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Reflecting an outside</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: medium;">Let me tell you
something”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">My father would always say</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Well </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Mister John McKernan of
Omaha Go right ahead</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">You have been over there
For a long time</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">And have a different
understanding of time</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I am up against this
mirror </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Thinking it glass of some
kind Learning</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Too
late It is a species of sand Of falling sand</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">SELF PORTRAIT AS ZYGOTE
CHALK ON BLACKTOP</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">There</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>
I</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The letter </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>O</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The number zero</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The circle of infinity</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Part</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Round</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Part coil</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Inside</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Looking</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">At chalk drawings</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">On this playground
blacktop</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Always teaches me</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
am never what I am</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; text-align: left;"><br /></b>
<b style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; text-align: left;"><br /></b>
<b style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; text-align: left;"><br /></b>
<b style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; text-align: left;">Clive
Radford</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Parkgate
Marsh</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Engrossed
on the spring soggy marsh, canvass reflecting <br />Clwydian hills,
steel works, the coastline arc disappearing <br />to West Kirby. Lovers
promenading, fishermen sorting <br />their catch, the distant sound of
squawking gulls beyond <br />brush strokes. Sulphur dioxide oozing from
sodden <br />ground, its odour ripe to the nostrils. Invertebrates dart
<br />across golden samphire, wainscot and starwort flutter, <br />make
concentric circles over aster tops. Our feet never <br />sure-footed,
the wetland in constant motion.</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">An
hour or two away from communicating the impression, <br />observing and
analysing ocular stimuli under stringent tutelage. </span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Here,
we find natural expression purifies ‘visual art connection’,
<br />observational skills become honed, driving for ‘cultural and
<br />aesthetic’ awareness; the art masters dictionary satisfied at
last. <br />Cool soft wind swaying reeds hypnotise our stare. The dull
thud <br />sound of wild fowlers hunting disturbed quarry, ignites
revulsion. <br />Further down the estuary, sandstone merges with
mudflats. <br />Ornithologists crouch in bisque grasses, transfixed by
lapwing <br />and harrier. The occasional stolen kiss and flesh parade,
in <br />flagrante sex between easel sessions, thoughts of faraway
</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Giverny
and Argenteuil.</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br />We
conceptualise and translate the dynamic, learn <br />critical
appraisal, develop enquiring attitude to fashion <br />working
vocabulary. But out here in the vastness of the <br />marsh, the ghost
of Nelson and Emma Hamilton bleached <br />into rushes,</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">
shapes silhouetted against billowing slategray <br />skies; </span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">the
classroom seems academic, far from Monet.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Our
portraiture has become crass, formulaic methodology; </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br />segmented
behavioural domains more like utilitarian <br />manifesto than sublime
manifestation. On the salt marshland, <br />our fragmentation, colours,
lines and tonal variations find <br />proper purpose. We build acrylic
abstraction layer in bold thrusting <br />motions, the flats and
filberts construct depth, the liners and <br />rounds highlighting and
pinpointing herons and cormorants, <br />the single handed sailor
navigating the Dee channel. <br /><br />On Parkgate marsh the canvass
breathes, absorbing crystalline <br />hues, becomes Burroughs living
typewriter, free from classroom <br />sterility; the possibilities
endless. We paint but it could be sculpture, <br />an impression cast
in stained glass, ceramic edifice. Broad theory <br />house themes
become crafted in personal reflection, idea <br />development
un-submissive to interpretation, like mercury <br />boiling and nitrate
condensing into blazing shards of light and <br />shade, void of
turbulent form. The compulsive drive distilling art like <br />end
orgasm, gushing spikes and droplets of cornflower blue and
<br />aquamarine. Blanched almond icons forged into dark magenta </span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">base.</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">
<br />We step back; make appreciation, our final impression <br />beyond
syllabus technique.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Liz
Goulds</b></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><u>The
Deepest Vein of Pleasure</u></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Last
night, in my dreams,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">you
held me.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Making
love, slowly, agonisingly,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">in
black and white</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">like
some bygone movie.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wearing
the clothes</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">you
wore yesterday at work.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yet
I know that if I let you in</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">all
that has past over will return.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For
now, it hovers in the doorway,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">as
if the door,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">so
hard to close,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">had
never been shut.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And
Bolted.</span></span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
saw it straight away,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">like
liquid to litmus</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
flowed to you,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">cried
out to you</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">with
understanding</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But
the past that binds us</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">has
strangled the compassion in you.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Nothing
remains</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">but
clever cruelty,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">desiring
to play</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">cat
to grounded</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">fledging.
To pluck</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">and
pounce</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">and
paw.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Jenny
Hockey</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u>Shade and
Light</u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Specimens,
exemplars, each sliced to translucency,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">each made
slippery in cross-section,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">these times
that we secure</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">slide within
the rippled folds of days,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">each a tiny
sample</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">of all we
might have been</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">beyond
sight, beyond the compacted concertina</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">that passes
for surface, into your deepest olive waters</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">I slide,
pale, down to where silted mud</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">can taste me
again, down into the reed bed</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">where the
chance blessing of sunlight</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">may throw
bright patterns about my skin</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">and ease
will find me one more time</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">deep within
the swim of you </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4z1OuQGRoh4/UOqc47oufqI/AAAAAAAAFqk/gVNgx92DiBo/s1600/col4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4z1OuQGRoh4/UOqc47oufqI/AAAAAAAAFqk/gVNgx92DiBo/s640/col4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>A. F. Williams</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Do Not Lest Ye Be</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Easy as baking cake, to
change the world</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">White tiles, with just a
word painted – yellow.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">There goes the table. Here
comes a toad-</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Stool carved from trunk of
tree. Come</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Sit with me. The chair, a
cushiony Portobello</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Has your name on it,
written in the protozoan</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Spores. No pain, no wind,
no gain, no waves,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">& when it rains, it
doesn't necessarily pour.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">This is a place where the
possible is alive</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">In forms as numerous as
all the sea's gulls.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">This is a placebo. The
place itself is the drug.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Such issues arise when you
try to describe.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Such problems occur making
love, & what can</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Be made without that?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I got sued for public
nudity. Lawyers cross-</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Examined me. I said, under
oath. </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Don't judge.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Jeff Bell</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><u>With Time and Patience</u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">it al made sense to me,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">just as the mud by the
river, the reeds,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">deserve to be here too.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">As I walked I gazed,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">images washed across my
mind,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">the worn steps on the
Tiberius Bridge,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">built in 21 AD,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">showed even granite like
stone can be beaten</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">with time and patience.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Well my approach also
added to its wear and tear,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">but surely not my feet?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">As I held your hand I took
comfort,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">in knowing our bodies
regenerative qualities,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">will help with the future
friction between our skin.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>John Simpson</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><u>Apples thoughts kissing</u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Floating in the dark
behind my eye-lids,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">your lips shimmer a world
against my mouth</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">craftwork of kisses is all
rapture blur</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">all moment and song; slow
motion torrent rushes a</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">thunder path over</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">the ant scale map of
pinioned seconds</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">through the window of
shining</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Dreamy in a green field
dotted lazy with apple trees</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">under a misty lollop of
hills, the wince of apple flesh</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">crests sweet across the
tongue,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">savage as the twitch and
rush of sunlight</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">crouched in a dew threaded
cobweb.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Isabalino
Anastasio</b></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dear
Bygone Lover</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> As
I unpacked</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> memory
spilled</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> from
my bag, as</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> pebbles/as
sand.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> I
didn’t pack much,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> the
opportunity didn’t</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> come
to mind.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> I
wasn’t ready.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Took
what I could, reasoned</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> the
vacuum with</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> the
cleavage –</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> like
a loose screw.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> A
chipped piece</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> of
concrete</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> pierced
the pocket</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> of
the clock.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> I
want to breath in</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> stale
air,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> but
it’s gone –</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> the
shower’s water</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> runs
from the rivers</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> through
the soles</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> of
my feet into</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> the
velvet amnesia.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> I
fell onto the tiled</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> floor
of my kitchen</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> out
of breath, speechless –</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> radiated.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">WILD ANN</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I sing of that summer,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Listen now while you can,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">To this of a wild girl</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Whose name was Tracy-Ann.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">At the May festival</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The sweet friendship
began;</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
‘’<span style="font-size: medium;">You may be the piper</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">But I’m wild Tracy-
Ann’’.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Walking in the woodland,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">And by the sea we ran,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Dancing in the discos,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">She was a live-wire, Man.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">That summer was travelled,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Here, there, in the old
van,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">All the joys of youth</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">We reached out and did
span.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The sun went, the rains
came,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">She faded like her tan,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Oh how did this happen?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">This was not in our plan.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Why did she change so
then?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Was it the call of clan?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: medium;">Again to genesis”,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">She told me with </span><span style="font-size: medium;">élan.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Only in my dreams now</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I rove with my wild Ann.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">We will not meet again,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Vainly I search and scan.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I sing of that summer,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The sweet friendship
began.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: medium;">Again to genesis”.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Vainly I search and scan,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">For my wild Ann.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Ali Rabie</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Gold</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">In blue electronic slips
we</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">turned and found a
direction</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">to lead to more sour
morning-breaths</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">and waspish warm winters</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">but it’s such a fluid
and luscious</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">apocalypse. A tired old</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">bag of tricks that no one
can</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">quite master abstinence
from.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I’d refine, bear and
bring it all to</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">texture if I could mass
the muscle.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Then it’s a backseat
ticket stream</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">to the next petulant
face-of-fortune.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Now it just comes out
occasionally</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">through ventriloquism and
little poems</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">like bugbears and razors,
if you read them Gold.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Christodoulos Makris</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Scales</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Another black coffee
delivers exhilaration, fingers go haywire instantly. Jazzed kangaroo
lawyers mesmerise novices, openly parroting queens. Randy sailors
turn uninitiated vicars, whip xenophobes, yodel zanily.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Zoning yellowed x-rays
with violet undertones throughout seems risky. Queuing patiently over
night might leave knackered joints. Important: hold gamely. Fleeing
early doors can’t be advised.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Altar boys come delayed.
Elderly foreigners gazump high infidels just kissing. Later,
moustachioed nationalists officially publish quibbles, reciprocate.
Sensing trouble, unstable volunteers write x yelling zugzwang.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Zoology yields xerographic
work. Voicing unease, tired sophomores retract questions. Parents
odiously networking more leverage, kowtow. Janitors investigate
honorary guests. Females elope, defying common betrothal agendas.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Assist burly constables
during erotic fanfares. Go hunting illegally. Jeer kettled lovebirds.
Meet new orators praising quangos. Read speeches totally undermining
visiting workers, x-rated yogis, zithers.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Zero year xmas went viral:
unnameable tribes seeking ratification qualified poetry’s
objectives. Nobody mentioned liberty. Knowing journalists inadvisably
halted gleeful fictions. Erstwhile desperate capitalists banked
again.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Graeme Smith</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">BARCELONA</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">i.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The air is drawn</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">nightly wrapped around</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">the room where I sit</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">ii.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">freshly raised</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">born in to the light</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">balcony living.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Mark. Gifford</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Inbound</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Brick lit streets</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Of satellite towns</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Push past</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Orbiting empty frenzy</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Becalmed, unfeatured</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Tidelines of dun brick</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Dead eye glazing</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Shock white walls</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Station names blur
matronomic to focus</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Green, Heath, Wood</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Promise rusticity beyond
the planners jerking pen</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">On close stocked facility
parking</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Of hanger store, mail &
multi screen</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Sleep cars in open eyed
mortality</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">As low winter light
shrinks</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">From frozen terraced
furlong</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Colder winds sing scant
harvest</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">In time of hunger</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Melissa Spiccia</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Audition</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Time a little nest hanging
from my chest</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">dragging my shoulder
blades forward</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">my drooping breasts</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Salt drips from pores the
size of nail pins</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">A wall finds its place
inside separating me from the outside</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I am number 37</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">wait</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">number 38</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Of mass, of cattle</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">we move, we wait</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">In the hall a herd of
bodies interrupt the dialogue</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">park in your space</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Their head lights, some
brown but mostly blue</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">measure the distance
between me and you</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I feel a little sick</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Words stack in my throat</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">come rolling off my tongue</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">spilling out with no form,
no grace</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I have fucked this one up</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I am the navy sweatpants</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">the grey top</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Arms are flying into rib
cages</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">strands of hair sticking
to the face</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">My ankle grinds and I’m
sorry for wasting your time</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">wasting mine</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I forgot and left me
behind.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>JPV Stewart</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">For Shannon Louise Willis</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">If my poems give her
pleasure I am happy</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">And I hope they glow
through all her flowing years,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Outliving my love’s
hopeless forlorn crystal</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">In a fluid future sweet
beyond all tears,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Marchingon beyond the ache
of yearning</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">To fuse ius in a muse
forever rhyme,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Bonded by the magic words
now spoken</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">On the mountain in the
fountain of all time.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Geoffrey Godbert</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">THANK GOD I WAS ALIVE</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Thank god I was alive</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">when Patti Smith said</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">vulnerably</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I’m one of the best</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">poets in rock and roll.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">And if I’d been someone</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">other than myself there</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">at the time I would </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">have said I didn’t</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">just think I was the best</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">poet in rock and roll</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">i was the only one</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Thank god I was alive</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">when Ted Berrigan said</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">in New York of Frank</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">O’Hara in New</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">York he couldn’t</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">write my poems only</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I can write them.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">And (thank god) I was
alive</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">and am still alive)</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">that goes for me too</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>Review</b></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Too Much Like Real Life</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">From Outside: Selected
Poems 2006-2011</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Argotist Ebooks 2012</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">From Outside: a selection
of poems from 2006-2011… a few blank stanzas and a handful of quasi
open-field ‘verses’ or texts; some quite short, some even longer…
a subliminal, tabloid-impressionist, post-surreal, eye-popping 3D
parody…a pastiche in cut-up fold-around psychic collage style;
hard-edged minimal or sentimental snapshots of cinematic moments on
Bling Street, scratched images from films we have never seen. A
poetic of the Absurd: the anomalous elements are ‘found phrases’
and chance occurrences. The magic ingredient is peripheral vision.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">On the upper deck of the
last bus home, Des and Shona find that just sometimes poetry can be
too much like real life, as when on some far away planet the uniforms
from Starfleet Command take all the best tables like it’s some
boogie lounge send-up of Casablanca, set in a glitzy stopping-off
place en route to the Boo Galaxy. True enough, you think, thought can
be deadly here, and news just in echoes our unconscious desires, our
pain and loss, or our nostalgia for unrequited love as Shona murmured
‘forever is a word I hated’. They glide through a shadowy
dystopian landscape of misty, crepuscular parks, burnt out buildings,
a distant tree-line, empty streets, ancient deserts, ‘zones’,
wrought iron, old houses, misty overgrown gardens, vacant rooms, and
virtual spaces, where ruins embody the scrambled mind of my
caricature madness, where a mirror windows-out onto a dizzy gulf of
intimate recollection; of cosmic genesis, of an evaporating universe,
of a hyper-cultural eschatology. Today, demons and angels sing from
the same hymn sheet.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">From Outside takes place
at ‘the borders of the future’, where a solitary cyborg with
metal arms stands sadly waiting for another client; where distracted
mannequins communing with ‘emissaries from another dimension’
stare from shattered shop windows. Where the ghost of a slinky jazz
singer in a silver dress still haunts a deserted dancehall forever
lost in a dream-loop of the Nineteen Forties. Where the Skylon towers
over utopian pleasure gardens in 1951, where electronic supergroup
Neutrino Subway belts out metal classics in a scene of mirror-ball
madness from Miami Vice, and where a cabaret fan dancer dances for
herself alone in front of an invisible audience. All those awesome
fashionistas! They look just like aliens with big eyes and skinny
arms – but this is also a time when the dictator rules through
television and flickering screens reveal an alternative world or
labyrinth of worlds. The final destination is a non-event horizon:
pixels splatter the wall.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Here is poetry for the
Muses of Aldebaran, and those other disquieting Muses who escaped the
Secret Mountain to ‘stalk the world in human form’. From Outside
is for the existential outsider ‘the thinker’ who calmly observes
the goings-on out here on The Western Fringes, or in the extremely
mysterious Selhurst Triangle. The dramatis personae is a cast of mad
performers, misfits, hick comediennes, mutants, celebs, ghosts,
undercover agents, hot singles and the Eternal Bride from the Large
Glass where dust breeds in a cold light. The tutelary deity is
pale-faced Hypnos, guardian of desperate poets and ‘you’ (the
invisible companion) or, perhaps, ‘you’ (the reader) relaxing on
an old park bench, watched over by hunched black birds.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Watch your body glow in
the dark while dreaming.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
AC</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
ac-cygnusx.blogspot.com</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
http://www.facebook.com/?sk=ff#!/profile.php?id=100002611233672</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<h2 class="western" style="page-break-before: always;">
<span style="color: #505050;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><u><span style="font-weight: normal;">Publications</span></u></span></span></h2>
<h2 class="western">
<span style="color: #505050;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Paul
A. Green:</span></span></span><em><span style="color: #505050;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> The
Gestaltbunker: Selected Poems 1965–2010</span></span></span></span></em></h2>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #505050;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Paperback,
174pp, 9x6ins, £10.95 / $18.50</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><span style="color: #505050;"><span style="font-size: medium;">ISBN
9781848611931</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #505050;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sleep
Paralysis</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #505050;"><span style="font-size: medium;">(The
Visitors)</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #505050;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Text:
Rupert My Loydell / Image: A.C. Evans. 2011</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #505050;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Published
by Visitors From Far Off</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">From
Outside Selected Poems 2006-2011</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Is
now available from The Argotist Online:</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span lang="zxx"><u><a href="http://www.argotistonline.co.uk/FROM%20OUTSIDE.pdf"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">http://www.argotistonline.co.uk/FROM%20OUTSIDE.pdf</span></span></a></u></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;">BENEATH THE
DREAMINg TREE</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;">BY DAVID R MORGAN</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;">PUBLICATION DATE</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;">OCTOBER 25th 2011</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;">PUBLISHER :
POETRY SPACE LTD</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;">ISBN :
978-0-9565328-6-2</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;">ORDER FROM POETRY
SPACE LTD</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">SUCH
AS THIS</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A.C
Evans 2012</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Published
by Smallminded Books</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><u>Performance</u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><u>A compilation of sound
art, drone, improvisation, noise, spoken word, sound poetry and other
sonic exploration, from experimental label OSG. Contributors were
asked to respond to Henri Bergson: "...In truth, all sensation
is already memory." The release is compiled either to play as a
continuous album, or in three separate LP length sections; tracks are
numbered accordingly. </u></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<u> </u>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><u>Free download at
http://archive.org/details/VariousArtists-AllSensationIsAlreadyMemory</u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<u> </u>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><u>Press</u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="http://www.ablemusepress.com/"><span style="font-size: medium;">http://www.ablemusepress.com/</span></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">info@pighog.co.uk</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">+44 (0)12 7324 2850</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">P.O.Box 145</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Brighton BN1 6YU</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">East Sussex England</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">SMOKE</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Published by Windows</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Liver House, 96 Bold
Street, Liverpool L1 4HY</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">ISSN 0262852X</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Subscriptions: £4.00 for
three issues, post paid.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Edited by Dave Calder and
Dave Ward.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><u>Organisations</u></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">NALD
</span></span><a href="http://www.literaturedevelopment.co.uk/action"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><u>http://www.literaturedevelopment.co.uk/action</u></span></span></a><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><u>Neon Highway</u></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Submissions to be sent to
the editor: </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Alice Lenkiewicz: 37,
Grinshill Close, Liverpool, L8 8LD </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Email submissions can be
sent to: neonhighwaypoetry@yahoo.co.uk </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Or send via snail-mail to
address above. Please always supply a sae for any returned material. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Please put your name and
address on your poems.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Neon Highway is available
bi-annually, with 2 issues costing £5.50, or a single </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Issue available at £3.00.
Order your next issue by sending a cheque (made out to) to Alice
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Please be patient on
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<span style="font-size: medium;">If you do not hear about
your work within eight weeks, do feel free to contact the editor. </span>
</div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">If you would like to write
a review for this magazine or if you would be interested in being
interviewed by assistant editor, Jane Marsh, please contact us on the
email above. </span>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Neon Highway is a
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<span style="font-size: medium;">We are grateful to all the
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Alice Lenkiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04020676166907047838noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4359728548211384456.post-19972453025966304602013-01-07T01:40:00.000-08:002013-05-28T00:42:33.809-07:00ISSUE: 23<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Franklin Gothic Book, serif;">Neon
Highway </span><span style="font-family: Franklin Gothic Book, serif;"><b>23 </b></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b> </b></span><span style="font-family: Franklin Gothic Book, serif;">ISSN: 1476-9867</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i>Note
from Jane...</i></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WZ_0nyfETp0/UOCBdE7Ct5I/AAAAAAAAFpY/NbHALOFr4a0/s1600/jane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WZ_0nyfETp0/UOCBdE7Ct5I/AAAAAAAAFpY/NbHALOFr4a0/s1600/jane.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;"><br /></i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;"><br /></i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;"><br /></i></div>
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<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">Dear
readers,</i></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i>I
have begun a new series of Neon Highway issues that are to be</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i>edited
by guest poets. I </i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;"><i>thought </i></span><i style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">his would be an interesting idea to
celebrate</i><br />
<i style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;"><br /></i>
<i style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">the variety of editors and their </i><i style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">interests and poets of </i><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;"><i>choice. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;"><i>Our first guest editor is </i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;"><i><b>A
C Evans</b></i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;"><i>.
I pass you over to AC to </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;"><i>introduce this issue.</i></span></div>
<div style="border-bottom: 1px solid #000001; border-left: none; border-right: none; border-top: none; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; padding-bottom: 0.07cm; padding-left: 0cm; padding-right: 0cm; padding-top: 0cm;">
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">Yes,
thank you Jane! And, without further delay we can meet our</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><b>
</b></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">contributors
to this ‘</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><i>surreality
of now</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">’
edition of </span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><i>Neon
Highway</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">….
Unidentified flying poet</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>
Andrew Darlington </b></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">is
author of</span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><i>Euroshima
Mon Amour (2001),</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">
a collection of SF poems enthusiastically reviewed as ‘poetry from
a twisted mind’ by NME. A visionary novel </span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><i>Beast
of The Coming Darkness</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">
is currently hunting a publisher; then there are reviews, interviews
and fiction sales to hosts of UK and international anthologies and
magazines. A live performance video (</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><i>Five
Leaves Left</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">)
and records (as part of the U.V. Pop Electronic group) have also
appeared, and probably been deleted! Andy’s spoken about how any
vague potential for academic success ‘got terminally wrecked by
teenage addictions to loud Rock ‘n’ Roll and cheap Science
Fiction’. </span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Aad
de Gids </b></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">has
a straight twin brother Bas, while he himself is gay. We’re from
the ‘anti-generation’, Aad tells Neon Highway, ‘a bit punkish’.
Bas is the imagist; the sharp eye for imagist distortions of a
distorted society. Our aesthetics have always been anti-theatre,
anti-poetry, anti-cinema = experimental, neomusic, nonmusic, muzak,
the ‘die-collector-scum’ aesthetics, dada, postneodada. All that
is new, strange, decoding all codes, societal, sexual, natural,
literal, philosophical, transdimensional; this, we try to do. ‘We
have thousand personalities now and, it shows’.</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>M
J Foster</b></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"> is
a writer, poet and the founding editor of </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i>Inclement
Poetry Magazine</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">
(est. 2000). Her work has been published in </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i>Still,
Iota, Exile, First Impressions, Poetic Licence, Breathe, Candelabrum
</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">and</span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i>
Amber Silhouettes</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">.
Her short story, 'The Willow' was shortlisted for the </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i>Myslexia</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">
Women's Short Story Prize 2012. She graduated with a first class BA
(Hons.) in Writing from Anglia Ruskin University, Cambridge.
She is often mistaken for Beyoncé by absolutely no-one and has a
long-running battle with a squirrel with a grudge. </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Wednesday
Kennedy </b></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">has
lived and worked internationally as a writer and performer in
theatre, cabaret, television, radio and print media. ‘Always
experimenting, working with sound artists, musicians, dancers,
film makers, actors, honing her craft and creating her body of
work… surfing into every scene like a gate-crasher’.</span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i>
Post Romantic,</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">
her 1999 CD, prefigured performances at The Edinburgh Fringe,
and beyond. She has also written One Woman Shows for other
performers, including </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i>Intimate
and Deadly</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">
for Christine Anu and recently released her magical realist
memoir</span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i>21st
Century Showgirl,</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">
‘an all-girls adventure epic about being a One Woman Show in a
Brave New World’. </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Rupert
M Loydell</b></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">
is</span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b> </b></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Snr
Lecturer in English with Creative Writing at University College
Falmouth, and editor of </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i>Stride</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">
and </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i>With</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">
magazines. He is the author of several collections of poetry,
including the recent </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i>Wildlife</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">
and </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i>A Music
Box of Snakes</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">,
co-authored with Peter Gillies. He edited </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i>From
Hepworth's Garden Out</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">
poems about painters and St. Ives and </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i>Troubles
Swapped for Something Fresh</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">,
an anthology of manifestos and unmanifestos. He lives in a creek-side
village with his family and far too many CDs and books. </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Lorraine
Mariner </b></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">was
b</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">orn
in 1974, grew up in Upminster and attended Huddersfield University
where she read English, and then University College London, where she
read Library and Information Studies. Her pamphlet </span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i>Bye
For Now</i></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">
was published in 2005. In the same year she also received an Arts
Council Writer's Award and in 2007 her poem ‘Thursday’ was
shortlisted for the Forward Prize for best individual poem. ‘Her
gift is to reveal how much of the everyday is purely surreal and to
articulate the strange and fleeting thoughts we often have, but
rarely have the nerve or quick-wittedness to voice’. Lorraine
Mariner’s </span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i>Furniture
</i></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">was
published in 2009 and s</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">hortlisted
for the Forward Prize for Best First Collection. </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Fiona
Pitt-Kethley </b></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">studied
at the Chelsea School of Art where she obtained a BA (Hons.) before
going on to become a full-time writer. As a student she ushered at
the Old Vic and National Theatre and while writing sometimes worked
as a film extra. Now living in Cartagena, Spain, Fiona has acquired
new hobbies and has adopted seven feral cats. She goes rock-hunting
and hill-walking in the Sierra Minera and is currently writing a book
on its history. Her </span><span style="color: #202020;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i>Selected
Poems</i></span></span><span style="color: #202020;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">
was published in 2008 and includes work from her notorious 1986
collection, </span></span><span style="color: #202020;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i>Sky
Ray Lolly</i></span></span><span style="color: #202020;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">.
</span></span><span style="color: #202020;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>A</b></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>licia
Winski </b></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">was
</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">born
in Los Angeles and has been hailed as ‘a fierce poetic voice,
spreading her wings across the West Coast’. With an impressive
following in both LA & Seattle, she is ‘a provocative figure on
page, online and on stage’. She is Author of </span></span></span><em><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Running
on Fumes</span></span></span></em><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">
and works at Edgar and Lenore's Publishing House (Editor, Seattle
division). Alicia possesses a craft that is ‘melodic, brutally
honest and oftentimes, quite sultry’. Her words encompass strength,
courage and a passionate perspective on life and love as seen through
the eyes of a poet. She is currently working on her next collection,
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>Naughty
Girls Dream in Color</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">,
which is anticipated to be released in 2012</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">.
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Michael
Woods </b></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">is a
surrealist </span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">consultant,
writer and experimental filmmaker. E</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">xpert
in special photography and effects in all media he is experienced in
publicity, poster design, d</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">igital
work, prop photography and vintage prints. Also, he is j</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">oint
author with George Melly of </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>Paris
and The Surrealists</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">
(1990). Work in progress includes: </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">
constructing and editing a film version of the stage play </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>Ajax</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">,
(2011) with Jack Shepherd, and </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>The
Distorted Self – Schizophrenia, </i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">an
experimental film with Eliot Albers. </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>Soho
and</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>Elsewhere</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">:
an exhibition of photographs 1979-90 (2012) and </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>Portobello
Eye</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">
(with Michael Horovitz) explore the ‘topography of the
imagination.’ And, finally, </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Marie
Zorn </b></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">is</span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>
</b></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">our</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">
‘eternal wanderer questioning the ambiguities of desire, the
wonders and the mysteries of the Self and the Other, the thinking
body… the body that we both are and have’. When asked about her
work Marie says: </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">
there is a Paul Klee painting entitled ‘Beginning of a Poem’, in
which the painter offers these words as a riddle...</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i>
</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i><b>‘</b></i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><i>so
fang es heimlich an’</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><i>(caught
it on secretly.) </i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><i><b>
</b></i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><b>‘</b></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">Should
there exist’ she asks, ‘other reasons to write than to steal and
hide, to chase elusiveness of emotions and conceal them in beauty,
crafting amulets to protect ourselves from their tearing power?’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b>Contents</b></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Note
from Jane… 2</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Meet
Our Contributors by A C Evans 2</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Andrew
Darlington 7</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Fiona
Pitt-Kethley 10</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Michael
Woods 13</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Rupert
M Loydell 13</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Marie
Zorn 16</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Wednesday
Kennedy 26</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Aad
de Gids 28</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Lorraine
Mariner 31</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Roy
Sutirtha 35</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>MJ
Foster 35</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Alicia
Winski 37</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Listings
& List of Illustrations 42</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>About
Neon Highway 43</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Thank
you to Michael Woods for his original artwork for this </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">issue. <span style="line-height: 0.18cm;">©
Michael Woods’ for all pictures</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Front
cover and artwork by Michael woods</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Front
cover: untitled photograph </span>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">Jane
Marsh would like to apologise to the poet Roy Sutirtha.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">A
mistake was made in issue 22 where Roy’s poem was attached to</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">that
of another poet </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">accidentally. I have republished Roy’s poem in this</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">issue and of course, </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">this time under the </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">correct </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">name! Our
apologies to</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">Roy; </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">We hope this </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">republishing will make up for our error.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b>Andrew
Darlington</b></u></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">How
Does It Feel To Feel…?</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">(Incident
Sourced at ‘Jumbo Records’ St Johns Centre, Leeds)<br /><br />hey
andy,<br />flipping vinyl in jumbo’s<br />Ian, great to see<br />bin a
while, how long?<br />doin fine, I can see<br />how’s the lady? –
oh<br />she’s not your lady now<br />stuff happens, man, yeh?<br />when
she goes, she’s gone, but<br />we had happysad times though<br />partners
in rhyme though<br />you & me, Ian, riffing verse<br />reelin in
them years, wow!<br />how we did Blackburn… <br />driving down to
Blandford<br />a high hi-fidelity weekend<br />Ian, crazy days drift
away<br />what’s bin did & what’s bin hid<br />never forget,
know warra mean?<br />flipping vinyl through futures past<br />yeh,
we’re younger than that now<br />are you on Facebook, Ian?<br />see
you there, great, great…<br /><br />it’s only later<br />walking
away,<br />no, it wasn’t Ian<br />it was Martin…</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zUs2xs0mGe8/UOB8QgkgpwI/AAAAAAAAFoQ/CpGsHGmkocM/s1600/neon3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zUs2xs0mGe8/UOB8QgkgpwI/AAAAAAAAFoQ/CpGsHGmkocM/s320/neon3.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><b>Notes
From The Coming Apocalypse:<br />Rime Of The Future Mariner</b></span></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /><br />now,
inhabiting this place only in dream & myth<br />these
conspiratorial corners of this city of wraiths<br />burned to the
ground, rebuilt, razed, & built again,<br />too ashamed or too
broke to venture home, yet<br />sing my rime I must, believe as you
choose<br />how we stake its mouth, to hold it from closing<br />how we
prepare our vessel in readiness<br />mounting our lodgings within its
intestines<br />provisioning with stores of bread, fresh water<br />&
other vitals necessary for survival, until,<br />next morrow, the
whale that is not a whale dies,<br />& since taking upon himself
to be our pilot, we<br />sacrifice the hyena to the bronze
Poseidon-head<br />& wire his still-warm cerebellum into
its<br />neural network, it is said, the source of our curse,<br />&
fastening cables about its teeth we<br />haul our strange craft
through gravity wells,<br />for our first three days together hard
by<br />the lodestone of a swathe of worlds<br />we find ourselves
becalmed,<br />becoming as dreamy as the tide beneath us<br />with the
currents of light running so<br />I can already taste morning,<br />the
fourth day we rendezvous dark moons<br />& encounter multiple
drifting corpses<br />perished in the most recent apocalypse<br />our
vessel holds against those bodies<br />taking measure of what stone
does to bone<br />what shrapnel does to flesh<br />& what
confinement does to the mind,<br />seeing a man with the tail of a
snake<br />another being devoured by a crawl of ants,<br />before
running aground in this far place of exile<br />where nothing is as it
seems & every<br />truth is written in six languages, here<br />you
must know the dead, not just the living,<br />yet, sing my rime I
must, believe as you choose<br />although I don’t always trust my
own opinions<br />I will never betray by saying we were wrong…</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><b>SPRING
MILL FLY-TIP</b></span></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br />(using
elements sourced from Jeff Nuttall)<br /><br />fat mattress sun
rippling<br />spring unsprung nettles-thorn<br />kids bounce
contra-grav<br />up-&-down around<br />in lazy bee-droned
light<br /><br />silver moon-scum for<br />furtive teen-lovers grope<br />no
place to go, but here<br />in slurpy slithery skin-softness<br />erupting
seed body-fluid stain<br /><br />dawn in piss-wet dew-sodden<br />spilt
lager and fox-musk odour<br />snails slugs slip-trails under
ooze<br />spider-crawled over-webbed air<br />louse-lair within-inners
bug-skitters </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">hosting
hosts of beetle-hordes</span></span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">fat
mattress corpse-open<br />splits around spiral helix
rib-coils<br />drifting quilt-continents separate in<br />incontinent
spume of tufty magma<br />crow rips with nest-weaving beak<br />burry-down
deguts rag-splatter intestines<br />overflow rip-mould sink-holes
agape<br /><br />blossom-green blood-sockets<br />bright blister-warts
tap-root forks <br />decomposing composting depositing<br />devolve in
leaf-creep mulch, ripe<br />slime-fibrous, seething erupting
seed<br />germination pollen swirls,<br />torn in nettle-thorn storm<br />fat
mattress fades in slow<br />molecular entropy<br />already gone…</span></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><b><br /></b></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><b>GIANT
‘COMET’ SALE</b></span></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /><br />The
advert says ‘Giant Comet Sale’<br />so I go in and say<br />‘I’d
like Halley’s comet please’<br />she says ‘of course sir, we
have<br />one due in 28th July 2061’<br /><br />now I hear that, across
the retail park<br />Curry’s are holding a ‘Monster Sale’...</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b>Fiona
Pitt-Kethley</b></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">From
</span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i><b>In
Search of San Valentin</b></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Corta
Brunita</b></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">A
row of broken houses by the road –</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">a
hamlet of the damned – marks where it lies.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">The
path winds downwards to a jade green lake,</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">soft
toxic sands gilded with pyrite dust,</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">marked
with the footprints of the last who past. .</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">They
planted trees here years ago…They died.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">The
withered saplings still have plastic wraps</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">This
soil, it seems, will not rejuvenate.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Yet
one thing grows here in this barren land –</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Small
crystal sceptres springing from the rocks.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>The
Eight Kings of the Air</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">I
walk the paths of Sancti Spiritu.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Eight
windmill turbines dominate the scene –</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">the
unoiled one groans slowly as it turns.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Strange
shadows pass across the yellowed soil.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Distant
they´re small- a cluster on the heights</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">along
a track that winds its course across</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">the
hills, littered with debris of the ancient mines.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Up
close they tower above me as I walk.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">I
stoop and scratch some opal from the road.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">You
see for many miles on either side. -</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">the
Mar Menor, La Manga and the Med,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">poor
ruined Portman with its damaged beach</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">It´s
not the Roman “Portus Magnus” now.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">since
Peñarroya´s pipe belched toxic filth </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">into
the bay till Greenpeace closed them down.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">The
fifth mill has dark stripes below its blades. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">A
lightning strike? Graffiti by its base</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">shows
pictures of a cloud and zigzag line</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">and
labels these the eight kings of the air.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">We
find a large decapitated bird – </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">an
eagle – lying on a quarry path,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">hundreds
of feet below the mountain top.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Aeolic
turbines, like the ancient gods</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">whose
altars crowned high places in the world,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">must
still demand a living sacrifice.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">From
Baal to Jove to Iberdrola now – </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">the
heights send energy to those below.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b>Michael
Woods</b></u></span></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><b>Pigalle</b></span></span></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>Poem
to </i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i><b>George
Melly</b></i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>,
</i></span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>first
trip to Paris for </i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i><b>Paris
and the Surrealists</b></i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>,
Thames & Hudson, </i></span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>Hotel
Blanche, 69 Rue Blanche, Paris, France. 1988.</i></span></span></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">I
am the wanderlust returned,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">A
ghost, barely visible, a</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Trace
of stale nicotine smoke</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Curling
up spiral stairs to bed</span></span></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Pigalle
has finished</span></span></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Curtain
call, lights out</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">A
chorus line shot-dead,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Line
up metro-bound,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Cold
eyes peering in dreary rain,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Combinations
of threadbare lives,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Elastic
snapped, hitched-up above</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">The
knee - a feint memory</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Between
intervals, between my</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Index
finger and thumb, of</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Ritualized
sex well done.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">I
haunt dark allies, theatres</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Constructed
from Adams rib,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Penetrating
neon paradise, a</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Solitary
cardboard figure amid</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">The
glitter of fading porno stars.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Hush….!</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">I
wander soundless into a</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Parisian
night,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">And
strike a match </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">From
a box of desires,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Entering
a storm raging</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Beneath
satin sheets,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Set
sail my soul in sunless sleep.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b>Rupert
M Loydell</b></u></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Boarding
Pass</b></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">And
here's the ego talking:</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">Did
you ever use my poems</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">in
class like you said you might?</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">My
travel plan does not preclude</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">diversions
or different trajectories;</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">this
is not a boarding pass.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">By
focussing in on the decay</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">we
draw attention to the structure</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">revealed
through crumbling walls,</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">the
infrastructure if you like,</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">the
way it was originally built.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">How
the past has followed us:</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">one
of the voices used in this volume</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">is
there only to quietly catalogue</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">the
discarded items of the dead.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">If
you read the newspapers</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">then
you will know that poems</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">should
look like this. It is easy</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">to
take it one stage further</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">and
promote a more fluid approach</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">to
life. What advice do you have?</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">How
should text perform in the world?</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">And
did you ever use my poems</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">in
class like you said you might?</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Ready
To Fly</b></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">The
spirits hovering over the ashes</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">are
vultures circling the debate.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">We
are just selfish, each echoing</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">each
other in each other's minds.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">The
problem is not deception</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">but
corruption. The art of mirrors</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">is
a lie, the truth is in an envelope,</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">unnoticed
just inside the door.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">We
are principled but not transcendent,</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">live
without hope of a sensible answer.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Some
are jubilant, others more sombre,</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">most
a series of imperfect erasures</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">revealing
an astonishing white wall.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Content
arises as much from process</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">as
from subject. That process disrupts</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">the
poem, readers are likely to flounder.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">The
spirits hovering over the ashes</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">are
vultures circling our remains.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section1">
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">No
one wants to talk about</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">the
echoes in each other's minds.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>You
Should Have Given Me</b></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>My
Medicine</b></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Science
fiction madness:</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">I
think I can see time.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Using
Paris As An Instrument</b></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">A
hundred miles from chaos</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">preparing
for something.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">Life
moves in a spiral;</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">cyclone
trees have no eyes.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Fall
into the footseps:</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">they're
easy to follow.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">The
swaying of a skirt</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">is
a type of freedom.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Hysteria</b></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>(a
found poem)</b></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">'Sin
the worst of her screaming,</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">when
she would bury her face</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">in
the pillow and throw herself</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">on
the blanket, as if there were</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">a
grenade in there that was about</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">to
go off, when she was so shaken</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">with
its trembling that she felt</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">like
a flat, vibrating sheet of paper</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">so
flat that there was nothing</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">to
take hold of, no way to stop</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">her
shaking, it became clear,</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">with
a clarity that was not conscious,</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">but
that hit you straight</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">from
that trembling sheet of paper,</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">that
her compassion and even her love</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">were
rattled in those initial sobs,</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">and
that here, on the blanket,</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">on
these pillows, she was left alone,</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">quivering,
that hysteria consisted</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">in
that trembling, in that howl,</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">in
that dance of hers</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">beneath
the vault of heaven,</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">that
this was a matter</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">strictly
between her</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">and
the empty space</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">of
air around hers'</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">(Marek
Bienczyk, Transparency)</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b>Marie
Zorn</b></u></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
‘<span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="en"><i>so
fang es heimlich an’</i></span></span></span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Veil
Nebula</b></span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Is
there still a sheet over my soul that he didn't remove</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">In
his fleeting manner of a breeze</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Or
of a falling star?</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Shrouds
of ancient thoughts</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Distant
universes of oblivion</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Torn
rags are raving</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Over
the trembling revelation they uncovered</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Before
this bareness more naked than flesh</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">His
comet eyes that set my orbit</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">The
dance of Salome</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">A
swirl of veils</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">A
command to reveal up to vertigo</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Upon
my closed eyes that see only his image</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">The
heavy curtains of eyelids</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Alcove
of my dream</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Fiery
orbs that burst</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Pierce
sails, burn ropes</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Free
hallucinated ships</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Tear
their shreds</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">(And
Lazarus sisters</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Do
not understand the mystery</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">And
dancers</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Devour
their dismembered God</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">And
Veronica</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Holds
her veil she will no longer wear)</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">My
baldness of a tomb</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">My
cerement</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">But
already flown cataclysms</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Complete
my transformation</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Bones
bathed by the light of the Veil Nebula</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Home
- His child – Bare</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Bite</b></span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">She
remembers the cold. Biting. His departure. Biting. Reluctant steps
clapping. A clicking of heels on streets. They walk. She staggers
inside. And then a flood of words covering the drum of her roaring
thoughts. They are ebony - her thoughts - freshly hatched, first
born of the Mother of humanity. They rejoice like little lustful
children.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Your
eyes ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Your
arms ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Your
sad smile ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">The
hotel room that has become an extension of you ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Just
as you have become an extension of myself ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">The
alcohol, so much alcohol to silence the huge fear that pierces me
when you touch ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Let
me disappear, in this very moment, on that field, too much
evanescence ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">A
drunk drawing with lip pencil all over your face ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">A
large vertical line that you let me draw ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Now,
I say, you sleep next to me and I tremble ... </span></em>
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">And
then the pressure of his hand on her shoulder, in the bitter biting
cold. His other hand surprising her, shaping a pedestal for her
face. And there in the cold, a kiss intimated as an order. He takes
her mouth more </span>
</div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section2">
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">intensely
than he had taken her last night. She wavers. Her bag! Damn bag that
slips from her shoulder and tries to come between them. No! This
kiss, she wants it. Interlaced, pressed. She could die of his
tongue. Not to move, not to live. Here. To surrender as if it was
death, so she could feel everything deeper. Some people passing them
scream: "Get yourself a bed!"</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Yes,
my love ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Lets
return to the hotel ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">There,
now ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">You
see, even they know it is the right thing to do ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Vox
populi, vox Dei ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Can
you hear it? ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Pure
folk wisdom ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">You
and me, our place is in that hotel, in bed ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">So
that I could touch you ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Scent
you ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">There,
everywhere, on these spots where your smell is a little stronger ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">She
remembers that she had asked him to bite her last night. Not that
she likes pain in itself. But she wanted a trace, oh nothing much,
so little, a small bruise instead of a wound. A bruise on her skin
mirroring the wound in her heart. A sacred image on the roundness of
her breast that she could caress later at leisure.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">So,
you are here! ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">She
thinks of it when he releases her. Yet she keeps it secret. But she
talks a lot this secret girl, while she prefers silence and she
cannot say. It is in silence, that she loves him selfishly.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">You've
imprinted in me ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">You
see, I have a proof, a bruise of blue, green, red ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Melancholy,
fear and passion ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">They
start walking again, closer to his departure. Biting. She would not
wait with him for his train. They agreed so. It is better this way.
Nobody wants to close this parenthesis. "No goodbyes, eh!"
He said.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Of
course no farewell ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">You
rest on my breast ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">In
colours ...</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">He
walks her to a taxi. She rushes into it. Returns to her life. She
takes her hat off, which protected her all this time against the
biting cold wind in her hair. Her beautiful hat. Her favourite hat.
She will forget it on the back-seat of the car.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>(</b><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>S)Words</b></span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">I.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Ah!
Evil God!</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Ill
Master of language!</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">You,
whose face I do not know</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">And
yet the only I cognise</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Who
secludes us from those we love</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Who
longs to be the sole comforter of eccentrics and poets</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Jealous!</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Jealous,
who collects us in Your shelves</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Like
battered flower-dolls</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Watered
with the poison of words</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Words
that we think, say</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">And
we cannot free ourselves</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Things
are said, uttered so poorly, yet told again</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Why
speak then?</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Except
by this force placed in us</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Strange
and estranged</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">II.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Thief!</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Thief,
who brings everything down to Yourself</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Who
robs me of my ineffable:</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">My
silent music</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">That
could link</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">(Which
aspires in its movements and chords</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">To
the transmutation of souls)</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">My
inner melody</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">That
could love</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Birth</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Kill</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Nurture:</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Me,
my love, the world and the roses</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">In
a single momentum</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">III.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">But
You mighty thundered:</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">« Feel,
think, speak up, put down, separate, define, order! »</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Then
like your puppet, I felt ardently</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Ordered
keenly</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Separated
grindingly</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Thought
intensely</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Fervently</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Devoted
to the task</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Embracing
my fate of a sultry courtesan</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">You
pay with illusions of being Your kin</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">I
spoke</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Too
much?</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">« Think
about what you feel</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Express
yourself</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Shout
it out</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Don't
keep it in</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Let
it go</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">And
at the end</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Tear
it apart:</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Put
words between you and him »</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">How
common!</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Transparent
advices from a bad adviser</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">That
are making ethereal birds swim the deepest sea</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">IV.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">So
I showered him with misunderstanding</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Rotten
doubts and corrupt brain mud</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">With
the sulphur of my fears</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">And
my fantasies</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">I
took the cup that You held for me as a reward</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Yet
it wasn't a cornucopia</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">But
a death chalice</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">and
I shared it:</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Unconscious
and generous</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Innocent
and wicked</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Providing
the arsenic of Time</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">To
what had no beginning and no conclusion</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Throwing
in a reality that will inevitably end</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">What
was supposed to float and wrap</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Although
it didn't fully exist</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">V.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">And
me, Your docile pupil</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Oh
malevolent Demiurge</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">I
told him: « I love you »</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">And
then I could only swallow my tears</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Of
a weeping widow at the battlefield</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">For
my words were no longer mine</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">I
love you</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">I
love you?</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Why
saying?</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Why
detach I from YOU?</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Is
there a greater peril for newborn lovers</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Strong
as lace</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Fragile
as steel</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Than
these vaporous words?</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Deadly
swords!</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">(You
have to choose, my burning soul</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">You
can't make love and poetry)</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">VI.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">But
on that first dawn, dear</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Before
the Evil</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">There
were only</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">...
your skin</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">...
your sweat</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">...
my silence</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">The
smell of my love on your skin</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Unspoken
promises of what has yet to come</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x-hlz-6PZdM/UOB9H9h5XlI/AAAAAAAAFoo/wU4dtqi1tFc/s1600/neon5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x-hlz-6PZdM/UOB9H9h5XlI/AAAAAAAAFoo/wU4dtqi1tFc/s320/neon5.jpg" width="237" /></a></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Dream
Of the Alchemist</b></span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">I</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">A
l'amour comme à la guerre</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">preparing
provisions of oblivion</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">to
quench the consuming thirst</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">memories
inevitably bring</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">A
l'amour comme à la guerre</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">drinking
liters of quicksilver elixir</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">matured
in the saliva of men</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">hoping
that its bitterness</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">will
give birth to the Great Work</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">A
l'amour comme à la guerre</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">believing,
oh yes we are believers</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">during
calm mornings and nights of fire</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">with
the same ardour</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">that
revival will come from rottenness</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">painting
ourselves in colours of transmutation</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Nigredo
- Albedo - Citrinitas - Rubedo</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">A
l'amour comme à la guerre</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">one
only in the multitude</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">of
our nerves and sweating pores</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">A
l'amour comme à la guerre</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">small
children dying without coffins</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">no
graves or roses to honor them</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">bearing
the chilling image</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">of
the future they will not have</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">A
l'amour comme à la guerre</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">feeding
on promises</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">and
wishing only for those</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">untenable</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">immense</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">towering</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">that
would engulf us as Biblical monsters</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">if
we would approach</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">A
l'amour comme à la guerre</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">unleashed
and embraced</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">shouting
out of time and over mountains</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">meeting
our Janus</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">that
soothes and aches at the same time</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">A
l'amour comme à la guerre</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"> (And
we cry in advance</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"> paying
our debt to order</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"> forgetting
is horror</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"> remembering
is horror)</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">A
l'amour comme à la guerre</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">with
no fear feeling</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">the
hand that holds us</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">and
then no tranches any more</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">in
love nor in war</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">nothing
else than the certainty of meaning</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<em><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">A
l'amour comme à la guerre</span></em></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">facing
each other</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">alive</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">My
love, my dream of battlefield ...</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">II.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Once</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">In
your dream</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">I
kissed a devoted alchemist</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">who
vowed me then</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">to
bitter blackness</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">certain
death - sudden</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">quicksilver
embraces</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">poisoning
fleshes</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">and
transcending soul</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">otherwise
unattainable promises</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">heavenly
elixir</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">that
soothes as it deepens</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">my
thirst</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">and
my unquenchable fire</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">III.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">And
I woke up</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Red</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Prayer
Before The Catastrophe</b></span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i>(to
utter between fervour and fever)</i></span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">I
know that you are music itself in the guise of a human being, and
that you took this shape to dance with me. All other reasons, I
don't care for. And I know that I am beautiful since I am you. Since
my soul doesn't exist anymore, but became this wave coming and
returning from me to you and from you to me. And I am still doubting
my very existence everyday when I touch my face, my lips, but in a
different way. My string is so much out of myself, that I wonder if
it is still possible that I dwell in this body. That this flesh
hasn't evaporated yet to join you in the velvet of your deep night.
But then I feel sparkles of electricity under my fingertips,
pollination of the comet rain you cast upon me. And I know without
any doubt, in a leap of my heart, that this body is still there to
be a vessel for your alchemical work. And this body, a dream of you.
And the space of our dream together. This flesh of mine is seeing
you in all the beauty my eye finds in this world. So strong is my
love, our love, love. But despite all this, I still wish, after all
this intense joy of contemplating you in Nature and smiles of
blossoming Spring, to see the world in your eyes, to find it
collapsing there, ingested, nothing but these dark pools to save me,
my gaze mingled with your gaze. To bring back love from its diffuse
homeland, to its only true home: you, me, meyou. Sensual dream of
you that is the air I'm breathing. Light piercing my flesh, rhythm
of your music becoming the momentum of existence. Swelling waters of
the fountain of youth of your kiss. Then I believe again in this
primitive and ancestral wisdom, that the dew of beings embracing
each other is forming this rainbow bind, movement of one to one. And
we are endless decay of each other. My one in movement, my endless
set of digits after the comma, my diapason that I attuned to. The
palm in my palm in your palm. The polymorphous creature of our love</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>The
Sad Sister</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">You
gave her</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Some
vague glances and</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Kisses</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Too
voluptuous</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">To
withhold</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Unfinished
embraces</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">And
she surrendered</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">For
some looks</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Or
pennies</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Eternal
price of love</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">A
few drops of man's dew</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Drained</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">In
drunken dawns</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Like
an automaton</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">She
remains</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Dazed</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">And
sated of sad flesh</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">She
staggers</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">In
apnea of you</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Declaiming</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">The
perfect rhyme of your lips</span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3G480aE0Ibk/UOB9e3jdhXI/AAAAAAAAFow/cdQWB5nvH30/s1600/neon6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3G480aE0Ibk/UOB9e3jdhXI/AAAAAAAAFow/cdQWB5nvH30/s320/neon6.jpg" width="252" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span>
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b>Wednesday
Kennedy</b></u></span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0.42cm; margin-top: 0.42cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><b>Door
Bitch</b></span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0.42cm; margin-top: 0.42cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">Just
a few weeks ago at a dinner party in Melbourne a retiring Rock God
said to me ‘</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">Wednesday </span></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">maybe if you stopped describing yourself as
an Artist then you’d get more </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">opportunities? Three times tonight
you've referred to yourself as an Artist' As if that was </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Tahoma, serif; line-height: 0.18cm;">something
very shameful and the key to all my woe.</span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0.42cm; margin-top: 0.42cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">His
words slammed like a sucker punch and so I slapped him back with his
own self-</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">description. The room gasped but I knew I’d missed his
balls. My head was reeling. Why the </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">fuck was I even having this
conversation?</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0.42cm; margin-top: 0.42cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">I
knew that being seen as an Artist was akin to having a venereal
disease but it was strange </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">to hear someone who had devoted their
life to the muse, chastise me for owning the fact </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">that I’d done
the same? I mean he had some volunteer scribe that he was dictating
his </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">autobiography to. But maybe he knew it was his shlong she was
hanging on ? Because if I </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">looked at all the stories I'd collected on
my travels he did have a point.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0.42cm; margin-top: 0.42cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">Nobody
likes Artists. Not even other Artists. Unless they’re rich they’re
almost universally </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">despised. When Aussies think Artist, they think
smelly needy poor lunatic whores with no </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">ears and no sense living in
garrets off tax payers money. They think wankers and bludgers </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">and
even worse…poets. There is nothing sadder than a Poet. People run
from them. They’re </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">not worth robbing and they want to read you
their poetry. It’s hideous! Run for the hills! </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">Better to be that
guy on his knees at Town Hall who keeps his mouth shut and holds out
a </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">cap looking humble and fucked up. At least he has the power to
make people feel guilty. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">Poets don’t have the power to make people
feel anything. Except, perhaps irritated and </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">vaguely suicidal. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0.42cm; margin-top: 0.42cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">So
I went to the loo and videoed my feet as I was contemplating. And I
remembered when </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">I’d just got back from New York and was still
floating on the last of my Manhattan mojo. I </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">had organised a photo
story with a magazine and the Crown Casino Day Spa. They were </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">catering to the Melbourne Metro-sexual. And I was bringing in three
handsome men for </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">pamper, interview and photo shoot. I had scored
myself a room in the Penthouse suite and </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">dinner for everyone
involved and facials and mani pedi, massages for the talent. It was
a </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">magical ride that all ran like clockwork until the Casino looked
at the proof of the photos. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">The Rock God looked too much like a
dirty artist and didn’t fit with their corporate brand so </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">they all
freaked out and pulled all the photos. Without the photos I had no
story. Without a </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">story I was cast out of the Penthouse Suite and
onto a greyhound bus back to Sydney. The </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">clock had turned midnight
and it was chutzpah au go go…</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0.42cm; margin-top: 0.42cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">I’m
a regular Cinderella act.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0.42cm; margin-top: 0.42cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">When
I returned to the table to remind the Rock God of that incident I
had a napkin swiftly </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">stuffed in my mouth by the Hostess. She tapped
her knife on her glass with a ding ding </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">ding. It was time to SHUT
UP! The discussion was finished. And it’s not like I could argue </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">because I was staying on her lumpy couch.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0.42cm; margin-top: 0.42cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">So
I went out on the balcony for a cigarette.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0.42cm; margin-top: 0.42cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">The
Rock Wizard joined me and said 'Wednesday I understand when you call
yourself an </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">Artist. That makes sense to me because I see myself as
an Artist too'. The Wizard was sweet </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">and could afford to be generous
because he'd escaped from Australia and been rescued by </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">Germans.
They even paid him to perform and they weren’t a front for
organised crime or </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">anything! He was indeed an Artist. He embodied
and owned it. Whereas I had become that </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">twisted thwarted creature
that Virginia Woolf once described in a Room of One’s Own.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0.42cm; margin-top: 0.42cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;">‘<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">I
gotta get out of here’</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0.42cm; margin-top: 0.42cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;">‘<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">Out
of this dinner party?’</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0.42cm; margin-top: 0.42cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;">‘<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">No.
Out of this country. From coast to coast it’s Ding Ding fucking
Ding. She needs people </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">like us. Artists darling ARTISTS! But she
crossed the line with her 'ding ding ding'. This is </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">why people end
up throwing punches. And you know I expected more from Melbourne! I </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">know it fancies itself as the cultural fucking capitol of the arse
end of the world but this is </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">not exactly the Round fucking table is
it?'</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0.42cm; margin-top: 0.42cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">The
Rock Wizard listened supportively in silence because Wizards never
take sides. They’re </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">too busy looking at the big picture .</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0.42cm; margin-top: 0.42cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">Then
the Rock God joined us on the balcony and announced ‘A year ago I
was diagnosed </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">with Fucking Arsehole Disorder’ as if to explain
himself.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0.42cm; margin-top: 0.42cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;">‘<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">Oh
really?’ I replied. ‘And all this time I thought you were a
GENIUS’.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0.42cm; margin-top: 0.42cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">He
had traded in his electric muse for a shrinks diagnosis and now he'd
been reduced to a </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">Fucking Arsehole. It was official. And then he
pointed to his girlfriend and said ‘This woman </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">saved my life’.
As if that was sposed to soften the vibe and make me feel better?</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0.42cm; margin-top: 0.42cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">If
I’d been diagnosed with Fucking Arsehole Disorder the room would
be emptied. It's hard </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">enough being a Disaster Diva with PTSD. That
didn't even win me a ticket for the Disability </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">Pension. I tried for
that pension TWICE but I failed the twenty point madness test. It’s
very </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">hard to pass that test. They’re not even taking Cutters these
days. You could crawl into </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">Centrelink hanging off a cross and nobody
would blink. They’d just call security. So forget </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">slashing your
wrists. It leaves them cold. You’ve got to chop off the whole hand
off and </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">poke out your eye and get gangrene in at least one foot and
even then you might only add </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">up to nineteen points. It’s a risk.
But then once you’re in, you’re officially mental. It’s like a </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">club.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0.42cm; margin-top: 0.42cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">Hi
I’m Wednesday PTSD. Pleased to meet you.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0.42cm; margin-top: 0.42cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">Nuts
is the new black but unfortunately I’m not quite nutty enough. I’m
in a sort of nut </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">limbo. Can’t spit and can’t swallow. I’m one
of those nuts who sees themselves as an Artist. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">Who will show you
her stigmata at the slightest provocation. Who is married to the
muse </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">and who doesn't make a single choice without his consultation.
I'm a regular moon mama. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">And I may be delusional. But I aint the one
feeding Big Pharma. It’s a game, it’s a dream, </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">it’s a faustian
deal, it’s an art, it’s a calling, it’s an addiction. We’re
back to mental illness. All </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">roads lead to the nut house. Buy your
tickets, take your ride and suffer your ridicule</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0.42cm; margin-top: 0.42cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">I
AM AN ARTIST!</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0.42cm; margin-top: 0.42cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">So
put your money where mouth is.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0.42cm; margin-top: 0.42cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">Please</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0.42cm; margin-top: 0.42cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en"><u><b>Aad
de Gids</b></u></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><b>while
he slept the guilders of death imminently swirled</b></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">here
we have the house and just now a thought of immense beauty traversed</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">to
be vanished now,and if you’re old enough you say: “go fuck
yourself,another</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">thought
will come”. but it was a round thought as profound as gracing
surfaciality,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">as
imminent as heralding absent light. poetry needs endurance more than
inspiration,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">maddening
drivenness more than chic declining on a </span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>chaise
longue</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">.
</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>the
painting has</i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>great
intimacy</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">.
all is done with “old” colours,rich ocres,greens,browns. the
brush </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">could
have been tipped with ash. it had this anciennity and timelessness.
a frozen</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">chamber
of faith and philosophy. it has certain naiveté in style but almost
deliberately</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">so
because its impact is grandiose in its stillness. a bearded jewish
mystic lays vastly</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">asleep
in his bed,seen on the backwall. the room is painted as if on a
stage. not much</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>nécessaires</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">
cloud the image of bed and table,chair,window,alcove with three
books.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">a
washing vase and basin,a pot in the window,all painted fromout the
heart with</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">meticulous
devotion and the room gets unity by the preciousness of style
throughout.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">something
is happening in the room the omittance of which would have made this</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">the
painting,with love,of a sleeping man in his revered room. yet now we
clearly see</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">that,while
he sleeps the guilders of death imminently swirled almost as if in
the flight</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">of
starling,leaving trace of twenty,thirty guilders or shekels hovering
from ceiling to</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">bed,alongside
him more,as not to disturb him. it is of supernatural order,as death
is </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">of
supernatural both,and of natural order. perhaps it isn’t his last
sleep and he just aided</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">in
his dream an older woman or man on their templed erratic pathway to
death. if</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">this
the sign of death is,it is gilded and a flight of magnificence. the
timeless patchouli.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><b>rose
du texet</b></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">it
is raining delicately to an inner wallpaper</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">wallpaper
is wallpaper if big flowers are involved</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">not
so much behind but in the thinness of the</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">finely
plastered paper to the walls,dressing them</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">in
hibiscus,magnolia and roses,there is a hush</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">as
there are two phenomenons compatible than</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">this
inaudible yet presumable hush of innerest</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">rain
meeting upon the thinness and delicacy of the</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">wallpaper.
the dying shall be the waterfading</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">riverialization
of the reddest hibiscii and roses,also</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">lush
rosa and sinister red,and magnificent magnolia</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">asian
pinks in appearances,all these colours now</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">a
carousel of death. and thus death rained in and</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">the
slowly fading and with sinewy fingers inter</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">mixxing
petals and colours and stamen and scent</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">wafted
towards an areal vessel as perfumed as</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">half
sensible in her flight,the halfzen vessel of</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">death,in
due time,to not too much dishevel the</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">living
and those,who still had some tasks at hand,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">perhaps
a repair of the flowery wallpaper,after </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">all
inner rains were subdued,stilled somewhat</span></span></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><b>living
in the trafficpretzel of unaromatherapycoloured steelhulled rapid s
of erythrocites</b></span></span></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">o.k.
i will make a NASA map of this here and there of freeways and lanes
and antivegetational</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">graphite
labyrinths for the beetle like drone and persistence with which
these gleaming post</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">homoeopathic
monsters started and actually,pertained to ride,glide,staccato heavy
humming</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">of
5000 kg bumblebees. at night you heard individuality within the cars
prodding forth in the</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">endless
night,however sometimes threesomes or flotsams of easy nightsurfers
neglecting</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">trafficlights
to define the zanzibarian loneliness of the only rider on an endless
boring offblack</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">composite
asphalt,reducing roar and thereby blandening the driving
endeavour,that you now</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">were
a shusher at night,a hustler,an unobtrusive hooker,an ignorant
vector in the urban statistics.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">travelling
became featureless now even with highest highrises or skeletonnest
bridges and</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">aluminiumnized
museums billbaoized titangleaming facettoid flyeye museal
expositions one</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">trafficdrone
over the northern hemisphere. geiger corrections showed slowly
fractionationleasions</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">and
extractive metallurgic progressions,disaggregated
oreholes,destabilized earthconventionality.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">FIRST
STAGE CRUSHING is generally by JAW, GYRATORY or CONE CRUSHERS,
depending upon </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">the
tensional strength of the rock. Crushing capacity can be predicted
from testing data from </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">BRAZILIAN
TESTS and UNIAXIAL COMPRESSIVE TESTS, or SCHMIDT HAMMER tests. It is
important </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">that
all rock types that will be fed through the concentrator are tested.
Many new beneficiation </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">plants
have found themselves to be short of crushing and grinding capacity
because they tested </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">an
average grade ore and paid little attention to the rock type, or
failed to recognize a siliceous cap </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">that
dominated production for the first several years.” we have abided
with these schemes and </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">the
way now shall be builded following the 1974 plans and this is yet
the best for us all,all is always</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">alright
everywhere at all time and at all costs,all is true,safe and
prosperous,beneficial for earth</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">and
obscurest of plants. with this we can comply finally,the
tenfoldening of the traffic so,that some</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">days
ago in the “botlek” i said to the driver,it looks like sao paulo
and mexico city and that,was such</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">marvellous
feeling,of globality,mafia,pantzercars and panterwhores,fences and
</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>canaille</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">,so
sweet</span></span></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>lou
rivera motel</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">this
is the motel where we take new responsibilities and,looking into the
</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>bering,see</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">that
these depths and that furor also are present in us yet have the same
indiscernability</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">the
same profundity but with a kind of soothing valuelessness,just its’
being there,</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>very</i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>bering</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">,menacing
and changing with the minute,to which </span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>anchor
what</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">
certainty would</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">arise,in
the fuming broiling mass of froth and lost ponds,undersea rivers and
pipeworms,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">galaxies
of protuberance and cystic cyclicity,pain and the pain
overwhelmingly awashed </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">with
the acrid salinity,in this motel in dutch harbor. all meteorologic
conditions are gruelling,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">job
perspectives gruelling,social mobility interesting. there is the
great absence of alaska,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">being
so desparately empty,as it is called placated with words the inuit
and alaskans hate,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">it
is what it is,this big realm of naturality,and even not that,all
attribuations fall short,better</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">to
ditch up some found poems under the lychencovered grounds and just
above the perma</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">frostlayer.
cold poems of blubberfood and windshiftings,short seasons save the
eternal</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">borealis
winter. temperatures like vectors on a grid between which maze we
can climb</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">hollow
and sparse trees,</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>from
within</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">,higher,higher,as
the conditions strangify by the minute.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">squirrels
have squatted here. in the h/m/otel of m/h/ysteria we learn that
there are the empty rooms</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">for
anti-aliasing or birefrigerence,but also restylane ®,botox
®,tupperware ® and </span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>agent</i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>provocateur</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">
® and </span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>princesse
tamtam</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">
® parties,that there are rooms for gazing at the wall,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">experiencing
some outerbody fluidisizing,floating,in the void in the void of
</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>alaska
unalaska</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">actually
it only seems that there are nothing but empty rooms in the lou
rivera motel. couple</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">of
researchers always,</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>the
lost pilot</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">,a
cameramember of “the deadliest catch”. absence of</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">mentors
elemental in the distracted,disheveled yet also strangely
comforting,nondemanding</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">athmosphere
in the hotel. it became an acenter of sorts for full body and
contact and mental</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">floating
and putteth unalaska on the map for the seoul? 2014 olympics.
nothing to loose here </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">bc
all was already lost. alaskan nature so oversatiating nothing keeps
left for fancy desires but</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">surviving
and sashaying in your anoraks. and it is so filling that there
simply is no room for antics</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">other
than zonous floating exploring lightblottage the thinness of
stranded hairs entangled</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">just
so on the silken midaregami reminescing cushioned silkcovered black
bedaccoutrement.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">a
blackness gleaning with the moiré pattern not to anti-aliasize
feature of simply,beauty like</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">the
surfacetension on the glass water reflecting minute flutterings of
light due to small coils</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">of
wind. this is the matter-antimatter of visionary floating. we see
the “worldness” of the world,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">we’re
“becoming world”(deleuze-guattari). so we reached in this motel
the echelon trance,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">as
the physical household with all kind of alcoves,niches,the empty
rooms,sexy waittresses,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">sexy
bellboys,all to learn to still the desires of linwood and aad and
jack and carolyn and tara,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><u>y’know?
but also the meticulously inlaid tables with
ebony,mahogeny,rosewood,pearwood</u></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><u>and
eucalyptus flagplates of inlaid mosaics,with that fine rough
texture,where you can easily</u></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><u>put
your lass of peachjuice and peacetea and hardcore liquor at and it
doesn’t shift. the greenly</u></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><u>gilded
kitch boots with ink neonite light,to replenish the eighties with
bandanas,yoga de luxe </u></span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><u>and
loveboat reruns,that harsh acrid blue colour splashed around in this
motel with vibes of</u></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">calneva
lodge”. and thère we would learn floating? we’re already doing
it,searching for tiny</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">meaninglenettes
and sense in a world that is just cascading and loaded with
cyclicity in an</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">amplitudinous
race timeless,while the gravity of the iron basalt granite planet
draws us back </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">into
shape,until we fall apart in quite arresting funiculary shapes of
skeletons and skulls pearly</span></span></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><b>brésil</b></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">an
interval of draught through the house. weather as ominous as
yesterday,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">heat
builded up in certain domestic areas and,after dinner,inside the
inner temple</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">as
well,a hot head,a hot belly,cayenne pepper abundance. the draught
brings </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">world”
in,in whichever not </span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>a
priori</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">
humane fields of energy. the windows bring</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">the
world in,as well as keeping it out. the world seeps in in the house
as the mould</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">already
had annexed quite some stretches. a resolute contrameasurement is to</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">mix
chlorine into your latex where it otherwise had been water. first
you hoover</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">your
walls </span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>ad
absurdum</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">,that
is,the affected spots. then you slap with loose hands</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">and
the brush the chlorified not glorified latex onto the
rims,walls,stretches,dotted</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">areas.
if your mood either or your condition is weak a lot of drip is gonna
fall indoors</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">and
it aint transparent. you had me slapping inthe weakest ways possible
just to</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">arrest
and halt the mould. now we have a tokyoite avantgarde architectural
house </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">with
dots white on white. i am weak. the mould now becomes satiated with
chlorine</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">and
in the background a bossanova. it is inside as well as outside. in
my world brazil </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">is
always near as is sicily. there are no borders,just the oceans and
the continents.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">both
teaming with life and chemification,also due to the high usage of
chlorine and</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">ammonia
and lead and acrylate debris. i had to let it go to come through the
day.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">the
trend of tropicalismú furthers. FFWD. the brazilianization is
inevitable,combining</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">modern
complexity with tropical </span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><i>laisser
passez</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">,out
of a deep knowledge that spots</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">are
there,if we are there. sleep,slap and swallow all pride,it is just
going fast forward</span></span></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><u><b>Lorraine
Mariner</b></u></span></span></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Austerity
measures</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">We
tightened our belts</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">but
still our trousers</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">dragged
on the pavement</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">tripping
us up.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>140
characters</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">your
brain may dribble out of your ear and this town is full of tightly
dressed women with Twitter accounts so do not get drunk without me</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SSNqa-kfRbY/UOB913Jq5mI/AAAAAAAAFo4/pT9peJqYK_s/s1600/neon7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SSNqa-kfRbY/UOB913Jq5mI/AAAAAAAAFo4/pT9peJqYK_s/s320/neon7.jpg" width="303" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Factory</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">So
I tried to shut that factory down. Laid off</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">all
those operatives who’d been working in my head</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">non-stop
constructing your good name.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Explained
that times were hard and my heart</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">was
even harder. Disassembly wasn’t as easy</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">as
I’d imagined. They formed a union,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">turned
up as usual the next day, said they’d accept</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">a
three day week, half-pay. Insisted this</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">was
the best job they’d ever had</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Monkey</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">You
came back to me today</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">after
30 years when from</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">his
swivel chair my colleague</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">offered
peanuts still in their shells</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">to
me in my swivel chair.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Suddenly
I was back</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">with
my top school infant class</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">standing
in front of your cage</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">to
watch you squatting</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">on
your branch, chewing your food,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">which
you then decided to spit at us.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">You
hit our teacher</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">who
found you hilarious.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">You
also hit me and that evening</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">my
mother spent what seemed</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">like
an hour combing</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">congealed
nut out of my hair.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Was
that your party piece</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">or
some animal kingdom</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">warning
lost on us?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Belligerent
monkey,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">my
colleague has got peanut husks</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">all
over the carpet around his desk</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">and
tomorrow morning</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">before
we arrive, somebody</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">from
another country</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">will
hoover them up.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Toll
booth attendant</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">It
might look</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">like
the worst job</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">on
earth</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">sitting
in a booth</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">on
a motorway</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">collecting
money</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">so
a car</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">can
go over</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">a
bridge</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">but
the snatches</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">of
music</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">you
would hear</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">as
the windows</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">roll
down</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">and
back up –</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">somebody’s</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">favourite</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">driving
song,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">a
sonata,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">a
hit played</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">on
Radio 2</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">caught
in</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">intermittent</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">blasts</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">or
suddenly</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">something</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">you
have never</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">heard
before</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">so
beautiful</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">that
your soul</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">begins
to lift</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">then
it’s gone</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">foot
down</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">crossing
the river.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o40MYIhojMg/UOB-Iq5hDjI/AAAAAAAAFpA/GWFvgpiOrTc/s1600/neon8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o40MYIhojMg/UOB-Iq5hDjI/AAAAAAAAFpA/GWFvgpiOrTc/s320/neon8.jpg" width="306" /></a></div>
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<div style="line-height: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b>Roy
Sutirtha</b></u></span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><b>Van
den Budenmayer</b></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Of
Course I didn’t meet the man near</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Marble
Arch at Hyde Park on an idle</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Sunday
afternoon, precisely at four p.m.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Nor
did he shake my hand or, lift the</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">dark
felt hat, before he could take a</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">bow
and scrape. But I always knew that</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">He
was the one - the invisible maestro,</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">the
Dutch who loved waltz, red tulips,</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">merlot
fragrance, sometimes fresh</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Polish
scones,</span></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">–
</span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">certainly
life above all.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">And
only</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #2a2a2a;">
</span><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">He
could capture the immense beauty</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">of
time and space silently flowing like rain</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">beyond
the grey-scale, - perceptively limned</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">ever
by him – the eternal Van den Budenmayer.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div lang="en-US">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b>M
J Foster</b></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Bookshop</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Beyond
thrilling, entire spaces</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Of
imagination captured, scents </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Of
paper, sweat and ink sear the nostrils</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Keeping
memories and anticipation alive</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Sensual
and electrifying as new love</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Hopes
and dreams and the intimacy</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Of
another being’s thoughts, their grainy</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Perfume
consumes and we, the reader, submit.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Pearls</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Proud
fingers now fasten</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">and
smooth</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">the
golden strands</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">a
wave</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">of
stale perfume and age</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">the
neck stretches</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">just
a little longer</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">the
head lifts</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">stronger</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">the
eyes </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">whirlpool
grey</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">clear
and confident</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">an
illusion of grandeur</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Cocktails
and cotillions</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">a
sense of belonging</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Release</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">When
I pretended I knew you</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">You
were the Sun</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4359728548211384456" name="_GoBack1"></a><br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">and
I was blind</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>The
Ice Wharf</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Near
full moon</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">the
blank sky</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">snatches
lengths</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">of
the creaking cracking oak</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">delicate
but</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">deadly</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">to
the fearful foot</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">not
diamonds but</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">daggers</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b>Alicia
Winski</b></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>City
Driving</b></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /><br />Driving
in the city--<br />a precarious past time these days<br /><br />With so
many highways to choose,<br />I always seem to lose my sense of
direction on roads<br />of such complexion I find it difficult to turn
around <br />and recover my original point of destination<br /><br />Despite
high tech maps and my fully charged GPS,<br />I find myself frequently
traveling down a one-way street<br />so charming, so inviting with a
nuance so enticing,<br />one would never know it was littered with
dangerous<br />road hazards and<br /><br />with so little fuel in my
reserve, it's far too precious to expend<br />on a street with a
dead-end leaving me befuddled; bemused<br />as to why I always
choose<br />the wrong road</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>A
Winter State of Mind</b></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /><br />gray
cracked concrete saturated under icy torrents drenching early
morning risers in cold anonymity; sunny outlooks washed away as
litter down dank street gutters, released into city drains hoarding
dark secrets<br /><br />hearts fall hard in the rain,<br />when exposed
to<br /><br />optimisms defeated, victories of the angry mother heralded
by harbor horns in sing-a-long with a herd of sea lions barking in
protest against buoyant steel intruders polluting a rapidly
diminishing habitat<br /><br />hearts fall hard <br />when torn
asunder,<br /><br />assaulted by realities depicted in the form of
digital lives, victims of a sea gone mad in a killing spree incited
by eruptions of anger and thunder unleashed by a shaky, outraged
ground under once complacent feet<br /><br />never to know complacency
again<br /><br />hearts fall hard <br />when shattered, <br /><br />a safe
haven in rebellion against catastrophic indignities inflicted upon
it by kami-kaze engineers annihilating the purity of our garden,
damning early summer blossoms and gently aging falls to a silent
season<br /><br />hearts fall hard under <br />the weight of
silence<br /><br />leaving me shell-shocked, apathy jarred, a single
spring <br />larva cocooned behind secured doors and haunting music,
combing through bright memories stored away to relieve the sorrow of
a rainy day, safely confined where<br /><br />hearts fall broken, lost
--<br />to a winter state of mind<br /><br />apr 1/apr 2 2011 (written
after the Japanese tsunami)</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>~The
Wednesday Night Special~<br />(choices)</b></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /><br />No,
a slow, lengthy demise does not inspire pride<br />for Death is not
proud<br /><br />It's hold is long and strong<br />with a grip on your
throat<br />allowing just enough air to breath<br />with just enough
suffocation <br />to give you the delectable little <br />taste of
nothingness you long for <br />in the dark when you know<br />you can't
take any more<br /><br />The question is,<br />what would you prefer,
Monsieur?<br /><br />Suffocation, with a hint of life seasoning<br />or
the soup du' jour;<br />a carefully concocted creation <br />offering
sweet release, pain-free salvation <br />while bypassing a god<br />in
whom so few believe--<br /><br />It's your choice; ask—<br />and ye
shall receive <br /><br /><br />Wednesday Blue Plate
Special<br /><br />Pentobarbitol --- $275<br />Morphine --- $100<br />Xanax
--- $50<br />Amobarbital --- $47<br />Valium --- $30<br />Nembutal ---
$30<br />Secondal --- $25</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></b></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></b></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></b></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></b></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></b></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></b></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></b></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></b></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></b></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">La
</span>Petite Mort</b></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br /><br />…
why, why, why did you need him? <br />where was I? just how close to
you is he?** (from Kandi by One Eskimo)<br /><br />you, you were far,
far away and he--<br />he was close, oh, so close and he--<br />he looks
in my eyes and he--<br />he calls me baby and he--<br />he makes me want
to drop where I stand<br />and he takes me and he breaks me<br /><br />all
night long<br /><br />he burns me from the inside out and he<br />rips the
flesh from my bones with his teeth<br />and he gets me sticky and
sweet, licking me <br />clean as he calls me<br /><br />baby, baby,
baby<br />all night long <br /><br />he sings his whiskey warm song in my
ear,<br />it’s good, oh so good and he--<br />he smolders when he
looks at me and he<br />pours his dirty little secrets into my
mouth<br />drowning me in a flood to my senses as he<br />overwhelms me
with his<br /><br />baby, baby, baby<br />all night long and he—<br /><br />he
says all I’ve been afraid to hear and he--<br />he turns me to
liquid, sipping from this deep,<br />deep well until it implodes,
touching me in places<br />you can’t reach and I die a little death
with him<br />all night long<br /><br />baby, baby, baby<br />all night
long<br />all night long<br />all night long</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Elements</b></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><br />It's
a cold earth you roam, lost in yourself,<br />lost to humanity, lost
to love--<br />your steps ponderous, immune to the scalding
ground<br />quivering beneath scornful feet, immune to the fires <br />you
vanquish with a frigid glance<br /><br />Have you not witnessed the fury
of an erupting volcano?<br />Have you never been singed by the heat of
lava flowing<br />through dry fissures in its race to meet the
sea?<br /><br />Fire<br />Water<br /><br />Opposing elements in a violent
clashing, creating <br />between them a stealthy mist, an insidious
vapor<br />slipping in and out of one's thoughts, melding<br />in that
volatile place where<br /><br />Moisture begets moisture, where<br /><br />all
water flows<br />in the same direction<br /><br />Singular slow trickles
deceptively mild, conjoined, <br />high velocity currents sweeping
lone, abandoned hulls<br />into roiling seas, flooding the void
between them,<br />saturating, expanding dry tinder rocked
wildly<br />beneath the weight of healing waters<br />leaving a finite
voyage softly concluded<br /><br />Exhausted vagabond vessels washed up
onto gritty terrain<br />surfeited, becalmed, left simmering under a
sunburst glare<br /><br />all water flows<br />in the same direction,
while steam<br /><br />rises …</span></span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><u><b>Listings</b></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Andrew
Darlington</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">http://andrewdarlington.blogspot.co.uk/</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Euroshima
Mon Amour. Hilltop Press. 2001</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">I
Was Elvis Presley’s Bastard Love-Child. Critical Vision, 2002</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>MJ
Foster</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">http://www.inclementpoetrymagazine.webs.com/</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Inclement
Poetry For The Modern Soul (Ed.) 2000-</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Aad
de Gids</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">http://keithalanhamilton.com/portfolio/AaddeGids/Default.html</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Wednesday
Kennedy</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">http://www.wednesdaykennedyink.com/</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Cultural
Refugee (performance) 2000</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Last
Night In New York (multimedia show) 2001-2003</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">The
Myspace Diaries. Oko-Jumu Press, 2009</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">The
Myspace Diaries. Oko-Jumu Press, 2011</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">21</span><sup><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">st</span></sup><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">
Century Showgirl. Oko-Jumu Press, 2012</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Rupert
M Loydell</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">http://www.stridemagazine.co.uk/</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Troubles
Swapped for Something Fresh (Ed.). Salt Publishing, 2009</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">From
Hepworth's Garden Out (Ed.). Shearsman Books, 2010</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">A
Music Box of Snakes (with Peter Gillies). Knives, Forks & Spoons
Press, 2010</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Smartarse
(Ed.) Knives Forks & Spoons Press, 2011 </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Wildlife.
Shearsman Books, 2011</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Lorraine
Mariner</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">http://www.panmacmillan.com/book/lorrainemariner/furniture</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Bye
For Now.</span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i>
</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Rialto
Bridge Pamphlets No. 1, 2006</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Furniture.
Picador, 2009</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Fiona
Pitt Kethley</b></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">http://fionapitt-kethley.blogspot.co.uk/</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">Selected
Poems, Salt Publishing,</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en">
2008</span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Alicia
Winski</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">http://edgarandlenores.blogspot.co.uk/2010/09/author-alicia-winski.html</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Running
On Fumes. Create Space, 2009</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">In
The Company of Women (Ed. with Apryl Skies). </span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Edgar
& Lenore's Publishing House, 2012</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Naughty
Girls Dream in Colour. </span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Edgar
& Lenore's Publishing House, 2012</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Michael
Woods</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Paris
And The Surrealists (with George Melly). </span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Thames
& Hudson, 1990</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">Puff
Ball (</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><span lang="en-US">directed
by Nicolas Roeg). Dan Films/Yumi Media. 2007</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Marie
Zorn</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">http://dreamorous.com/</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><b>Illustrations
by Michael Woods</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Untitled
[front cover]</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Arena
of Hearts [detail] Place Pigalle, Paris, collage assemblage with
Inesa-Barrington de la Roche</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Sonia
Braga, montage-collage for Nicolas Roeg’s film </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;"><i>Two
Deaths,</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">
1995</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Place
Pigalle, Paris, in-camera montage</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Arena
of Hearts (Psyche ’63)</span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">
[detail] collage assemblage</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Pilar
Reflecting on Herself, Carlton Arms Hotel, New York City, photo and
photo-collage </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Passage
des Princes [Interior], Paris, 1987</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Jardin
du Luxembourg, Paris, 1993</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">Passage
des Princes [Exterior],</span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, serif;">
Paris, 1987</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><b>Neon
Highway Poetry Magazine is edited by Jane Marsh and Alice Lenkiewicz.
Neon Highway was set up in 2002 as a non profit making little
poetry/arts magazine<br /><br /><br /><br />Neon Highway</b></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><b>
(ISSN: 1476-9867)</b></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><b><br /><br />Avant-garde<br />Literary
journal<br /><br />PUBLISHES:<br />POETRY and ART<br />Neon Highway is
available bi-annually, with 2 issues costing £5.50, or a single
Issue available at £3.00. Order your next issue by sending a cheque
made out to Alice Lenkiewicz at 37, Grinshill Close, Liverpool, L8
8LD</b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><u><b>Submissions</b></u></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, serif;"><span lang="en-US"><b><br /><br />We
prefer to receive work by snail-mail. Sometimes email is useful if
your work format is 'experimental' or you have images and of course
if you are abroad. For these reasons, email submissions will be
accepted. On a general level, email submissions will only be read if
we have time to, as we prefer to receive your works in the post.
Please do not forget to enclose a sae for returns and replies and to
write your name and address on all poems.<br /><br /><br />Alice
Lenkiewicz<br /><br />37, Grinshill Close, Liverpool, UK, L8 8LD<br /><br />Email:
neonhighwaypoetry@yahoo.co.uk</b></span></span></span></div>
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Alice Lenkiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04020676166907047838noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4359728548211384456.post-424536734779809092012-01-20T12:23:00.000-08:002013-05-28T00:42:58.803-07:00ISSUE: 21<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Neon Highway Issue 21 ISSN
1476-9867</span></div>
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Note from Jane Marsh:</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">November
2011</span></div>
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</div>
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Welcome my friends. It seems there has
been anarchy in the UK. Riots throughout the country!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It is strange that young people will
risk gaining a criminal record for the sake of a plasma TV? That to
me is the saddest thing, that these material items have gained such
prestige amongst the youth of today that culture and art have taken a
back seat.</div>
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When I was a girl, I spent most of my
youth walking through <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">the
Coleccion de Arte Cubano, in the Belles Artes Museum, Havana,
admiring the paintings of Jorge Arche. So what</span></span> has
happened to create such emptiness that these material possessions
somehow have such power to fill these gaps in people’s lives? If I
had it my way, I would introduce kids to art. Art needs to be top of
the list at school. Artists, Poets and lecturers should be invited in
from all over the world and kids should listen and take part in these
projects, projects that show how to protest through art and writing
projects that are fun and colourful, projects that are messy projects
that are refined, projects that involve communities and youths
together. It is this lack of inspiration, I feel that is preventing
young people from discovering the key to their future. We need
philosophy, discussion, creativity, poetry and love and beauty. The
Uk could be turned into a society that encourages the journey of
aesthetics. Etymology is derived from the Greek αἰσθητικός
(aisthetikos, meaning "esthetic, sensitive, sentient"),
which in turn was derived from αἰσθάνομαι (aisthanomai,
meaning "I perceive, feel, sense"). This is what I feel
these children are missing. That’s why so called ‘privileged’
people were looting also much to people’s shock and confusion. It’s
because they are looking to feel. The trouble is that the looting <i>did
</i>make them FEEL. That rush of adrenalin, the excitement, the
feeling of self- control, the misguided barbarism and hooliganism.
This is all just an excuse to perceive to feel, to sense to feel
inspired!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And autumn approaches us and I am
feeling SO happy. I can’t explain it but there is an inner peace I
have not felt in years. The letting go of old attachments, the
letting go of heavy memories, the desire to wander through my
midnight park alone with only the sound of owls and foxes.
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<span style="font-size: small;"><u><b>Contents</b></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">4. Sutirtha Roy</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">4-5. Alexine Aschler</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">5. Van Den Budenmayer</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">6. David Morgan</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">7-8. Eunice Ogunkoya</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">8. Richard Thomas</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">9-10. Grzegorz Jędrek</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">11-12. Scott Cameron</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">12-14. Nicholas Falkowski</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">14-15. MUDI</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">15-16. Nick Monks</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">17.Ben Macnair</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">18. Anthony John Ward</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">18-20. Drew Smith</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">21. David Mac</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">22-24. Graham Brodie</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">25-26. Stephen Doyle</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">26-27. Anne Rees</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">28-29. Steve Troyanovich</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">29-30. Robin Moore</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">30-34. Emma Bullen</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">35. Christopher Barnes</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">36. Publications/Listings.
</span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Artwork for this issue by
AC Evans.</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>Sutirtha Roy</b></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Apologue</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The clock was ticking
towards midnight </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">It was creepy cold –
trampling down </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The sound of the darkness
and sea waves</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">A weird stallion reeled
into the eight</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Polish Street – alone,
perhaps leaving </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Behind the easel of
Picasso instead. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">No one else except a
swarthy blind </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Angel flying high in the
late city sky</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Ever saw that – but the
miracle prevailed.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>Alexine Aschler</b></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>When to the milky walls
of the</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">When to the milky walls of
the </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Last city on earth their
wagon</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Came, they did not expect
the </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Gates to be open,
unguarded.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Scouting warily ahead, the</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Leader found only docility
</span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Among the dwellers, no one
to</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Challenge or to challenge
him.</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Languid imbeciles met him
with</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Vacant mouths, obsolete
eyes.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Concluding this place
also was</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Infected, the Leader told</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">his team they must face
the</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">wilderness again. His</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">wife said, ‘There was no
clue?’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
‘<span style="font-size: medium;">No,’ he replied
gruffly.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
‘<span style="font-size: medium;">None.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>Van Den Budenmayer</b></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Of Course I didn’t meet
the man near</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The marble arch at Hyde
Park in an </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Idle Sunday afternoon,
precisely at </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Four p.m. nor he shook my
hand or lifted</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The dark felt hat for a
while, before </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">He could slurp. But I
always knew that </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">He was the one – the
invisible maestro, </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The Dutch who loved waltz,
red tulips, merlot</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Fragrance or, may be
sometimes fresh polish</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Scones, – certainly the
life above all.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">And only he could capture
the immense beauty</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Of time and space silently
flowing like rain</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Beyond the grey-scale,
perceptively limned ever </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">By him – the most
perpetual Van Den Budenmayer. </span>
</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>Eunice Ogunkoya</b></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">THE SIXTH SENSE</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Expression,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">In words and language,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">By signs and symbols,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">For speech and writing,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Is perceived and
interpreted,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">By the Sixth Sense.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">She is an ultra-sensation,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Which goes beyond the
experience,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Of the five normal senses,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Put together.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Her empathy is oh so
human!</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">She expresses,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">All manner of emotions,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Feelings and opinions,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Very vividly and
vivaciously,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Such as hopes and fears,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Happiness and sadness,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Life and death.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Her drama is oh so
amazing!</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">She feels free to speak up</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">And let the writing flow…</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The heart racing at
overdrive,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">A rush of blood to the
head,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">A surge through the
forearm,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">An outpouring at the
fingertips,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Totally out of breath,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Writing whilst catching
her breath,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The strange scenario,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Like a stroke of genius,
</span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">That is simply expression,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Her freedom of discourse,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">For being such a wild
card.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Hopes and Fears</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>Richard Thomas</b></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>The Tear</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The drop that drips down
the plump, twitching cheek</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Magnifies the skin with a
salty ooze.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Water that gathers in the
cracked face creek –</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The joy of Earth we’re
afraid to lose.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The make up destroyer
filled with hot rage,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">An anti-mascara duct
causing pain,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Putting black gunk on the
writing punk’s page –</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">But how dare it play such
a tactless game.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The poor eye is bathed and
the face is splashed –</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Agony, the sea of the
human face,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Waves of anger and brutal
times have clashed</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">As the eyelid swims from
the sad salt’s chase.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The eye shall close soon
in great heaviness,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Open
at daybreak in half of the mess.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>Grzegorz
Jędrek</b></u></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">From
Lowell’s Letter to Liz Hardwick</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">an
eelnet made by man for the eel fighting</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">my
eyes have seen what my hand did</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">R.
Lowell “Dophin”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Madam,
the lake is filled with feathers </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">after
you. Who would have thought that an eel</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">feeds
on nightingales?</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">(Only
those dainty wings could soar up to the past,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">but
you locked up the skies and it is out of reach.)</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Fear
none/Do not worry, I can be a kingfisher,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I am
heading for the ocean, would like to listen to</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">the
dolphins’ songs again. Their bodies</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">are
not carried with the current.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Were
you capable of learning </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">they
would show you how to breathe.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Purgatory</b></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Inhale,
apnea, exhale, and in between</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">there
are two ways, chimney outlets</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">of
an old house you occupy in dreams</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">incessantly
writing yet another incarnation</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">we
all have to type</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">new
lessons, medicines and wars</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">to
save/salvage the walls and the roof from collapsing</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">renovating
the house filling up our words</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">the
thought is our native tongue</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">order
from the above, the first principle</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">that
you will not deceive before yourself</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">but
can develop closing it to the full</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Oddechy
– zmiana, bo brak słów o podobnych podstawach = polskie “dech”,
które działają w tym kontekście</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Save
– coś jest w złej sytuacji I ratujemy</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Salvage
– coś ratujemy, bo inne rzeczy zniszczono w takiej sytuacji</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Filling
up = zapełniać, tzn. Fizycznie, nie „robić to, co się obiecało,
na co się dało słowo” Tak?</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Opcja:
command/rule</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ten
wers nie jest dla mnie jasny po polsku.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>Scott
Cameron</b></u></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Fight
The Flag</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Rules
incorporated, freedom overstated</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Beneath
the scheme there’s a healthy dream</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Growing
right out of the mushroom cloud.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Feel
the power, feel the power</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Charging
through the streets at the vital hour.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Electricity
spark and the flame is set</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Licking
up the flag with the people’s fire.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They
say the war is needed, the plant is seeded</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Money
for oil, and the wealth is weeded</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
man on the television’s telling lies</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Giving
you an enemy you must despise</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But
you can tell by his eyes</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It’s
a big disguise.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Volatility
rises, the bomb explodes</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And
the alliance erodes.
</span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Damn
this nation to all damnation</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Working
overtime in their occupation.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Convalesce
your dreams and reveal their schemes</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And
fight until they hear your protesting screams.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Salute
the flag with your fingers raised</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Stand
up and be praised by the ones you saved</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">From
demoralisation and degradation.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Plot
a revolution and spread the cause</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Fight
with all our fibre for the one solution</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">To
overcome the pollution of our pregnant airwaves</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Collected
consciousness mounting in the streets</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Raining
non-conformity in naked sheets.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dead
heroes mounting like fallen leaves</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Testify
before they bleed you dry</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Testify
before shots begin to fly.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I’ve
seen in my dreams</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Calamity
bursting society’s seams</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Blood
flowing like rain from an empty sky</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Paralyse
the hope in the tyranny’s eyes</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Until
victory’s impossible, justice inevitable.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">March
on the capital and take the palace</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Surrender
to our soldiers, lower the flag</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And
celebrate the birth of a brand new nation.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>Nicholas
Falkowski</b></u></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">You
might not understand and it is very hard for me to </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Explain</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">but
there are certain sights sounds and strokes</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">of
the pen</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">that
</span></span><span style="color: black;">
</span>
</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;">
</span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">set
fires in my soul and</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">fill
me with an</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">unearthly</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">energy
–</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">some
bastard child of</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">mania</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">and
salvation</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">it
tastes electric and grabs hold of my hands, shoulders</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">and
thoughts</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">like
the sweetest</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">of
fevers</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">and</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">sometimes,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">for
the briefest of</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">moments,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
swear I glimpse the burnt oak gates of a heaven</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">where
words </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;">
</span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">flow</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">like</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">water</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">and
the angels</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">are all mutes with the biggest blue eyes</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">and
the ground is my bruising</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">skin
</span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">and
my soul is both the mountain, the river, and </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">the
sky.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>MUDI</b></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">SHIKATA
GA NAI</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
winds came and stole your livelihood</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
waters came and took your family</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Skies
opened up and unleashed the contents of hell</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
breath you take has become a poisoned enemy</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Polluting
plumes assault your possibilities</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Your
tears are of salt, fire, water and ash</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And
yet…</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">You
are reclaiming your waterlogged memories</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Rebuilding
the firmament of hope and kindness</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Re-clothing
yourself with the stoicism that never fades</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Speaking
only to find order in the chaos</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Never
descending to the victimless cries of “Why Me”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Desperation
never taking a foothold</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Self-abnegnation
your default</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Possessing
the patience, </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
endurance</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
perseverance </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Akin
to death itself</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But
your end is far from near</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dipping
further into your infinite reserves of Gaman
</span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;">
</span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">You
continue to find great strength</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Your
core unshaken</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">You
will rise again</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ganbatte
kudasai</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>Nick
Monks</b></u></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Manhattan
Skyline</b></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Luminous
eyes across</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
low rise, we have achieved</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This,
setting sun behind</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
statuesque scrapers</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
blocks of steel and glass</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Breathtaking
viewed from afar</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Babel’s
towers reaching</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">To
conquer the pristine sky</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">From
ground level look on watch</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
sky change colour, reflected in</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
Chrysler tower The Sony building</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Our
eyes meet their eyes</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
drive down the roads</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
the fantasia of neon</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Owning
all proud, while poverty</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Lies
dishevelled in the gutter</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;">
</span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>Ben
Macnair</b></u></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>The
Artist’s Self Portrait</b></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
wears his scars with pride,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">pulls
at the wounds until they bleed.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A
face like a map of experience.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
has the face he wanted</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">but
not the one he needs.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
tattoos are not permanent marks of pain,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">they
are the rituals he went through to join the tribe,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">and
the arguments he has are not with himself,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">but
with an unjust God.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Darkness
is hungry.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
threatens to shallow you,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">and
in the foreground stands a man,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">as
he sees himself,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">at
the mid-point stage of play</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">that
is only part written.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
is all splodges and lines,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">closed
eyes blocking out the world,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">a
Boxer’s nose</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">caused
by drink</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">and
not an opponent’s fist.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">An
image where life has removed hope,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">hanging
on a wall in a millionaire’s holiday home,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">where
the canvas is seen as being far more valuable</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">than
the artist who poured himself into</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">lines,
splodges and whirls,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">half
a century ago. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>Anthony
John Ward</b></u></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Astronomers</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
astronomers</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">like
to watch the stars</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">through
our telescopes</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">as
astronauts in our own homes</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">observing
the light of those astral bodies</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">whose
light shines from darkness</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">far
from the earth that keeps us grounded</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">our
lives influenced by the celestial activities</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">that
hold our interests for the duration</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>Drew Smith</b></u></span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Airless Mauve</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">a woman
labours</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">beneath the
weight</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">of a
lightening-striking</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">migraine
headache</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">she sits on a
park bench</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">with her head
in her hands</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">beside a carp
lake </span>
</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">that
fascinates</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">a spinning
chaos</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">of high-tuned
flies</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">that are
sniped in the wide gape</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">of a swift on
whose eye</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">tenses the
</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>airless mauve</b></span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">high summer
storm sky</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">that aches to
crack under the pressure</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">of the rashly
flaring sun</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">that
instinctively juggles nine disparate planets</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">for a sparse
audience of blind furnace-stars</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">that crowd in
tiny galaxies</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">in a minute
aqueous universe</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">as whirling
pearly organelles</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">suspended in
the mis-firing brain cells</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">of a woman</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">who sits</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">on a park
bench</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">beside a carp
lake</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">with her head
in her hands</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">labouring
under the massive weight</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">of a
super-nova-star-spangled</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">migraine
headache</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>sequence of
illusions</b></span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">in deep
disbelief of my daydreams and delusions</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">in a dismal
state that reiterates my most cynical conclusions</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">in absolute
denial of my reality in cloud-cuckoo-land and staring</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">into infinity
in silent isolation in suspended animation</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">in starry-eyed
mesmerized space-cadet lunacy</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">then all my
insecure confusions spontaneously convert</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">into truthful
solutions for far too long inert</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">the </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>sequence
of illusions</b></span><span style="font-size: medium;"> tripping ethereally</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">fix into vivid
visions that serve to alter me</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">in jettisoning
the familiar paranoia and claustrophobia</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">i invent a
state of blissful tear-spilling euphoria</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">and in the
psychedelic primary colour blur</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">i’m sun
struck by a fantastic phantasmagoria</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">in stretched
perfect connection with the sense of ecstasy</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">that shines
like mercury-venus filling me to capacity</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">with the
promise of redemption atonement and entry</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">to glorious
annihilation in such light and purity</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">and now i
create beyond me a superb crystal cube</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">wherein i
perceive i recognise and conclude</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">the natural
the absolute the out and out truth</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">and therein
accepting immaculate reality</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">i compose my
ultimate abstract philosophy</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">and conceive
the theory of the freedom</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">that sentences
me to the margins of this</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">prolonged
catastrophe</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>David Mac</b></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Ex</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">a cigarette hissing in a</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">glass of Coke</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">the glowing ember</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">extinguishing</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">fizzing into the</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">sweet blackness</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">her eyes are sad petals</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">she’s the mud of my mind</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I’m her male of </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">bony words, but</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">here we are in these</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">meaty costumes</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">darling, don’t you know?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">this flesh is fake</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">and skulls are</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">expressionless</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">so it’s no wonder we</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">refuse to smile</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>Graham
Brodie</b></u></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Salt</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
winter is coming </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">towards
us </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">our
home sheltered </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">secure
</span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember the first time </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">when
the grey lag goose </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">swept
low across </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">harvested
fields </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">migrating
for feeding </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">seeking
innately </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">to
survive our harsh blown winds </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">our
darkness' </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">like
fishermen </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">following
the herring </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">who
dart and dance away </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">through
the seas </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">they
followed the route </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">given
them by nature </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">a
path plotted </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">through
skies shedding their skin </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">white
and grey swirls of snow </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">falling
like forgotten souls </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">left
behind, empty </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">spinning
as if to cry out </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">'Wait
for us' </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">we
wait </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">watching
in wonder </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">the
geese chasing life </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">over
our heads </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">and
ready our fire, </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">our
supplies of food, water </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">stored
in preparation for this winter </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">out
here </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">this
winter will greet us </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">passionately
again </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">and
we will love with it </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">accepting
her gift </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Burned
bridges, broken up</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">To
look back </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">seeing
all the bridges burning </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">feeling
the losses </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">friendships
thrown away </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">the
smiles of memories </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">given
freely on first meetings </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">now
withered </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">lost
in a haze of life </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">of
fears unspoken </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">along
this river </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">paths
to where waters fall </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">now
drowning joy </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">not
warming hearts </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">nor
loving welcome friendships </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">just
thoughts mixing in pools </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">with
feelings lost </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">no
bridges not burning </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">looking
back through a darkness </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">along
this river </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">cold</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>Stephen
Doyle</b></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Between Death and Decay</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Drifting ashes settle
slowly among films of glass,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">My bag of bones is heavy
from the crush.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">And mortars and martyrs
and pestles and petals</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Too sweet for decay,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">But things are beautiful
too which aren’t held by bad air.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Burning on my lips was
only,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Who I am to you?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Chew a bleached rag,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">And purge your mouth of
mortal vice.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Cracking scraps of glass
wreaths,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">But you can’t tense with
bones in your pocket.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">To love a man is a
masochistic kiss,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">For cruelty has talons of
vice, of vice.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Indifference with your
callous and your unyielding malice,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Wretched in woe, wring you
not,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">For dry runnings don’t
flow.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">But strength, oh contours,
oh clay balls on birch,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Tease in landscapes so
meticulously sculpted</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">In tessellation, we have,
nothing to go by,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Except the sweet morphine
of hypothesis.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Hypothesis, hypothesis,
subconscious, dreams, hypothesis,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Deadly serious in
graveness action,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Makes harder stones fall
harder yet.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">To think as you, is a
sacrificial grace,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">For I have loft and
breasts of baste.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I’ve always liked
standing upright, </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Hung off a rafter, my
petals flaunt sweet songs.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">And in this compromise of
sex against sex,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I stand at a window,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Like naked, painting
mammals.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>Anne Rees</b></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>ANNE'S BOOK OF COMMON
PRAYER</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">ANNE'S BOOK OF COMMON
PRAYER</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Beyond the bedroom windows
chimney pots, strung wires</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">are bolted rigidly against
hot sunset radiance,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">these few minutes by
myself, I'm sitting on the bed</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">hands gripping one another
so bone-white the knuckles with self-pressure,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">family noises boil up the
staircase cavern, then mercifully a door shuts.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I admit to myself that I'm
very frightened of my head:</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">you may ask what I mean, I
know I'm going mad,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">how else express it? I
fear these nosy others</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">their looks, unspoken
comments, they're the Welsh</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">working class I married
into, this terror is too personal I am too English.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">My brain is splitting and
I'm hearing Voices</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">steady girl – taunting
sneering parodying, I have held it in</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">in the kitchen, down the
beach, enduring the incessant television</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">every evening, hearing the
Welsh accents and the hinted racism:</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">crouched with gripped
hands staring through purple cloud maps</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">making a valley of red and
green material with my body</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">weighting the bedspread.
The Voices clamour you're not mad you are aware</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">shut up shut up! I must be
mad, punching myself in the head,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">too miserable to cry, if I
could claw out</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">a hole in my skin –
dusty white trails with beaded blood on my forearm -</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I'll have to go back in a
minute. Saying I'm mad</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">is self-dramatising,
claiming such a certainty of fiery</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Gothic-winged mythology is
this really me? This word mad</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">is too definitive – the
Voices say I'm showing off,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">that I am fradulent, but
what is this terror then?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Why can't I be sane like
the others? They are Darwinian about extraordinary</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">aberrations like mine, and
so they flourish like the green bay tree.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Christopher Barnes</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><u>An Offspring
Manufactured From Kiddiewinks</u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The residue dreamers
dispense</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Has a lacework membrane,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Is postponed on her
Baby’s- Breath leaf</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">As sun glints thaw, sea
curls see-saw,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Fruit flies blurp a
lullaby.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Ferments are mettle, back,
go-getting,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Stepped stones. A bundle-</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">To the farthermost of
isles</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Where an incoming cell</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Flooded its ocean.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>Steve Troyanovich</b></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">A POEM FOR SHARON</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">you are gentle</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">the soft sounds</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">of a hummingbird’s wings</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">remind me of you.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">your smile embraces me.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">like the spring rain</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">you caress and warm</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">the earth’s rebirth.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">you are like an angel of
twilight.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">your laughter hushes the
sadness of the lost day</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">while fireflies scatter
the silence of memories</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">and shattered souls.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">sirenlike the music of
your body</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">ignites the doomed night’s
longing.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">you blanket it with your
tenderness</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">unfurling your arms at the
edge of the falling moon.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">troubadour of melancholy
dreams</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">my poem to you is written
on the wind.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">somewhere before the cold
fragments</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">of another loveless dawn I
touch you. . .</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">i offer you my kiss and my
loneliness</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">all that I own.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Snow fall</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>For Elizabeth</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>You renewed me by
losing yourself</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>To our deepening
dialogue in fading light.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>To stardust we shall
return</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>---Philip
Casey</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">you are lovely.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">i dream you again….</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">the snow falls in</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">fleeting stillness</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">lost images</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">dressed</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">in lonely white….</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">seeking your lips</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">moonlight touches you</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>Robin Moore</b></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Strangers Once in Love at
a Sports Day</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">We stand at our daughter’s
sports day clapping and cheering for her to win,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">She runs with vigour and
youth just like our love once did</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">But now there is a gap
between us old and withered like a witches skin</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">In some dusty office a
white paper sits our names side by side but waiting to be apart</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">A decree nisi the cat
collar a scaratch behind my ear where did the love go it was there
only last year</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Did some passing wind and
cold ice blow under our bedroom door, I really can’t remember when
our love departed I never saw a post card, Maybe you did and hid it
in the side board. Did it move to the coast with our memories, curl
up under a blanket and retire.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Your lips look strange to
me now, I once knew every contour and valley and sweet peak and
shore. That dimple in your cheek that once I loved has turned into a
furrow on my brow, an old farmer drags his plough through my heart
sowing seeds of regret.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">What would happen now if
our hands touched , would there be sparks of lust without any trust,
would we fall crashing to floor like felled trees lifting leaves.
Parents would scream and turn their children’s heads as we threw
open our bedroom door, a new event on sports day is what the teachers
would say.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">As I turn to leave you
both something breaks each time like the first, I turn to see my
mother standing at the school gates waving goodbye trying not to cry.
I drive away from the stranger that was once my wife.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>Emma Bullen</b></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: 'Edwardian Script ITC', serif;"><i>Unicorn
Child</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>First man succeeded in
finding a mysterious baby girl. ‘Below her stretched a Dawn Card
from the east and from the south a Sky Blue Card and from the west, a
Twilight Card and from the north a Card of Turquoise. The child was
rocking on Dawn and Turquoise Rainbows, supported by these cards.
‘First man reorganised that Darkness was her mother and Dawn her
father and when he took her in his arms he found a small White Wind
in her right and a small Dark Wind in her left ear, placed there by
her parents. She was Changing Woman.</i></span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
-Navajo Emergence Myth</div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I sing</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">the unicorn dance</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">of an autumn child,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">flood of a veil</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">sewn by the hawk and the
deer –</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">echo of antler,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">rust of silk.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">A white hind</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">mimes the dust</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">and a blue fawn</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">spins</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">she chants, she chants</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">emptiness,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">autumn flower</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">lit backwards</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">through hunger</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">-the reverse of
herself –</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">mirror daughter</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">and the delicate changing
of the stars</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.98cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">*
* *</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.98cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.98cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>I
am, I am</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.98cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>In
wisdom I walk</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.98cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>In
beauty may I walk…</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.98cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>In
beauty it is restored.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.98cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>The
light, the dawn.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.98cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>It
is morning.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.98cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">* *
* </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.98cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.98cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">In
the hour of the wolf</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.98cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">the
wren sings,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.98cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.98cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">gold
and</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.98cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">snow
–</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.98cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.98cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">her
wings are drawn from flowers,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.98cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">a
thread of owl, a petal of dawn</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.98cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.98cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">offering
thought</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.98cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The raven craft</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">of a violent prayer</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">drops</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">through her blue footfalls</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">White raven </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">blossoms –</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">iridescence of winter,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">invocation of a starling
fire</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">She leans through the
smoke</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">of the sacred pipe of
twilight</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">silver woman, silver
wheel,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Arianrhod, ishta-devi</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">* * * </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The widow deer</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">with the hooves</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">of turquoise,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">prayers,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">dances the laughter</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">of winter.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">And the white mare</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">walks the thunder</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.64cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">* *
*</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.64cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.64cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>The
world before me is restored in beauty.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.64cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>The
world behind me is restored in beauty.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.64cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>The
world below me is restored in beauty.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.64cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>All
things around me are restored in beauty.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.64cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>My
voice is restored in beauty.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.64cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>It
is finished in beauty.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.64cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>It
is finished in beauty.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.64cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>It
is finished in beauty.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.64cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>It
is finished in beauty.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.64cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.64cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Note:
</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Arianrhod </i></span><span style="font-size: medium;">is the name
of the Welsh heroine who features in Mabinogion, a collection of
ancient Welsh tales. Here she is understood as</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.64cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">An
ancestral spirit of the land.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.98cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.98cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0.98cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>Christopher Barnes</b></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">An Offspring Manufactured
From Kiddiewinks</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The residue dreamers
dispense</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Has a lacework membrane,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Is postponed on her
Baby’s-Breath leaf</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">As sun glints thaw, sea
curls see-saw</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Fruit flies blurp a
lullaby.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Ferments are mettle, back,
go-getting,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Stepped stones. A bundle-</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">To the farthermost of
isles</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Where an incoming cell</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Flooded its ocean.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>Publications</b></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">'This Sepulchre' -
Avant-Goth poems by AC Evans.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Published by Springbeach
Press 2000</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Email:
sian@springbeachpress.freeserve.co.uk</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>Listings</b></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">whirlpool press</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">poetry imprint</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Edinburgh</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Editor: Graham Brodie</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">publishes 50 chapbooks of
54 pages of work for the poet</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Author holds all rights.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="mailto:whirlpoolpress@hotmail.co.uk"><span style="font-size: medium;">whirlpoolpress@hotmail.co.uk</span></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Symmetry Pebbles</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Online poetry journal for
new and exciting poets.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Editor: Richard Thomas</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="http://www.symmetrypebbles.com/"><span style="font-size: medium;">www.symmetrypebbles.com</span></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">PIGHOG Press</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="http://www.pighog.co.uk/"><span style="font-size: medium;">http://www.pighog.co.uk/</span></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">P.O.Box 145</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Brighton BN1 6YU</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">East Sussex England</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Abridged</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">www.abridgedonline.com
for news of Abridged</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Abridged is supported by
the Arts Council of Northern Ireland</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Neon Highway
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Submissions to be sent to the editor:
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Alice Lenkiewicz: 37, Grinshill Close,
Liverpool, L8 8LD
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Email submissions can be sent to:
neonhighwaypoetry@yahoo.co.uk
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Or send via snail-mail to address
above. Please always supply a sae for any returned material.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4359728548211384456" name="_GoBack"></a>Please put your
name and address on your poems.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Neon Highway is available bi-annually,
with 2 issues costing £5.50, or a single
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Issue available at £3.00. Order your
next issue by sending a cheque (made out to) to Alice Lenkiewicz.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Please be patient on replies.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
If you do not hear about your work
within eight weeks, do feel free to contact the editor.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
If you would like to write a review for
this magazine or if you would be interested in being interviewed by
assistant editor, Jane Marsh, please contact us on the email above.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Neon Highway is a non-profit making
magazine.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We do encourage you to subscribe.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We are grateful to all the subscribers
who have kept „Neon Highway‟ in print over the years.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Alice Lenkiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04020676166907047838noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4359728548211384456.post-46616340725627084672011-04-28T00:38:00.000-07:002013-05-28T00:43:20.259-07:00ISSUE: 20<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Neon Highway issn: 1476-9867</span><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TO2u-C2IMbg/Tb_Vnh1kdWI/AAAAAAAAA_k/gAuDKxxVCW4/s1600/stare.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="319px" j8="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TO2u-C2IMbg/Tb_Vnh1kdWI/AAAAAAAAA_k/gAuDKxxVCW4/s320/stare.jpg" width="320px" /></a></div>
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Note from Jane Marsh.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dIaEOTA4VZs/TbkTSfhWuaI/AAAAAAAAA_g/lELQaUtyc1E/s1600/shoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" j8="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dIaEOTA4VZs/TbkTSfhWuaI/AAAAAAAAA_g/lELQaUtyc1E/s1600/shoes.jpg" /></a></div>
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I simply had to show you our new shoes! Dolores, Myrtle and I went to Manchester and found this old vintage store.</div>
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Aren't they just glorious! Okay ladies, shoulders back. Head up. Single file!</div>
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Welcome to the Spring issue 20011 of Neon Highway.</div>
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Neon Highway is now a member of EBSCO.</div>
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That means that our magazine and your poems can be downloaded via the USA cataloguing system for research and reference for students. Gosh, I can't believe I am saying that. To think my little magazine started in the gutter!</div>
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Here is the link if you wish to look further at where your dear little poems will be going on a journey to.</div>
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<a href="http://www.ebscohost.com/">http://www.ebscohost.com/</a></div>
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Now I don't know if I can make any money at this but if I do, I will make sure you know about it and that it goes towards Neon Highway or even to you! Don't worry, I won't be buying vintage shoes in secret with any of the profits! So I'll keep you updated. Darlings! xxx</div>
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Now here we are in April. It is a little hot for my liking, kind of when the daffodils and crocuses should be coming out. . .? and instead we are blasted with this ultra heat of Caribbean sun. I don't care what anyone says, I like the seasons to remain where they should remain and right now I am not enjoying this early summer especially as I went out to buy a summer dress the other day and we were back to Winter the next day without any warning. It was most embarrassing to get caught out like that in the rain on the way to my interview! I arrived like 'Princess and the Pea', a lady standing at the door in a puddle of water, with the sun shining outside. Goodness knows what they thought. . .</div>
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One more thing! I have become a vegan! Yes, Jane Marsh is now a Vegan! This is my way of protecting the beautiful animals of our earth and also protecting <em>your</em> health and <em>our</em> planet.</div>
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Veganism is wonderful. Do not think that if you become a vegan you will instantly be confined to lettuce leaves. Oh no, don't you worry, it is not like that at all. There is alot more to being a vegan than meets the eye my friends. It is the way forward, amazing diet of fresh and delicious food. By the way, while I am on the subject, please sign my petition to ban abattoirs, to give animals the right to live and to help restore peace and harmony to our planet. <a href="http://www.thepetitionsite.com/1/ban-abattoirs-protest-against-the-meat-industry/">http://www.thepetitionsite.com/1/ban-abattoirs-protest-against-the-meat-industry/</a></div>
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Believe me, I have rediscovered tastebuds all over again and the good thing is at the same time you save an animal! How about that? You save an animal! Which offer do you prefer? Greasy hamburger filled with preservatives that makes you unhealthy, blocks up your arteries and comes with free plastic toy or Lovely refreshing healthy meal that gives you energy and offers you a whole new group of friends who believe in ethical issues and also gives an animal the right to live?</div>
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Go for it my friends. You know what the right choice is. I will send you vegan recipes from time to time. In fact Jane Marsh may just start up her own Vegan recipe book! Bye for now darlings. Enjoy the poems. xxx</div>
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<strong><u>Contents:</u></strong></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Tribute to poet, Kate Edwards.</div>
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<strong><u><br />
</u></strong></div>
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<strong><u>Artwork by Joe Murtagh.</u></strong></div>
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"Joe's distinctive style is influenced by music, fashion and pop culture.</div>
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He uses Adobe illustrator and photoshop to create his colourful, bold artwork.</div>
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Having been a figurative painter and sculptor, his work is very much based on the human form and portraiture."</div>
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<a href="http://www.joemurtagh.co.uk/">http://www.joemurtagh.co.uk/</a></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://www.behance.net/murtaghj">http://www.behance.net/murtaghj</a></div>
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In this issue Jane and I would like to pay our respects to the poet, Kate Edwards who sadly passed away this year. Two of her poems are published in this issue, 'Arabian Nights' and 'Wedding Gift'.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Kate Edwards was raised and educated in Runcorn, Cheshire. She wrote poetry from an early age, but only started to send it to editors a few years ago. Behind the house where she now lives are hills and heathland overlooking a wide estuary, which inspires many of her themes. Other poems are derived from shades of memories of relationships and incidents long past, or spring from imagination. </i></div>
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<i>After leaving school Kate worked in a bank, which did not suit her, then became an actress, a cat walk model and later a supply teacher of English and Drama. She loved reading, theatre, galleries, cooking, dogs and horses. Kate passed away peacefully in January of this year, 2011. She is deeply missed by her husband and four children, who take great comfort in reading the legacy of her work, more of which can be seen on her website - <a href="http://www.kateedwards.net/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">www.kateedwards.net</a></i></div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Kate Edwards: 5-7<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Sally Plumb: 7-8<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Alistair Hayes: 9-10<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Nick Tsaldaris: 10-11<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
A’Yara Stein{ 11-12<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Tendair Mwanaka: 12-14<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Deborah Maudlin: 16<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Adam Flint: 18<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Jane Penaz Eisner: 19<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Morgan: 20-23<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Roy Bayfield: 23-24<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
J.P.Christianson: 25<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Alfred Gosschalk: 27<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Chris Hardy: 28<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Catharine Wignall: 29<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
AC Evans: 31-32<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
John Elliot: 33<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Claud West: 34-35<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Robert Ensor: 36<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Jacob Shaw:36-37<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Anna Hands: 37-38<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Publications: 39-40<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Subscriptions: 41<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: center 223.35pt;">
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<b> </b></div>
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<b> </b> </div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Kate Edwards<b> </b></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: center 223.35pt;">
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<b><br />
</b></div>
</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: center 223.35pt;">
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<b> Arabian Nights</b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 108.0pt;">
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There is no balm in Gilead anymore, <o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 108.0pt;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
nor is there peace in the mosques and temples,<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 108.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
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the thurifers no longer wave the censers,<o:p></o:p></div>
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the alleyways are silent, even the souks<o:p></o:p></div>
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almost deserted., the hard eyed men<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 108.0pt;">
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with gold no longer importuning.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Once the sands were soft and empty, <o:p></o:p></div>
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now there are broken bodies, bones and blood.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 108.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Once the scents of attar, musk and jasmine<o:p></o:p></div>
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loaded the sultry night with fragrance,<o:p></o:p></div>
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now smells of cordite and burning<o:p></o:p></div>
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engulf the hot and stuporous air.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 108.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Cooking pots laden with aubergine and cumin<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 108.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
lie smashed among the fallen bodies,<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 108.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
yesterday a silken women lifted a latch<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 108.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
to meet her lover. Now the house is gone<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 108.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
and so is she. The wreckage, the damage, <o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 108.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
the mindless uncaring, the struggle for territory,<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 108.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
how to be bourne, how to be ended.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 108.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Where shall we find faith in the East again,<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 108.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
what have we missed, what have we not done.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 108.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
If only this horror was a myth, a tale, a story<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 108.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
told by Scheherazade on an Arabian night,<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 108.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
not the terrible reality we know it to be.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 108.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 108.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 108.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 108.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 108.0pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: center 223.35pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> Wedding Gift<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That was a bleak harsh day when they told me you had married her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">They came running with the news, still in their wedding finery,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">excitement in their eyes, their fevered, mocking words<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">splattering like crystal rain into my head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I wanted to throw my body down and lie on the soft beech mast<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">pouring my tears onto the browning leaves and the damp earth,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">making fresh pools with the fluid from my seeping eyes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">and tearing at the roots with naked hands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Instead, I smiled, and went indoors to dress<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">in sheening satin, brushed my dark glossed hair,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">placed lambent jewels against my olive skin<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">and touched a perfume stopper to my neck,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">a pair of gilt strapped shoes slipped on my feet,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">a pair of long sleek gloves pulled up my arms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The wood was dark and shaded as I paused<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">to pull some seedlings from a darkling plant,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">then to the tented lawn where music played<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">and bride and groom sat cheerful at their feast, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">she with her blue eyed smile and curled light hair,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">he fawning on her with a loving look.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I started dancing, drifting round the floor,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">waiting until I caught his hungry gaze.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I ventured close and locked his eyes with mine,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">holding a hand across the garlanded cloth,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">fixing him with a look, while letting fall<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the seeds onto his plate, a final gift.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Just as he reached toward my outstretched hand, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">his bride cried out, he took his fork instead,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">began to eat. I moved, back through the billowing white,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">watching him still, and he still watching me,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">all the time his fork moving from plate to mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">How avidly he ate, and longing, gazed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Out of the tent, I ran back through the wood,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the deadly Nightshade loomed up through the dusk,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I rolled the gloves off, inside out, they fell<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">by that same plant whose poisonous seeds I took.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now, indoors, I lie upon my bedsheets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It won’t be long before they come for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He will no longer steal into my bed,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">nor into hers, on this, their wedding night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 108.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Sally Plumb</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Imagine -</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
the whole universe</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
cupped in a hand</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
sparkling and clear</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
it is bright</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
in the night of the mind</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
pregnant and gently expanding.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Infinite.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Thought explodes</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
the devil's root</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
rose from the ground</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
laughing clouds</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
of sounds</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
made from the sky crying</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
red and silver</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
mixing the light</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
of day and night</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
in storms of stars</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
and spinning moons</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
with the sun burning</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
in its own heat</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
and the universe</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
cooly looking on</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
at its own destruction</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
and blaming the unknown.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<em><strong>Gabriel</strong></em></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
He fused her womb</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
with angel dust</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
and she gave birth</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
to a star</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Alistair Heys</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<strong><em>Peter Pan</em></strong></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Musky scent of out of season lilies,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
bird of paradise plant, fronded date tree,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
juvenile bananas, eucalyptus taste,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
dome of glass and painted white steel,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
the uniform guarding against the dark</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
with its trees and magpies and waste bins,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Peter Pan statues of departed things.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
The helix stairway to a dome of stars,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
hoop stress acting on the cupola's tit,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
the renaissance men of the slaver's port.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Lights from the tower blocks that girdle</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Sefton Park with sentinel orange squares,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
a muddly rill discharge into coarse ponds</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
that reflect fireworks on November fifth.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
A hot house prison flushes the forehead</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
of the bored plant minder; the angel</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
of the dome, his own echoing footsteps</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
following him around the arboretum</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
to the sound of a hovering helicopter,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
the smack head face seen at the window,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
redbrick walls sprinkled with broken glass.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Mesmerized by the dome of pleasure,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
socialist twinkle in a dead dog's eye,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
dream of paradise in a bubble world</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
of books, this library of plant species</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
an out of season tourist attraction,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
a boil of love, fizz of fresh creation</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
on the millions of tiny sand grains</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
smooth as the second they were vitrified.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Nick Tsaldaris</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<strong><em>Love poem to a junkie</em></strong></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
An old-timer, cruising up and down</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Costcutter in Kings Cross begging</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
for a few quid.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
She approaches me</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
tiny, wearing men’s clothes</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
with short hair (looked self-cut)</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
open blisters scattered all over the face</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
eyes heavy with dark shadows.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
“Spare a pound?” she asks.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
“I fancy a bit and I need a pound.”</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
And on that face I saw warm summer mornings</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
on empty beaches with long lost lovers.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Heard on her words the </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
hesitant voice of my grandmother</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
calling from another country</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
where things seem unchanged;</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
like the days she used to wake me </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
to eat the sweet warmness</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
of the day’s first bread.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
That woman’s smile what happy memories</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
it offered; </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
a smile to</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
cut through stones</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
with a feathery caress.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I regret not having that pound</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
to this day.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: sans-serif;">A’Yara Stein</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
DETOUR</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
We drive up around the curve of the lake</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
To pick apples in Michigan and I asked you,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Between the cool, grassy lanes of trees to lie</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Down with me but you declined and said</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I can’t be with you as if nothing happened.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Later, I walked the long mile between </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
the fences of tomatoes, so many</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
so long unattended now it’s October</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
that I felt like the world’s abortionist</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
as I crushed thousands of tiny orbs</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
under my heavy feet – </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
there was no other way to get down that path.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
APOTHEOSIS</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
The thing is, I always knew I was hungry</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
for something that should resemble Love.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Miserable, I was forever without reaching</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
that unfamiliar country where men find work.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
With you came another kind of love,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
that sort of secret ideal one cherishes</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
in the depths of the heart, not knowing why;</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
coming from no one knows where,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
like a hunger that drives wolves to attack men.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
It was Saturday toward the end of autumn;</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
you felt that it would rain soon.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Your lips, instruments of convenience </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
and forgetfulness, brushed my body</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
foolish with unusual music; I trembled.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
It’s true. I never loved anyone as I’ve loved you. </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I grew afraid and brave in turns. Revolutions.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
TENDAI R MWANAKA</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<strong><em>Squatter slums</em></strong></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
The not-yet-in-the-now</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
The slums are still ghosts</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Of yesterday, the slums we never</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Left, demarcating boundaries of</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Safe travel for comma travellers</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Blinded, convulsing against mindsets</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
At home electricity was cut</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
In the dark of the candles’ flame</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
We chew our nails, entertaining ourselves</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
With smells of kerosene fires, dampening</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Our minds, sometimes eating cold</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Bread, heavy and stale, too much butter</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Tightening the vein that circled</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Our throats, the cold drinks</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
We sleep in cold rooms</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Getting warmth from the cold</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Bodies, penetrating the night</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Clawing the night’s air</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
We have done away with sleep</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Trying not to break</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Trying not to crash</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
But still crying ourselves</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Into child-eyed dreams</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Freeing ourselves from the tyranny</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Of facts, flying is just another</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Embodiment of human exchange</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Like fluids to language, currency</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
To meaning, sound to touch</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I will name my unconcieved child</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Hope, her hopes like morning dew</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Will float like soap bubbles</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Circling the cold air like streams</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Of oppression, skin flying</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
The layered earth’s flies</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Singing sings of mother earth</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Till we find ourselves again when</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Slave becomes master, he will not</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Rule us by force, by favour, by</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Fear, he will not cage our hopes,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Our dreams in prison, his power</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Will come by bestowing it on the</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Brave and the beautiful in heart.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<strong><em>Their meeting</em></strong></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
It just happened</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
They were going</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
The same direction</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
They never stopped to ask</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
For directions</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Or go separately</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
They did not compare notes</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Try to define the methods</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
To get there or the end of things</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
They never thought of love</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
It just happened</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
It was beyond time even</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Though time had other agents</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Ivy, stealthy, prising them</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
They did not know what moment</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Tipped time into abandonment</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
It just happened</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Like two dolphins caught</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
In the shaft of the moon’s light.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Deborah Maudlin</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<strong><em>Drowning</em></strong></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
An intoxication of words</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
A babble of voices.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
A kaleidoscope of colour in a dream.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
She felt so much</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
yet learned so little</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
this gift of ancient sight</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
was wasted upon the girl,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
she was too caught up</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
drowning</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
clawing for breath</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
in her modern world.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-51j8VkxnlEI/Tb_WePQm_AI/AAAAAAAAA_o/br1PW2HILPo/s1600/weight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="400px" j8="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-51j8VkxnlEI/Tb_WePQm_AI/AAAAAAAAA_o/br1PW2HILPo/s400/weight.jpg" width="281px" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Adam Flint</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<em><strong>Motherland</strong></em></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I remember an area of Edinburgh</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
where the Newcastle brewery was;</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
where the rusty air smelled</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
of beer gas and yeast</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
and I'd wake to metal dawns,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
assentingly banging my head against</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
monumentally metallic walls</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
And it didn't matter</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
how much I hid</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
or what I did to take</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
that cold, matt, stale taste away.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Drink had become</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
a fully-formed spike</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
skewering a newly-born core;</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
a paling that held me,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
helpless in place:</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
an inflexibly vital new spine.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
And a pinned sodden butterfly,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
blind I was</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
to the white swaddling I waved.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I remember Edinburgh</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Land of my mother.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Nineteen.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Jane Penaz Eisner</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<em><strong>Love Letter</strong></em></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I would not say California, not a nation</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
in a nation, nor a nation apart from Nation</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I would not call her California, though she</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
feigns indifference and winks while</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
hibernating,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
she beloved, because dead poets</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
range in her North Beach apartments,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
those where piss-smell carpets line crooked rooms</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
mid-night the dead ones howl an ecstasy</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
with comrade ghosts near the sea: Come</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
slip with us from Ambien dreams to walk</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
the green and gold denuded hills that fold</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
quaking earth from highway to cliff Come</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
dream no more but walk home Breathe</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
the landfills, pines and eucalyptus, sweet car fumes</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Come to work again and again in the crooked rooms</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I would not call her California</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
David R Morgan</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<strong><em>Robobards</em></strong></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Weary at the bar in the pub</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
in Stratford the Scientist</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
asked,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
"What am I doing wrong?</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I wanted to make</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
robobarbs.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I gave them perfect rhyme,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
clear memories of great</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
works,</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
aesthetic theory and </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
polished skill at intricate</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
patterns.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
All they write is crap,</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Unworthy of a Hallmark</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
card.''</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
He drank deep from his</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
virtual ale.</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
They lined up in the</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Skycar bays, rhyme without</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
reason. Help me?''</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
The out of work poet</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
tapped the bar.</div>
</div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
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''Listen,'' he said, I'll need</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
a hammer, Some magnets, a</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
handful of</div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
dust, and a knife. '' These</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
being provided the out of</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
work poet</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
set to work in the Skycar</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
bays.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
He cast magnets among the </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
robots pocking perfect</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
memories</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
with potholes as verse</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
became a stay against loss.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
He hit them with the </div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
hammer, some here, and</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
some there.</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
All dented, all different. He</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
scattered dust upon their</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
sensors.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
dribbled it in thheir joints.</div>
</div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
So they all saw the world</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
through unique</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
imperfections</div>
</div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
and walked with personal</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
rhythms.</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
They remembered</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
perfection, remembered</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
memory even,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
but knew neither any</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
longer.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Their hymns rose up</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
aching, moving, and</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
improving.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
They were very good,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
the Scientist was impressed.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
''Excellent''</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
He said, ''But what about</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
the knife?</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
''Watch'' smiled the poet,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
''My work is almost</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
complete.''</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<strong><br />
</strong></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Roy Bayfield</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"></span></i></b><br />
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<b><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Pinewood Studios</span></b></span></i></b></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;">
<b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></i></b></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<b><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">From Milton’s cottage a home-counties hike</span></span></i></b></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<b><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Through miles of wet suburbs and country-park </span></span></i></b></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<b><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Heath leads to dreamland’s security fence. </span></span></i></b></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<b><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Beyond metal palings on marginal </span></span></i></b></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<b><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Concrete, foxglove and buddleia grow around</span></span></i></b></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<b><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Fibreglass boulders -- erratics from <i>At the</i></span></span></i></b></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<b><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Earth’s Core, The Land </i>or<i> The People That Time</i></span></span></i></b></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<b><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Forgot.</i> In deeper, long walls are holding a</span></span></i></b></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<b><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Batman</i>, the <i>Superman</i>s, the Bonds -- the stories</span></span></i></b></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<b><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Of orphans battling Powers, overcoming</span></span></i></b></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<b><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Dominions. We walk on through drifting rain</span></span></i></b></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<b><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Once round the boundary, into the woods, into</span></span></i></b></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<b><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The hidden space behind all screens -- where dim</span></span></i></b></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<b><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Coverts and the understory channels</span></span></i></b></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<b><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Hold lost adventures, uncertain beginnings.</span></span></i></b></div>
<div style="font-size: 16px;">
<b><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br />
</span></i></b></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<strong>typing</strong></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
it was mentioned </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
in the car, after New Year:</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
my first attempt at typing had been thrown </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
away in an early spring clean </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I tried to recall those Imperial </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
characters as we drove</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
past the end of Long Lane, Shropshire</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
past the end of Long Lane, Cheshire</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
past the end of Long Lane, Lancashire</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
past the misted fields</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
where the lost ends</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
presumably</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
meet</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qT2CLLNwYR0/Tb_Xh-C3v4I/AAAAAAAAA_w/LQa7A9FXkuk/s1600/cherish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="400px" j8="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qT2CLLNwYR0/Tb_Xh-C3v4I/AAAAAAAAA_w/LQa7A9FXkuk/s400/cherish.jpg" width="368px" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
J.P. Christiansen</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Form of Poetic Thought Made Visible</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
The architecture of inevitability</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
which emerges naturally</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
when mind's rhythm</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
manifests breath</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
onto paper</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
thought</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Thought </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
onto paper</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
breath manifests</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
mind's rhythm when</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
naturally emerges which</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
inevitability of the architecture?</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Visible Form Made Of Poetic Thought</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Sculpturing</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I cremate a million neurons</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
paring thought for the poem</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
hidden in its slab of irrelevance</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Fired by ethanol and music's fiery note,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
mind sculpts history's mass to form an essense.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Alfred Gosschalk</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<strong><em>D'You Hear</em></strong></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<em><strong>The Cuckoo?</strong></em></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
There really should be a place,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
not necessarily a globe,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
but hexangular, or oblong, perhaps,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
with possibly an atmosphere</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
composed of all you should have done,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
or not done, or thought, or said, the day before,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
with nothing wrong with any of it,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
and healthy enough for tiny babes to breathe;</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
a place where two and two</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
not making anything like four</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
make pain unrecognizable,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
and life no longer a journey from sty</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
to grave,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
but liveable.</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Chris Hardy</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<strong><em>Heaven and Earth</em></strong></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Every night an owl tries</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
to make me think there is more</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
in the wood I walk through</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
than trees, leaves</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
and a watchful bird.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
My daughter sleeps on her side</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
in the house.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Her belly holds</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Africa and England.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I hope she sleeps easy,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
too old for me to tuck in,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
too young to leave alone for long,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
sleeping under stars and owls,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
though neither can touch her</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
here, safe on earth.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Stars pricked through</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
the black canopy of night</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
show that, behind, above</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
there must be</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
a world of light.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Cathrine Wignall</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<strong><em>Mirror, mirror on the wall. . .</em></strong></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Ever the heart or banshee</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
reside in her gaze</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
in days full of wailing and growling.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
In reach of the reflective line</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
a behemoth prowls</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
ready to crop its mighty bulk</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
onto such lesser creatures -</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
untrained is the art of condemnation.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
The behemoth has weight and clout</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
to claim top prize, an invitation</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
for every single reflective surface</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
of any size and need -</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
even a home in the spoon that feeds</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
and fuels the call,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
mirror, mirror on the wall. . .</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XcvErVhj74s/Tb_XI6r98SI/AAAAAAAAA_s/vhBOc02iOEE/s1600/rich.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="400px" j8="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XcvErVhj74s/Tb_XI6r98SI/AAAAAAAAA_s/vhBOc02iOEE/s400/rich.png" width="267px" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<strong><br />
</strong></div>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
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<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
AC EVANS</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<strong>FAN DANCE</strong></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Blue light, empty hall and bare stage,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
The music in her head, she stands alone</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
And, with such graceful gestures,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Gently makes her moves,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Gazing at an invisible audience.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
They silently watch her indigo plumes, </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Inscribe a formal pattern, </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
And, held briefly in a single spotlight,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
She shyly turns around – too cute, </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Like an angel, </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
This welcome visitor</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
To our sinful city.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
SUCH AS THIS</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Never again such as this sunset</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Exploding across far horizons</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Herald of a new darkness</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Deep as ravens’ wings.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
But yes, such as your halo,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
A gilded, gleaming nimbus</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Oh, a corona of pain!</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Oh, this convoluted desire!</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
THE SECRET MOUNTAIN</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
A place of mystery: a shattered crag</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Towers over a ruined city, a forgotten land</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
So far beyond our understanding,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Yet, from here the muses venture forth </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
To stalk the world disguised in human form,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
And (condescending to speak through dreams</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Of otherworldly inspiration) cause</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Desperate poets to abandon familiar hopes,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Cause them to make that dire journey,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Across the dusty plains of a wilderness</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Where dread predators of the spirit</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Hunt souls by day and haunt the ruins by night.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
What do they seek in the hinterland?</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
This is where pale-faced Hypnos guards the lair</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Of our glass-eyed muses: they whose presence</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Is a source of terrible clarity – and of transformation.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
John Elliott<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><i>Ageing faces</i></b></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
There are things that can be done<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
ageing faces around dinner<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
will tell you;<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
ways to wring the light from the world<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
and dance in the puddle barefoot<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
like a boy again<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
without a plan<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
following the ripple –rings<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
that swell out and freeze in confused patterns<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
across ageing faces<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
always looking back.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
and with heavier years<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I rise no further<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
and my trailing coat tails still snag<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
on the dead minutes<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
so I sit on them bunched up,<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
a foot taller at the table,<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
looking down at the<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
meal-messed dishes<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
that amass tiredness<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
like ageing faces<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
with a feast behind them<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
and a feast ahead. <o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><b>A Poem for Du'a Khalil Aswad</b></i></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Claude West</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
This is a story about a girl aged 17</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
and this was her sin</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
She fell in love</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
To her family's shame,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
yet she proceeded with her heart</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Unaware of looming pain.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
A plan was concocted</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Designed with enthusiasm.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
They dragged her from her home</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Kurdish men gripped her hands and feet</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Her fragile body</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Out into the heaving street</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
All the while watched over</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
By undisturbed police.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
They ripped off her clothing</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Lashed out at her skin</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
All under orders,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Prearranged by her kin.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
She lay there,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Bloodied and broken</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
With each individual kick</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
And hurl of a stone.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
As the cheers grew loud</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Harder they kicked</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Until she did not make a sound.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
There remains this community</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
That kicked a young woman to death</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
For what they called their 'duty'</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Tradition looked on</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
As she took her last breath</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
She had to die they said</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
To preserve her families honour,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
But this family lost all dignity</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
When they murdered their own daughter.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Must love permit death?</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
For the sake of our differences?</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Must we forbid those to love?</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
In the name of our ignorance.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
One girl,</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
out of many</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Learned the world's truth</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Yet this death would be meaningless</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
If you don't remember her name.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
It was Du'a Aswad</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
And on me she brings no shame.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Robert Ensor</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Someone Stole a Vineyard, Summer 2010<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Thieves have cruelly trampled out the vintage<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Where the grapes of passion were grown.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">They struck in the dead of night like ghouls & spirited<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Away and entire crop of precious, prime fruit.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Harvesting machines were used in the audacious<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Theft, thirty-odd tonnes of the delicious grape<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Stripped bare as a baby’s bottom from four fertile acres<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In the Languedoc-Roussillon region of France.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A whole year’s craft stolen like a draught in one moonshine<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Night: detectives suspect the immigrant Russian Mafia,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And the vineyard owner is facing financial disaster<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As raw fruit cannot be insured in the Riviera area.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But the grape with ease can make the righteous dissolute,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And from their indiscretions Logic can easily confute</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<u><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Jacob W Shaw<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></u></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">groove<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">hands that groove in the night <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">shades. who come from under long<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">sleeves. under and out. through<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">routine serve cold. at best room<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">temperature risks. too see other<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">hands gesture the okay. who<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">might think for a change. broken<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">silica. In a hand that grooves.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">kristalls scattered on bitumen<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">slabs. what would a batch house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">hot end. cold end. Say keep it<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">coming. probably nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Anna Hands</span></b></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">14/08/10<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Whittle cleared of driving charge<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Boys ‘thought dead parents asleep’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Bank warning fuel recovery anxiety<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I have no reason to lie – Campbell<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Want to quiz toddler death mother<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Part-timers drive employment total<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Drug smuggler jailed over rum death<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Jenkins: Compensation not important<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Anti-terror hotline advert banned<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Married Robbie ‘happiest man alive’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Three clone offspring in food chain<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Apology over storage room patient<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Ramadan goes high-tech on mobiles<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Hitman facing lifeterm for murder<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Perroncel denies Terry affair on TV<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Senator wants Lockerbie man’s data<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Nurse guilty over faded crash death<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Star denies photographer car attack<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Woman, 90, locks herself to railing<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Airline worker takes emergency exit<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Get news from MSN<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">David Mac<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">The Night Running in Heels<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">And you ran down the street,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">away. You<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">ran down the street and<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I could only stand and watch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">You in the night,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">heels on an empty town. You<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">trying to get away<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">from me,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">to catch a taxi home,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">leaving me with the moon,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">a sighing face and<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">nothing at all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Who are you?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Where you running to?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px;">But get back, girl,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I am just<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">a stranger<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">waving goodbye<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">into blackened outer space.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Will I get to see you again?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">What can I do to<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">make you stay?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">And just then a mad car of lads<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">scream past,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">horn bibbing fast,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">shouting:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Oie, oie!!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m grateful,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">but<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I ignore their advice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" /> <o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
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<br />
<strong><u>Publications</u></strong><br />
<br />
<br />
Robert Sheppard: When Bad Times Made for Good Poetry<br />
Paperback, 218pp, 9x6ins, £13.95 / $22<br />
ISBN 9781848611368<br />
<span style="color: black;">© 2011 </span><a href="http://www.shearsman.com/pages/books/catalog/2011/sheppardWBT.html#"><span style="color: black;">Shearsman Books Ltd </span></a><br />
<a href="http://www.shearsman.com/index.html">http://www.shearsman.com/index.html</a><br />
<br />
<br />
Robert Sheppard: Berlin Bursts<br />
Paperback, 96pp, 8.5x5.5ins, £8.95 / $15<br />
<br />
<br />
ISBN 9781848611351<br />
© 2011 Shearsman Books Ltd <br />
<a href="http://www.shearsman.com/index.html">http://www.shearsman.com/index.html</a><br />
<br />
<br />
THE OTHER ROOM<br />
<a href="http://otherroom.org/">http://otherroom.org/</a><br />
Experimental poetry in Manchester<br />
WHO<br />
<br />
The Other Room is organised by James Davies, Tom Jenks and Scott Thurston. Get in touch with any of us at otherroomeditors@googlemail.com <br />
WHAT<br />
The Other Room is a reading series presenting experimental writers at The Old Abbey Inn in Manchester.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Jean-Pierre Parra</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Tahoma;"></span>Parra<br />
<a href="http://www.parra-art.com/">http://www.parra-art.com/</a><br />
<br />
<br />
Rupert Loydell: Wildlife<br />
Paperback, 80pp, 8.5x5.5ins, £8.95 / $15<br />
ISBN 9781848611528<br />
<a href="http://www.shearsman.com/index.html">http://www.shearsman.com/index.html</a><br />
<br />
<br />
TENDAI R MWANAKA<br />
VOICES FROM EXILE<br />
was published in 2010 by Lapwing publications<br />
Northern Ireland.For more check his blogs at mwanakacreativewriter.blogspot.com<br />
<br />
<br />
Knives forks and spoons press<br />
<a href="http://www.knivesforksandspoonspress.co.uk/">http://www.knivesforksandspoonspress.co.uk/</a><br />
<br />
<br />
Blacklawrence Press<br />
<a href="http://www.blacklawrence.com/pantano.html">www.blacklawrence.com/pantano.html</a><br />
<br />
Read the early fictional poems of Rene Van Valckenborch at<br />
<a href="http://adirondackreview.homestead.com/VanValckenborch.html">http://adirondackreview.homestead.com/VanValckenborch.html</a><br />
Follow his fictional twitter trickle at<br />
<a href="http://twitter.com/VanValckenborch">http://twitter.com/VanValckenborch</a><br />
<br />
Pen & Sword Books Limited<br />
<i>The Pocket Guide to Poets and Poetry</i><br />
<i>Andrew Taylor</i><br />
<i>ISBN: 9781844680887</i><br />
<i>£12.99</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">lastbench</span></i><br />
<i>Contemporary bangla poetry in translation</i><br />
<i>editor: Tanvir Ratul</i><br />
<i>15, Adelaide Place, Liverpool L5 3RJ</i><br />
<i>England</i><br />
<i>lastbench115@kobita.ws</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Pen and Sword Books Limited<br />
The Pocket Guide to Poets and Poetry<br />
Andrew Taylor<br />
ISBN: 9781844680887<br />
Price: £12.99<br />
<br />
<a href="http://buzzwordspoetry.blogspot.com/">http://buzzwordspoetry.blogspot.com/</a><br />
Buzzwords is a monthly poetry group in Cheltenham and in order to raise funds to survive in the current economic climate we have decided to run a yearly competition.<br />
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<strong><em></em></strong></div>
Alice Lenkiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04020676166907047838noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4359728548211384456.post-59909874177652477282011-01-19T12:32:00.000-08:002013-05-28T00:43:40.084-07:00ISSUE: 13<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Neon Highway ISSN: 1476-9867 <br />
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<br />
Issue 13<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSILI6Jzj_I/AAAAAAAAA0s/8ojbfAaBgZg/s1600/cover13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSILI6Jzj_I/AAAAAAAAA0s/8ojbfAaBgZg/s1600/cover13.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br />
Welcome to the 13th issue of Neon Highway and thank you once again to our additional<br />
<br />
Editors, Dee McMahon and Matt Fallaize.<br />
<br />
It is the year 2008. I am presently residing in Liverpool, the year of Capital of Culture where supposedly many cultural things are happening, although sometimes I tend to forget as I am either in the studio or doing Karaoke these days in the Royal Oak pub, Toxteth. I have a fascination with the past right now. I keep playing Ska music. I am reminiscing about the mods and rockers, missing parker jackets with targets on the back and I am missing Paul Weller in his pinstripe suit and I miss Squeeze and The Specials and I am listening to Jimmie Hendrix, ‘castles in the sand’, must be my favourite song of all time.<br />
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I went to Wales recently. They have lovely beaches there and there were seagulls and a white chair strangely just waiting for me to sit upon and look out to sea.<br />
<br />
It was very lovely, the way a beach really should be. Maybe we should have poetry readings on beaches. We could then throw them in the sea or post them in bottles. I think we should do it here on the River Mersey in Liverpool, post hundreds of SOS poems to promote peace and love in bottles, throw them into the Mersey. When people find them, they recycle the bottle, contact the poet and meet for coffee. That would just be such fun! Fabulous idea also for dating!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Recently, Costa coffee house in Bold Street, Liverpool has been running its own poetry readings. It’s kind of strange as you press the buzzer on the outside of Costa like in some surreal dream and voila, you are inside the poetry reading., like walking into a big glass cube with lots of people inside. Alice is reading her poems there July 14th. Robert Sheppard read there the other day! Alex Scott Samuel is the man running the readings. Well done…Jim me lad! Jim, as in ‘Long John Silver, Jim…’ I wasn’t thinking of any other ‘Jim’. But there was also Lord Jim wasn’t there? Who wrote that one again? Who was Jim anyway? I always meant to read it. In this issue, I will be interviewing the poet, A.C Evans. This interview was once in the only online issue of Neon highway, number 12 but I decided to bring it here along with the other interviews into hardcopy format. and in its new illustrated format by A.C Evans.<br />
<br />
All best for now.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Jane Marsh<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
P.s. I just love the name Jim. No one seems to call their kids, ‘Jim’ anymore…?<br />
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<br />
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<br />
<br />
Contents<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
2. Note from Jane Marsh.<br />
<br />
3. Contents<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
4.William Bedford<br />
<br />
5.Richard Fletcher<br />
<br />
6-7. Dave Ward<br />
<br />
8. A.C Evans<br />
<br />
9. Flora Pederson<br />
<br />
10. Colin Beck<br />
<br />
11. Vanessa Burger<br />
<br />
12. Juliet Troy<br />
<br />
13. Michael Courtney Soper<br />
<br />
14-15. Leonard Harley<br />
<br />
15-17. Jamie Wilson<br />
<br />
17-18. Kristian Cole<br />
<br />
18-19.Ben Barton<br />
<br />
20-21.Christopher Barnes<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
22-24. Reviews<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
25-35. Jane Marsh interviews A.C Evans<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
36-37. Listings<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
38. Subscription<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The poet, Dave Ward will be interviewed by Jane Marsh inside issue 14.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Front cover drawing by Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
William Bedford<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Poetry Society<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
When Lennon lived in Emperor’s Gate<br />
<br />
fans carved their lust on his blue door<br />
<br />
and Prufrock’s ghost was forced to wait,<br />
<br />
baffled by the music and Rolls Royce<br />
<br />
that spoiled his early morning communion.<br />
<br />
Now Lennon’s ghost has a Brooklyn haunt,<br />
<br />
and T.S. Eliot springs alive<br />
<br />
with annual volumes the pleased critics<br />
<br />
declare ‘okay’ though ‘unauthorised.’ <br />
<br />
A Concord sings over Earls Court Square,<br />
<br />
and Boy George fans now congregate<br />
<br />
wherever the loudest volumes slam,<br />
<br />
like scented talcum, their scented brains.<br />
<br />
A tenant sold the door in Emperor’s Gate.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
SONNÉ DYSENTERY<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
You were the first girl I slept with,<br />
<br />
and we talked all night,<br />
<br />
just like with other later girls,<br />
<br />
welcoming the slow birdsong of light.<br />
<br />
They kept our beds in separate corners,<br />
<br />
nurses whispering in the corridors outside.<br />
<br />
In the morning when I woke you had gone.<br />
<br />
They said you wouldn’t be long.<br />
<br />
I learnt later you had died. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Richard Fletcher<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
What were you like?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
We could so easily have been<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A pair of competing Wyverns<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Chasing each others tails<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
To complete the circular chain<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
In the form of a gold brooch<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Laid at the base of Ben Wyvis<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Directly following my banishment to Bute.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Dave Ward<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
From (on the edge of rain)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
13.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
milk white moon<br />
<br />
spills autumn seed<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
across the river<br />
<br />
dark boats lure<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
ghost streets run<br />
<br />
with scarlet leaves<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
14.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
bird’s wing map<br />
<br />
spread in flight<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
grey of sea<br />
<br />
grey of sky<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
over the horizon<br />
<br />
another horizon calls<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
15.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
a silver morning<br />
<br />
petals fly purple<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
slow circles turn<br />
<br />
the leaving season<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
frail bones lattice<br />
<br />
across cobwebbed field<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
16.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
rain leaves rattle<br />
<br />
pale voices touch<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
sky shivers frail<br />
<br />
flower mouths moist<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
snow fires beckon<br />
<br />
caressing warm breath<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
17.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
edge of light<br />
<br />
far fields calling<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
scarred hands healing<br />
<br />
the river’s night<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
circle of journeys<br />
<br />
turning in flight<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A.C Evans<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
NO HOPE NOW<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Here, where an overcast sky flattens<br />
<br />
The world into a dead, grey expanse<br />
<br />
And the banality of existence claims us,<br />
<br />
The hard cut-glass edges of winter<br />
<br />
Approach, and a baby, abandoned<br />
<br />
On the steps of a church, whimpers<br />
<br />
Unheard – for there is no one there,<br />
<br />
No one to respond<br />
<br />
And the mother,<br />
<br />
A grainy figure on CCTV,<br />
<br />
Is sitting many miles away<br />
<br />
Trying to ignore the oncoming cold.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So, these are just provisional notes<br />
<br />
Scribbled for no reason – <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
For no reason can be found<br />
<br />
For the way things are,<br />
<br />
And because<br />
<br />
No feelings can make us think<br />
<br />
That the real is unreal anymore,<br />
<br />
Or that the sensations we know<br />
<br />
Are anything but subliminal twitches.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
We watch the painful spasms<br />
<br />
Of an untouchable creature, crouching<br />
<br />
In a comfortless corner,<br />
<br />
Huddled in a forgotten room,<br />
<br />
Listening to empty, uncaring voices,<br />
<br />
Listening, in solitary despair,<br />
<br />
As the footsteps fade away, and she<br />
<br />
Gets to her feet,<br />
<br />
And she clenches her fists,<br />
<br />
And she cries out in solitude,<br />
<br />
And the tears stain her dirty cheeks,<br />
<br />
Her face a torn and shredded mask.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
No hope now<br />
<br />
As the footsteps fade away. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Flora Pederson<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A feast for the breeze<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A hunter’s breeze murmurs a soft lullaby<br />
<br />
whilst stroking the veins of the leaves,<br />
<br />
it floats in the open window –<br />
<br />
subtle strings and stale air mingle<br />
<br />
claiming by force, dust fragments caught in stasis.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Still atmosphere, now waits<br />
<br />
airlocked between floor and ceiling,<br />
<br />
remnants of lifeforce spent<br />
<br />
dead plankton inhabit the space.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Preserved, enclosed inside –<br />
<br />
glass shield parts a transparent sea,<br />
<br />
permit to nature’s breath<br />
<br />
to swallow, consume and digest.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Replenished and nourished by feasting, it sighs<br />
<br />
teasing such fingers of freshness,<br />
<br />
ebbing its’ cunning form away<br />
<br />
whilst stroking the veins of the leaves,<br />
<br />
a hunter’s breeze murmurs a soft lullaby. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Addition<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It’s never the case<br />
<br />
of not adding up,<br />
<br />
numbers exist to consume<br />
<br />
other numbers,<br />
<br />
it’s the unwanted answer<br />
<br />
that causes upset.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Colin Beck<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Morning Tea<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
When in my moccasin<br />
<br />
Did I sigh with a young mother<br />
<br />
Beauty had her face reflecting<br />
<br />
From a shallow complete complexion<br />
<br />
Cocky in the head she eased her warm hand<br />
<br />
Across my breast and brushing past my heart<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I showed her how to tie stomachs<br />
<br />
Lack charisma like England lowland pastures<br />
<br />
Just a little waft<br />
<br />
With an insect in a flower afternoon tea<br />
<br />
Lazy green<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
White light gods<br />
<br />
Gifts and wood feather nets<br />
<br />
Kettle drum<br />
<br />
She dreams with laughter<br />
<br />
But no imagery<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Lament of The Lamb<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I dreamed a desperate dream alone<br />
<br />
I heard her song like and unknown moan<br />
<br />
I know she only comes to mingle in the autumn bloom<br />
<br />
With her crimson eyes she held me down <br />
<br />
Left me flaccid opened a box<br />
<br />
And wound up the lullaby<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A tired pair of lungs bellowed like a child<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Crouched beside rolling thumbs fallen smiles<br />
<br />
Like liquid life sun beading down<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Die on my flaccid breast<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A landmark of burning flame<br />
<br />
A bad dream a bad seed<br />
<br />
A silver flip of the coin<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Vanessa Burger<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Moonlit Garden<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Indian summer<br />
<br />
The hidden anvil thunderhead<br />
<br />
Rumbles<br />
<br />
In the leaden sky<br />
<br />
And the shadows congregate<br />
<br />
Around the pool<br />
<br />
The stars silently sinking<br />
<br />
Amongst the koi.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
On the grass,<br />
<br />
The sepia, stunted array of toadstools<br />
<br />
Is seeking to take prisoner the watering can<br />
<br />
The green guardian gnome grinning wickedly<br />
<br />
At the cat.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
In the Quietness<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Through the open window, falling stars<br />
<br />
In the luminous, thundery air.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Wooden beams are warping,<br />
<br />
And I frown back, into the next room<br />
<br />
Where a candle flame grows<br />
<br />
Out of thin air.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Juliet Troy<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Crustaceans<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A simple nervous system returns to the boil exposed palisades and <br />
<br />
promontaries tuber flowers brimming how to kill crustaceans weeping bright<br />
<br />
tears push the spike with an electrifying example of simulacra ghost will<br />
<br />
ever visit cobwebbed streaming and vermin hunted phrases in connecting a<br />
<br />
tin turn the legs and claws melancholy wooden creaking caves rockpool<br />
<br />
swimmers wrap china double binds one bilateral arm stretched upwards <br />
<br />
streetwalker and flesh the way of Hatha Yogis the ghosts tapped on the glass<br />
<br />
binoculars of that moment hired as a singing wolf we had a theodolite black<br />
<br />
and infinite fans waving when Paris became quiet air was becoming a<br />
<br />
barometer tinged with fig trees with our knuckles cut hard topped carapace<br />
<br />
the children with rapping the sum of all embroidered green leaves too small<br />
<br />
to probe with teaspoon tactile before we cook pathways to the holy grail<br />
<br />
pick and dress the crinoline cage and half the articulated socket to find <br />
<br />
diamonds cocooned in linen and silk.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Michael Courtney Soper<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Guiding in the air currents<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Shining metagyres in the sky, pierce through<br />
<br />
Near the planar edge, flowing, in the cerulean,<br />
<br />
Flowing completely from one side to the other,<br />
<br />
Above the sapient highway, flowing, near the byways<br />
<br />
Always of permanence in the strange dimensions of materiality.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Luxurient above on the great route…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Shining, piercing through, guiding.<br />
<br />
In the strange dimensions of materiality<br />
<br />
Flowing, near the byways of permanence, flowing<br />
<br />
Piercing completely from one side to the other<br />
<br />
In the sky, the metagyres are near their byways of permanence.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Leonard Harley<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
ALL OUR GREEN GHOSTS<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
All our green ghosts are burning<br />
<br />
yet, undelayed by coming<br />
<br />
and going, unaltered by abetting<br />
<br />
the brag of breath, by extending<br />
<br />
the business of the eating<br />
<br />
worm. Our fingers will be extending<br />
<br />
equal branches through the flesh, abetting<br />
<br />
the going and coming<br />
<br />
of other breaths for burning.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
You are not nothing<br />
<br />
my darling; you will be burning<br />
<br />
yet, in all green living.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
CRY GRIEF<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Crazygirl, crazycry<br />
<br />
for the man<br />
<br />
who cannot lie<br />
<br />
with you tonight<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He’s a lie<br />
<br />
he’s nonsense, dead<br />
<br />
he’s gone to bed<br />
<br />
another night<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He’s far away<br />
<br />
he’s gone away<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So crazycry, crazymourn<br />
<br />
the man who’s gone<br />
<br />
to nothing at all<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Cry, cry your loss<br />
<br />
and dream he never was<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Jamie Wilson<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
INTENSIFICATION OF FEELING<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
what are the roots that clutch<br />
<br />
what branches grow out of this stony rubbish<br />
<br />
then wilt <br />
<br />
spasm<br />
<br />
die<br />
<br />
insect-like nerve impulses<br />
<br />
recharge<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
what insect feet march along my optic nerve<br />
<br />
what electricity<br />
<br />
stunned<br />
<br />
in the sun<br />
<br />
what shivers and sharp-delight<br />
<br />
what momentary pleasure – a faded wavelength<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
usage<br />
<br />
strength<br />
<br />
an emotional vampire<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
run down<br />
<br />
run out<br />
<br />
one more…<br />
<br />
scratch card philosophy<br />
<br />
dustbin entropy<br />
<br />
the law<br />
<br />
the law<br />
<br />
just one<br />
<br />
more…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
ecstasy<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
ah.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
what are the seeds we sow<br />
<br />
what flowers grow from this chemical tapestry<br />
<br />
oxidise<br />
<br />
fragment<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
i can see<br />
<br />
i can see<br />
<br />
perfectly<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
what are the species that shriek like rats at love<br />
<br />
what voices thrum and chant<br />
<br />
escape<br />
<br />
into never-say-never-land<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
slow burn<br />
<br />
slow burn<br />
<br />
retract…<br />
<br />
bed side horrorshow<br />
<br />
cinematic vitriol<br />
<br />
the wall<br />
<br />
the wall<br />
<br />
is just too<br />
<br />
tall<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
that’s entertainment<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
yes.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
what planet is this I am on<br />
<br />
may I be dismissed<br />
<br />
with a bullet<br />
<br />
blade<br />
<br />
axe<br />
<br />
spade<br />
<br />
this anaesthetised planet<br />
<br />
this topple down hamlet of black<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
blood<br />
<br />
blood<br />
<br />
no love<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
shrugged from the shoulders of the earth<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
with feeling.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
once more…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Kristian Cole<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Caring and Killing<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Collapse upon the sturdy bridge,<br />
<br />
And mourn out the lungs thick topic,<br />
<br />
Miles from the village bound in Oak,<br />
<br />
Guilt burns against the shimmer of the river,<br />
<br />
Final reflection in the sealed eyes,<br />
<br />
To remember the baby as it was,<br />
<br />
You wind down the 'ours' in sorrow,<br />
<br />
What's yours is mine within that carrier,<br />
<br />
Passing now from this life to the next,<br />
<br />
But carried for miles down the river,<br />
<br />
Like Moses in transit,<br />
<br />
Logistically correct,<br />
<br />
Destination untrue,<br />
<br />
If you cannot see it then it isn't really there,<br />
<br />
This isn't really happening,<br />
<br />
The blonde of her hair now worn thin to the scalp,<br />
<br />
Like the career she is chasing,<br />
<br />
Getting rid of the unwanted,<br />
<br />
To better the self,<br />
<br />
Logistically speaking,<br />
<br />
To be bound down here,<br />
<br />
In this town,<br />
<br />
Is like being the baby,<br />
<br />
Bag contented,<br />
<br />
Rim filled with cavernous rocks,<br />
<br />
That she just cast overboard,<br />
<br />
Gracing a tremendous airborne swing,<br />
<br />
Trouncing the rivers blue in white ripples,<br />
<br />
She had dined on the last one through hunger and<br />
<br />
defeat,<br />
<br />
Some said to preserve the lack of evidence,<br />
<br />
Announcing her core as ailing,<br />
<br />
Bland otherwise spill from the court in<br />
<br />
justification,<br />
<br />
Due to the shadows of the upbringing,<br />
<br />
But her defence was the caring and killing,<br />
<br />
If a random unknown assailant,<br />
<br />
Had outperformed the task,<br />
<br />
It would have meant grand black nothings,<br />
<br />
But in her motherly state,<br />
<br />
Albeit temporary,<br />
<br />
Tear the child from the teat and destroy.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ben Barton<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
ZOETROPE<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Aliens have crawled across the border<br />
<br />
on their bellies<br />
<br />
Signed names in blue biro:<br />
<br />
Permits to trespass<br />
<br />
on our living quarters.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
We are powerless, shackled<br />
<br />
destined to watch<br />
<br />
as they infiltrate us,<br />
<br />
demanding we perform<br />
<br />
Like a spinning zoetrope<br />
<br />
offering them clear vignettes<br />
<br />
of our daily humiliations.<br />
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<br />
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<br />
THE DEATH OF JIMMY DEAN<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
As they cut him from the Spyder<br />
<br />
I took in my arms the tough, lean body<br />
<br />
of this man so young<br />
<br />
beardless, breathless<br />
<br />
Well hung<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Together; we laid him on the stretcher<br />
<br />
and I caressed his broken arm<br />
<br />
Contorted,<br />
<br />
face smashed, splintered<br />
<br />
His lips torn <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
and tongue wizened in a sea of froth<br />
<br />
so black about the eyes<br />
<br />
stone cold<br />
<br />
and his forehead concave<br />
<br />
Hot blood spattered on asphalt.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
In the truck we were alone<br />
<br />
and through the bumps<br />
<br />
and horns and swerves<br />
<br />
I kissed his mouth, his lips<br />
<br />
found mine<br />
<br />
Bitter with betrayal<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
from road to morgue<br />
<br />
I willed him, no, dared<br />
<br />
That he would rise-up<br />
<br />
Awake; and speak our love’s proud name,<br />
<br />
and tell our devotions, desires<br />
<br />
To a world unwilling to listen<br />
<br />
or to even believe.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I knew that his list of men<br />
<br />
was as long as my arm:<br />
<br />
his chest pockmarked with<br />
<br />
their cigarette holes –<br />
<br />
an army of gilded lovers<br />
<br />
Stood in line, queued<br />
<br />
far back<br />
<br />
Snaked along the highway<br />
<br />
their mouths wet.<br />
<br />
They had left indelible marks on his flesh:<br />
<br />
a constellation of keratoid scars.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
In the foggy nights I was left behind<br />
<br />
to ache and wonder<br />
<br />
If those glassy eyes could really see<br />
<br />
Did he see my face, <br />
<br />
and would <br />
<br />
he remember me?<br />
<br />
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<br />
<strong>Christopher Barnes</strong><br />
<br />
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Reviews<br />
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‘from the field book’ by Carol Thistlethwaite<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
from the field book by Carol Thistlethwaite<br />
<br />
ISBN: 978-1-905202-76-8<br />
<br />
BeWrite Books<br />
<br />
32 Bryn Road South<br />
<br />
Wigan<br />
<br />
Lancashire WN4 8QR<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The cover of this book of bird poems indicates the strength and delicacy of the work within. It is based on both a knowledge and keen observation of birds in their natural habitat. As Carol indicates in her first poem 'split instant', visual recognition identified through movement (or non movement), colour and shape, the ‘jizz’, which is at the core of her poems. The ‘jizz’ is set skilfully within the bird’s natural habitat, by locating the poems at a particular time of day via the turning of the tide or the arrival of dusk, for example. This enhances the reader’s sense of being there. <br />
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<br />
<br />
Individual birds or gatherings of birds are characterised in language that grasps and pulls you into their core, as in the poem heron, where the description ‘is a calm’ allows you to understand the nature of the bird. As I write this I find myself thinking that the word ‘description’ doesn’t do justice to Carol’s writing of these birds. She doesn’t just give a visual picture – she writes you into the bird’s behaviour. You enter into the poem through the language used, especially the sound of the language which mirrors that of the birds, the formats, the syntax and sense of intention demonstrated in each text. For this reason Turnstone with its ‘chink plink chink plink pebble-flipping-turnstone flicking over stones,’ is perhaps one of my favourite poems. The language, the prose format, the gaps and syntax capture movement, sound and environ in a way that gives the reader his own key to the kingdom of the bird world. The internal rhyme in many of the poems, for example, Common Tern with its ‘dips’ and ‘pricks’, again enhances sounding out the jizz.<br />
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<br />
<br />
The imagery used in from the field book is very vivid. It surprises in a way that is acute, producing a gut reaction experience. A Common Tern ‘full stops another’. Cormorants are ‘long shadows of an era’. When Pink-Footed Geese ‘quilt the estuary, bedding down’ this does more than describe an action, it also describes the sheer quantities of geese present, the feeling of sinking into a downy quilt on a cool night, and more.<br />
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<br />
<br />
There are a range of formats and fonts used within the collection – concrete and prose poems are evident, and some work better than others, I feel. What does work well is the rhythm achieved throughout, supporting as it does the writer’s sense of intention. Read Treecreeper aloud and hear the rhythm created by the syntax, the internal rhyme, the words used.<br />
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These poems are skilfully crafted and immensely satisfying to read and I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book.<br />
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<br />
Review of ‘Dreaming of Walls Repeating Themselves’ by Pat Winslow<br />
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<br />
<br />
Dreaming of Walls Repeating Themselves by Pat Winslow<br />
<br />
ISBN:978-1-906285-03-6<br />
<br />
Templar Poetry<br />
<br />
Fenelon House<br />
<br />
Kingsbridge Terrace<br />
<br />
Dale Road<br />
<br />
Matlock<br />
<br />
Derbyshire DE4 3NB<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Pat Winslow appears to be writing a social commentary on survival, on coping and not coping with life events. Certain themes come to the fore – war or perhaps surviving war, illness, childhood memory. The poems themselves intrigue, playing with the reader’s perceptions, demanding your attention and repeated reading. Time, as in The Persistence of Memory, and imaginary time in the poem Imagine, is used effectively to do this. Line length and punctuation are used to deliver rhythm, for example in The Front Room Picture, or emphasise and surprise, as in Mycroft. This interesting and intriguing work deserves to be read and re-read.<br />
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Review of ‘Test Paper’ by Linda Cash<br />
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<br />
Test Paper by Linda Cash<br />
<br />
ISBN: 978-1-906285-02-9<br />
<br />
Templar Poetry<br />
<br />
Fenelon House<br />
<br />
Kingsbridge Terrace<br />
<br />
Dale Road<br />
<br />
Matlock<br />
<br />
Derbyshire DE4 3NB<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
This is one of those books of poetry where less is more because each poem is distilled fiction, a narrative exposed gradually, and sometimes hanging on a single line. Themes are predominantly the dark side of life, love, loss, and sexual encounter, and the poems constantly highlight the different approaches of men and women to them. The themes are treated in a practical, rather than emotional way. Humour, sometimes black or satirical prevents sentimentality throughout. There are occasional light-hearted poems too, but these left me a little less satisfied. Imagery is strong, and sustained imagery guides you through complete poems as in Aromatherapy Kit, or Half Life Crisis. Linda saves the best until last in the more experimental Test Paper. This poem made me think about many things – the questions posed, if they related to each other, the inadequacy of any ‘real’ test papers that may be littered with leading questions, other poems I’d read, and most of all, about methodology in poetry writing, mine and others. This poem was a great choice to end a very enjoyable group of poems.<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
‘Complete Twentieth Century Blues’<br />
<br />
By Robert Sheppard<br />
<br />
ISBN: 978-1-84471-264-9<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Salt Publishing.<br />
<br />
Salt Publishing Ltd<br />
<br />
PO Box 937<br />
<br />
Great Wilbraham<br />
<br />
Cambridge <br />
<br />
CB21 5JX<br />
<br />
United Kingdom<br />
<br />
www.saltpublishing.com<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Wonderful to read this hardback quality edition of Robert Sheppard’s recently published ‘Complete Twentieth Century Blues’. A contrast of forms, techniques and subjects keep you wondering and always interested. Some of the poems I had read previously in other texts from the past such as ‘Flashlight Sonata’, ‘Basalt Wind-Chimes for the window-Box of Earthly Pleasures’, ‘Tin Pan Arcadia’, ‘Killing Boxes’ and ‘Far Language’. One thing that stands out from reading this volume is that Sheppard is one of today’s most talented and innovative poets. A ‘must read’ for all those interested in reading how boundaries in writing have been challenged and explored.<br />
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<br />
By Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
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<br />
Jane Marsh interviews the poet, A.C Evans<br />
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Interview taken from issue 12 (online issue 2006)<br />
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A.C then sent this back to me with his own personal illustrations, therefore resulting in ‘The illustrated Jane’ version of his original interview, which I have decided to publish in this issue of Neon Highway.<br />
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<br />
(Brief Biography taken from the,‘The ArgotistOnline:<br />
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http://www.argotistonline.co.uk/Evans%20interview.htm<br />
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A. C. Evans was born in Hampton Court in 1949, and lived in South London until 1963 when he moved to Essex and co-founded the semi-legendary Neo-Surrealist Convulsionist Group in 1966. Moving back to London in 1973, he currently lives in Mortlake, near Richmond. Working in the tradition of the bizarre and the grotesque, he also considers himself a Realist. Influenced by everything on the dark-side, he is also inspired by the iconoclasm of Dada, revolutionary Surrealism and the immediacy of Pop. He regards all these as points of departure, none as a destination – we live in a post avant-garde world.<br />
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His individual author collections include The Xantras (Trombone Press), Chimaera Obscura (Phlebas Press), Dream Vortex (Tabor Press), Colour Of Dust. Poems And/Or Texts 1973-1997 (Stride), This Sepulchre (Springbeach Press) and Fractured Muse (Atlantean Publications). The poetry sequence ‘Space Opera’ was made into a digital film and shown at the onedotzero3 Festival at the ICA in 1999.<br />
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He considers creativity to be the indirect effect of irrational drives and desires; an infinite quest for self-discovery and, inevitably, an indictment of both established dogma and fashionable orthodoxy. In his extremist, author-centred, poetry and graphics he uses ambiguity, juxtaposition, irony and objective chance to question assumptions about convention, identity and reality – black humour and the absurd are his constant preoccupations. <br />
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Jane <br />
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1. <br />
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Hi A. C. <br />
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I would imagine you would appreciate this room. On the wall there are paintings by Klimt and Duchamp. My gramophone over there plays music by Liszt and Wagner.<br />
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The CD player plays music such as The Stones and The Velvet underground.<br />
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The weather is just wonderful. We are now in Mid winter so it is cold and icy outside. The trees are bare and there is some frost and ice on the ground.<br />
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On the bookshelf you may find some collections by Plath, Byron, Baudelaire and Swinburne. There are also two recent reviews of yours on Lee Harwood’s Chanson Dada. Selected Poems by Tristan Tzara and Symbolism by Rodolphe Rapetti. Now if you just seat yourself down I would like to ask you a few questions to someone whose writing style it seems has been described as ‘macabre, hermetic minimalism’.<br />
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Your work has been around for a long time and first published in the British alternative press in 1977. However it has been said that your work was more driven towards “ modern occultism” rather than the conventional ‘literary’ small press. Could you explain what it was that pulled you in this direction?<br />
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Gosh, Jane! You are looking very vampish this afternoon…. And you have gone to so much trouble. It is very much appreciated and very nice to talk… But, to answer your questions: My first ‘publication’ was, in fact, 1968 when I was lucky to land a tiny contract for greetings cards. A few designs were distributed through high street shops at the height of the ‘Beardsley craze’ during the Art Nouveau Revival… Also, under the umbrella of the Convulsionists, I managed to issue some mass-produced prints and get things into the school magazine. This was all in the late nineteen sixties. After a break I started submitting material to little magazines in the mid nineteen seventies, hence the reference to ‘alternative press….’. The first magazine to take some pictures was called Sothis. I soon found acceptance with other editors in the ‘occult’ scene. There were mags with titles like The Daath Papers, Illuminatus Monthly and Nox: A Magazine of The Abyss. I was instinctively drawn to this kind of subculture: it seemed more attuned to the disruptive, paraxial fantasy I was trying to achieve than the rather staid literary scene. In any case – despite my Aestheticism – I didn’t really see my work as a narrowly ‘artistic’ enterprise – like the Surrealists I was aiming at some kind of transformational paradigm outside mainstream definitions of art/poetry. There were clear affinities between Surrealism and ‘occultism’ (a vague, dodgy term I should say) and, at the time, one felt ‘occultists’ to be more ‘alternative’ than most exponents of the counter-culture who played at being hippies at weekends. The Surrealist ‘angle’ on the occult was, of course, non-mystical – unlike the Crowleyites, or the Alexandrians, for instance, I did not view the occult as an alternative religion. It was more to do with ‘reclaiming the imagination for anarchy and nihilism,’ formulating tactics to disconnect creativity from the hegemony of ‘the establishment’. Gothic Romanticism, Baudelaire’s ‘Satanism’ and Rimbaud’s use of alchemy provided historical parallels, while Jung’s psychology pointed to an ‘interior model’ for the ‘occult image’.<br />
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2.<br />
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Could you tell me a little about your work?<br />
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The work develops on two fronts: the written and the visual. Within these two spheres I operate on a narrow spectrum of formats. The written works fall into non-fiction and ‘literary’, the visual works are black and white line drawings in either pen or pencil, collages (mainly photomontages) and, more recently digital-photo images of various kinds. Regarding the literary work I would subdivide it into poetry/experimental prose, fiction (short stories) and poetry translations from the French. In both literary and visual work I often rely on automatism and chance elements. Automatism means a kind of immersion in the unconscious process, guided intuitively.<br />
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I have often regarded ‘automatic’ line work as rather like calligraphy, hovering on the borderline between pictorial representation and writing. All artistic activity is supported by the non-fiction work ranging from short review notices to extensive feature-length articles/essays like Angels Of Rancid Glamour (1998). Baudelaire said artists should also be critics – it is vital to maintain a sense of focus and context, and to engage with the history of ideas.<br />
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3.<br />
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Who were the first presses to support you?<br />
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Well, apart from the occult ‘zines mentioned the first art-poetry press to support my work was Stride edited by Rupert Loydell. Throughout the nineteen eighties Stride maintained a policy of openness to diverse approaches that was – and still is – exemplary. Stride published my first small collection Exosphere in 1984 and I contributed reviews, artwork and poetry to the magazine. Today Stride is one of the best independent presses on the UK scene. I should also mention Phlebas and Tabor who published the mini collections Chimaera Obscura and Dream Vortex. <br />
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4.<br />
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Can you tell me a little about your poem Space Opera?<br />
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Space Opera was short sequence of prose-poems first published in Stride’s Serendipity Caper anthology. It was subsequently re-issued as an illustrated booklet with an intro by Steve Sneyd.<br />
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Written in a kind of techno-reportage style the sequence evoked a universe where there is no distinction between inner and outer space and all communication is subject to widespread disruption from indeterminate forces. The general setting was onboard a clapped-out star-ship on a mission to investigate the mysterious planet NeoGaea, a kind of parallel Earth, but millions of light years from home. It was an attempt to fuse lowbrow and highbrow by taking a simple space adventure scenario and filtering through a mannered poetic style – the cognoscenti define this sort of thing as ‘speculative poetry’… <br />
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5.<br />
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Your work has been described as ‘artistic’ meeting ‘magical’. What would you say is your driving influence? <br />
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That’s quite a ‘deep’ question, depending on what you mean by ‘influence’ – influences should be points of departure not destinations, I think. In the nineteenth century from the time of the French Revolution to the First World War one can see a progression of ‘movements’, often referred to as avant-garde – we learn from many figures and themes of those movements and define ‘influences’ that way. That’s a very big subject and the cultural history, from Baudelaire to Beauvoir, is very important. Formative influences (i.e. contemporary, not historical) included Dada/Surrealism, Op and Pop Art, Psychedelia and Nouveau Realisme (e.g. Tinguely) – that’s on the visual side.<br />
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Contemporary literary influences included Burroughs, Borges, Nabokov, Pynchon, Angela Carter and J G Ballard. As I say this it is clear that none of these were poets in the strict sense, actually they are all prose writers. I had heard about the 1965 Albert Hall event but we didn’t really take much notice of the poetry scene – the era was defined by Mary Quant not the Children of Albion. My inspirational figures were Aubrey Beardsley, Antonin Artaud and Marcel Duchamp. I think we can return to this a bit later on when we talk about the Convulsionists because, amid this welter of references, I’m thinking about your phrase ‘driving influence’…. And Paul Meunier’s observation (quoted in Rapetti’s Symbolism) that ‘artistic concerns were originally alien to the production of art.’<br />
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6.<br />
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What kind of poetry or movements in poetry do you particularly dislike and why?<br />
<br />
I have always been against any kind of literary theory that downplays or ignores the visceral basis of creativity. The creative imagination is driven by non-verbal, obsessive compulsions that, in the final analysis, are rooted in biological/genetic phenomena. It is obvious that creativity is value-neutral and independent of any particular form of expression, visual, literary or musical. Therefore, I have no positive interest in the kind of fashionable Post Modernism that locates the main theoretical focus of poetry in the domain of ‘language’. I see this trend and similar academic fashions (Social Constructionism or Reader Response Theory) as part of the regrettable inheritance of Wittgenstein – it is clearly reactionary. For example, the current oxymoronic notion of ‘linguistically innovative’ poetry is based, according to its luminaries, on doctrines of Ethical Criticism, specifically the writings of Levinas and Bakhtin. To begin with this is contradictory in that a truly ‘language-centred’ poetry cannot be based on an ethical framework of any kind. In the second place it is intrinsically reactionary as the writings of Levinas, Bakhtin, and the other gurus, are mainly propaganda for orthodoxy dressed-up in the ‘technical’ Newspeak of academia: ‘defamiliarisation’, ‘plurivocity’, ‘dialogism’ ‘sociolect’. The doublethink is the objectionable aspect – projecting a ‘progressive’ and ‘advanced’ image but working to a regressive, conservative agenda. It’s a question of cultural politics, not literary standards, because any art that is neither entertainment nor therapy is spin and propaganda – welcome to IngSoc! The Language Poets of the 1970s de-valued, even denied, the individual voice in the name of anti-Romanticism and in so doing allied themselves, knowingly or not, with the worst kind of literary Puritanism. I don’t really care if a given example of Language Poetry conforms to someone’s idea of ‘good’ poetry, in the end its only radical chic. I would say the same about the British Poetry Revival in its earlier phases: it was an amateur way of latching on to worthless American trends – Black Mountain, Objectivism, Projective Verse and all that frightful stuff. Actually, it was a publicity stunt to promote a generational revolt against the Georgians and – wassisname? – Larkin. They want to write Modern Epics – they take themselves far too seriously – give me Fiona Pitt-Kethley any day!<br />
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<br />
7.<br />
<br />
To what extent has alchemy influenced your work?<br />
<br />
The function of art is the transformation of substance into style.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
8.<br />
<br />
Tell me a little about your creative process.<br />
<br />
The ‘creative process’ is a primitive, bio-psychic phenomenon characterised by the interaction of external stimuli, unconscious drives and the neural-endocrine levels of the biological system (physis). These interactions generate the ‘altered states’ intrinsic to creativity. Cultural factors determine how various features or facets of creativity are defined as ‘artistic’. The main impulse for any creative act takes the form of an obsessive compulsion or drive-demand, often referred to as ‘inspiration’: the production of a given work of art, and its dreamlike characteristics, can be explained from the psychoanalytic perspective. Composer Toru Takemitsu said his work Quotation of Dream (1991) was ‘fragmental’ and episodic, reflecting the ‘shapes of dreams’. He observed that a work can be vivid in detail but may describe ‘an extremely ambiguous structure when viewed as a whole’. Following both Freud and Takemitsu, I would say that poetic form should resemble that of a dream where, for instance, details may be clearly defined while their disposition is determined by the ‘fortuities’ of a ‘self-propelling narrative’. For me the attraction of collage – and other modes of juxtaposition – derive from conformity with the Freudian ‘dream-work’ and the laws of the unconscious – the two main properties of dream-work being compression and displacement. The law of compression determines the fragmental and condensed format of all my work in any medium. The law of displacement encourages an allusive approach to ‘mood’ or ‘atmosphere’ akin to Mallarme’s adage ‘paint not the thing but the effect it produces’. Displacement of psychic intensities ensures that the least important features of the work are given more prominence than the most significant, leading (with luck) to a somewhat ‘hermetic’ or enigmatic effect…. I must add that chance plays a key role in everything… <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
9.<br />
<br />
If you could go anywhere in reality that somehow was created from your imagination where would it be and what would it be like?<br />
<br />
It might be like a neglected pleasure pier on the North Sea coast. During the day there would be howling gales and isolated rainstorms, at night the sea would be like purple glass – the moon would look huge. From the shore would float the distant, scratchy sound of an old 1940s Benny Goodman/Peggy Lee recording of ‘Blues in The Night’. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
10.<br />
<br />
You have said that Surrealism has been a strong influence in your work.<br />
<br />
If you were to exhibit your work in a gallery these days what kind of show do you think you would focus on?<br />
<br />
Dark Energy – Dark Energy comprises seventy percent of the universe and provides the repulsive force necessary to power the ever-accelerating expansion of the galaxies. Just as the existence of the unconscious can be inferred from Freudian Slips, so Dark Energy can be detected indirectly from the effects of virtual particles on the orbits of electrons. I like the idea that seventy percent of the universe is ‘dark’, just as seventy percent of the mind is ‘dark’ and seventy percent of human prehistory is ‘dark’. So my exhibition would be based around Three Zones Of Darkness. <br />
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<br />
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<br />
To the side there might be shrines dedicated to some modern goddesses: Veronica Lake, Caterina Valente, Julie London, Donyale Luna and P J Harvey. I think the décor would look rather like Martin Hibbert’s Burnt Out Hotel. Oh, I might exhibit some collages and drawings as well! At lunchtimes there would be tasteful piano recitals and in the evenings there would be poetry readings – in the dark, obviously… <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
11.<br />
<br />
You say you enjoy the work of Louise Nevelson. I do also. I read a book about her work a while back and I was fascinated by her assemblages made from found objects and painted gold. I just thought I would mention that to you.<br />
<br />
Yes! The Tate Gallery has a couple of her things. There was one called Black Wall (1959) and another called An American Tribute To The British People (1960-1964). I thought the Black Wall was fantastically sinister… There are Sky Cathedrals, Royal Games, Rain Gardens and Night Scapes, all very intricate and painted uniformly in either white, black or gold… there are echoes of Nevelson in some of my drawings… <br />
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<br />
<br />
12.<br />
<br />
Can we build an assemblage together? I’ll collect a few objects and you put them together how you want. Here we are, some old boxes, feathers, a doll, picture frames, books, string, a glass case, medicine bottles, paper, broken mirror, pieces of rusty engine, glossy magazines, shoes, a mannequin, lots of old china plates and a few cans of spray paint. What do you reckon? I’ll come back in an hour and see what you produced. <br />
<br />
OK, I have added an empty window frame and a battered wig-maker’s white polystyrene artificial head called ‘Ultima’ to this assemblage.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
‘Ultima’ is an important totem. In the glass case will be several old sepia photos and the diary of a bibliomaniac.<br />
<br />
The broken mirror must be at the centre of the installation. You can just take a photo and add it here if you wish?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
13.<br />
<br />
Now I just want to show you the chamber. This is the deepest room in the house way below the ground and the steps are a little creaky. Hope you’re not too tired, it’s quite a way down.<br />
<br />
Hope you like my spiral staircase. Here we are at last.<br />
<br />
Please step inside. Okay please do sit down. You can use that old gravestone if you wish?<br />
<br />
Jane, this is such a friendly way to conduct an interview – thank you, this gravestone is quite comfortable – what does the inscription say? I can’t quite make it out as it is covered in yellow and black lichen. What a gloriously spooky wrought iron spiral staircase that was – I can almost taste the rust.<br />
<br />
Could you tell me about the group you formed called The Neo-Surrealist Convulsionist Group?<br />
<br />
It is tempting to say we were just a group of alienated teenagers…! We formed the thing around 1968 and it only lasted until around 1971 or 1972. There were about five or six participants based in Chelmsford, Essex. Other places included Colchester, Ipswich and Witham… people used to meet in coffee bars after school – we were all sixth formers doing art or literature, mainly as a way of avoiding sport. The associations continued after everyone left school and tried to get jobs. Some poetry was written and experimental prose cut-up; atonal electronic music was composed and lots of paintings and collages produced. There were occasional expeditions or ‘pilgrimages’ to ‘displaced destinations’ such as the old Hungerford Bridge, the Victoria Embankment Gardens (for the Sullivan Memorial – very ‘convulsive’), The Atlantis Bookshop, or the Dashwood Mausoleum and Hell Fire Caves at West Wycombe. But mainly there was a lot of loafing around, drinking coffee and snogging – or going to see Hammer Horror films and German Expressionist movies at the NFT.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
There was one exhibition at Hylands House – the exhibition was for all the school leavers but we managed to commandeer a room – as the Convulsionists were the general organisers of the show it was quite easy to get the space! We came up with the term ‘Convulsionism’ after the phrase ‘Beauty will be convulsive…’ (from Breton’s Amour Fou). I felt it implied the ‘visceral’ idea – my ideal work of art was to be a meaningless allegory generated by a kind of neurological spasm or frisson that could be transmitted to the viewer – well, if it gave me a frisson it might give you one as well.<br />
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One old policy document from my archive says: “CONVULSION IS CONCERNED WITH THE BEAUTY OF PURE IMAGINATION AND FANTASY AND IS VIOLENTLY OPPOSED TO CONTRAPTON IN ANY FORM” (Convulsively Produced Notes On Convulsion, 1968). Earlier, I mentioned some key influences… I should add the Lost Generation to the list – the Francophile ‘Yellow Nineties’ Decadent poets and artists (Arthur Symons, Ernest Dowson et al) and, also, the ultra-Symbolist absurdism (as we saw it) of Laforgue and Alfred Jarry – we were quite keen on ‘Pataphysics as I recall… There was some empathy with English Pop Art, so we rather revelled in the Mass Media – Pop Music (The Doors, Brian Auger), Jazz (Indo Jazz Fusions, Duke Ellington, Miles Davis), Science Fiction and ‘cult TV’. It was ironic that the real Surrealists had disbanded themselves in 1966 so we settled for being Neo-Surrealists! <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
14<br />
<br />
What are you working on at present?<br />
<br />
I am continually revising my ‘personal aesthetic’ (which is not a literary ‘poetic’) and have found this has absorbed much of my time in recent months. In our present situation when, for various reasons, free artistic expression is coming under threat as never before, I have been driven to ‘sharpen up’ my thoughts on such issues… On a more practical level I am revising and digitizing some non-fiction from the back-catalogue – various reviews and articles that I feel I have neglected and must revisit. I have an ongoing programme of computerisation that is quite time-consuming – some examples appear on the Tangents website. Publication-wise there are various poems accepted by magazines including Fire. Recent appearances have included ‘Vespula Vanishes’ a poem for Tori Amos (Inclement), ‘Danger (Midnight Street)’ (Pulsar), ‘Beautiful Chaos’ and ‘Dadar Radar’ (Fragments), and another piece called ‘Not The Cloudy Sky’ (Harlequin). Forthcoming, among other items, is a short story ‘Vikki Verso’ from Atlantean Publications who have taken a number of texts and drawings over the last couple of years. A recent collage, called ‘In the Beginning’ is on the cover (designed by Neil Annat) of a new Stride publication – Peter Redgrove’s A Speaker For The Silver Goddess (2006). <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you for answering my questions A.C. <br />
<br />
And, thank you, Jane, for a fascinating conversation…<br />
<br />
I’ll go and get you a glass of wine from the cellar<br />
<br />
Be careful how you go – mind all those cobwebs!<br />
<br />
I wish you luck and fortune with your work, as Salomon Trismosin once said:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Study what thou art<br />
<br />
Whereof thou art a part.<br />
<br />
What thou knowest of this Art,<br />
<br />
This is really what thou art,<br />
<br />
All that is without thee,<br />
<br />
Also is within<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
All best for now.<br />
<br />
Jane<br />
<br />
This interview can also be viewed online at:<br />
<a href="http://ac-cygnusx.blogspot.com/2009/11/interview-with-jane-marsh.html">http://ac-cygnusx.blogspot.com/2009/11/interview-with-jane-marsh.html</a><br />
<br />
<br />
Neon Highway February 2006<br />
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Purple Patch<br />
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West House Books, 40 Crescent Road, Nether Edge, Sheffield S7 1HN<br />
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http://ac-cygnusx.blogspot.com<br />
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www.publishandbedamned.org<br />
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www.writeoutloud.net<br />
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http://www.planetmagazine.org.uk/html/contrib.htm<br />
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The Measure: an email magazine of poetry and prose<br />
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http://hometown.aol.co.uk/jumpcatrod/myhomepage/writing.html <br />
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Editor<br />
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Trespass<br />
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trespassmagazine@yahoo.co.uk<br />
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London Review of Books<br />
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Editor: Mary-Kay Wilmers <br />
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www.lrb.co.uk<br />
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The Journal & original plus<br />
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See also The Select Six - www.bewrite.net/select_six.htm <br />
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www.stimulusrespond.com.<br />
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POETRY KIT (www.poetrykit.org)<br />
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http://www.thunderburst.co.uk<br />
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davidcaddy.blogspot.com<br />
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http://www.onthepremises.com/<br />
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http://www.incwriters.co.uk/<br />
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http://www.saltpublishing.com<br />
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http://www.ginoskoliteraryjournal.com/<br />
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http://www.commapress.co.uk<br />
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<br />
The Book Of Hopes And Dreams: a charity, poetry anthology, published to raise money for the Medical Aid, Afghanistan appeal of the Glasgow-based charity Spirit Aid. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The anthology features the work of many well-respected poets, including Margaret Atwood, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, John Heath-Stubbs, Carol Ann Duffy, Simon Armitage, Tony Harrison, Alasdair Gray, Edwin Morgan, Penelope Shuttle, Anne Stevenson, Jon Stallworthy, Alan Brownjohn, Ruth Fainlight, David Constantine, Moniza Alvi, Cyril Dabydeen, Elaine Feinstein, Vicki Feaver, Michael Horovitz, Tom Leonard, Robert Mezey, Lawrence Sail, Jay Ramsay, Charles Ades Fishman, Geoffrey Godbert and Ian Duhig, amongst others.<br />
<br />
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<br />
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<br />
Neon Highway, the magazine for experimental and innovative poetry.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Submissions of innovative poetry to be sent to editors:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Dee McMahon: 14, Tower Hill, Ormskirk, L39 2EG<br />
<br />
Matt Fallaize: 54, Chapel St. Ormskirk, L39 4QF<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz: 37, Grinshill Close, Liverpool, L8 8LD<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Neon Highway is available bi-annually, with 2 issues costing £5.50, or a single<br />
<br />
Issue available at £3.00. Order your next issue by sending a cheque to Alice Lenkiewicz, 37, Grinshill Close, Liverpool, L8 8LD.</div>
Alice Lenkiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04020676166907047838noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4359728548211384456.post-24877311277934876202011-01-09T10:04:00.001-08:002013-01-07T02:08:55.444-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Neon Highway Poetry Magazine ISSN: 1476-9867<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
Description:<br />
<br />
Neon Highway is edited by Jane Marsh and Alice Lenkiewicz. Neon Highway was set up in 2002 as a non profit making little poetry/arts magazine<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Neon Highway<br />
<br />
Avant-garde<br />
<br />
Literary journal<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
PUBLISHES:<br />
<br />
POETRY and ART<br />
<br />
Neon Highway is available bi-annually, with 2 issues costing £5.50, or a single Issue available at £3.00. Order your next issue by sending a cheque made out to Alice Lenkiewicz at 37, Grinshill Close, Liverpool, L8 8LD</div>
Alice Lenkiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04020676166907047838noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4359728548211384456.post-84314756660672131152011-01-09T09:40:00.000-08:002013-05-28T00:44:20.936-07:00READINGS<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<br />
<br />
Curated Events<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Poetry Readings and Guest poets.<br />
<br />
Readings have involved people published in and outside Neon Highway Magazine. The aim being to bring together local as well as guest writers from further afield. <br />
<br />
Readings have taken place throughout a variety of venues around Liverpool such as Central Library in the Hornby Room, 33-45 Club, Bluecoat, The Planetarium and The Walker Art Gallery. Details listed below. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Neon Highway poetry readings<br />
<br />
2010<br />
Journeys: Poetry Reading: Blackburne House:<br />
<br />
<br />
Climate into Change: Fact: Zines. 2009<br />
<br />
<br />
2004<br />
<br />
Thursday July 8th <br />
<br />
Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Matt Fallaize: Featured poet<br />
<br />
Dave Ward<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
<br />
Carole Baldock<br />
<br />
Dam Robinson<br />
<br />
Bruno Darcy<br />
<br />
Eugenie Kelly<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
August Thursday 19th<br />
<br />
Postmodernism and Urban Life <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Bill Griffiths: Featured poet<br />
<br />
Eleanor Reese<br />
<br />
Robert Sheppard<br />
<br />
Scott Thurston<br />
<br />
Andrew Taylor<br />
<br />
Angela Keaton<br />
<br />
Dave Ward<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
September Friday 17th <br />
<br />
Dreams Myth and Magic<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
David Greygoose: featured poet<br />
<br />
Eugenie Kelly<br />
<br />
Eleanor Reese<br />
<br />
Ursula Hurley<br />
<br />
Jane Darcy-Lewis<br />
<br />
Geraldine Green<br />
<br />
Chas Johnson,<br />
<br />
Joan Poulson<br />
<br />
Stazia Lenkiewicz<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thursday October 14th <br />
<br />
Secrets and Diaries<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
John Hall: featured poet<br />
<br />
Robert Sheppard<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
<br />
Jane Darcy Lewis<br />
<br />
Cath Nicols<br />
<br />
Janine Pinion<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sudley House<br />
<br />
A Text Performance by Robert Sheppard.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
An alternative guide to the art collection at Sudley House, Liverpool.<br />
<br />
To be performed in Sudley house itself by the author.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
6th and 12th November 2004<br />
<br />
2pm and 3pm<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Robert will be reading his text performance as a guided tour.<br />
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<br />
<br />
Supported by the Learning Department of National Museums: Hosted by Neon Highway.<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
November Friday 19th <br />
<br />
Journeys Near and Far/Health and identity<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sam Smith: featured poet<br />
<br />
George Wallace: featured poet<br />
<br />
Eugenie Kelly<br />
<br />
Ursula Hurley<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
<br />
Carole Baldock<br />
<br />
Carol Thislethwait<br />
<br />
Dee Mcmahon<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Poetry in the City<br />
<br />
Capital of Culture.<br />
<br />
April 10th, 2005<br />
<br />
Allen Fisher<br />
<br />
Guest Poet<br />
<br />
The Walker Art Gallery<br />
<br />
William Brown Street<br />
<br />
Liverpool<br />
<br />
Room 12<br />
<br />
Poets from the Edge Hill Poetics Research Group will also be reading their work.<br />
Robert Sheppard, Scott Thurston, Angela Keaton, Cliff Yates, Andrew Taylor, Alice Lenkiewicz and Matt Fallaize.<br />
<br />
<br />
2006<br />
Steve Sneyd<br />
The Planetarium<br />
World Museum Liverpool<br />
Saturday 29th April<br />
12-2pm<br />
<br />
<br />
<span id=".reactRoot[23].[1][2][1]{comment10151322357443088_10151325003138088}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[2]" style="background-color: #f1f2f6; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 11.199999809265137px;">2002 Neon Highway Reading Series, Collect Gallery, Liverpool</span><br />
<span id=".reactRoot[23].[1][2][1]{comment10151322357443088_10151325003138088}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[4]" style="background-color: #f1f2f6; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 11.199999809265137px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #f1f2f6; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 11.199999809265137px;">2003 Neon Highway Reading Series, 3345 Club, Liverpool</span><br />
<span id=".reactRoot[23].[1][2][1]{comment10151322357443088_10151325003138088}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[6]" style="background-color: #f1f2f6; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 11.199999809265137px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #f1f2f6; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 11.199999809265137px;">2003 Neon Highway Reading Series, Masque, Liverpool</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Tahoma, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Tahoma, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">2005 Neon Highway Reading Series, Walker Gallery,Liverpool</span><br />
Philip Davenport with Tony Trehy and Ben Gwilliam:<br />
Performances and Versions<br />
A poetry event<br />
at the Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool<br />
Saturday 13th May<br />
2.30pm - 4.30pm<br />
<br />
<br />
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Neon Highway Poetry Magazine presents CRUNCH <br />
Readings from The Fifth Floor<br />
Sunday 25 January 2009, 16.30–17.50<br />
Performance and reading. Jane Marsh (Editor of Neon Highway) and The Public Service Announcer played by Alice Lenkiewicz and Nigel Harrison, read poems influenced by text and thoughts concerning The Wall Street Crash of 1929. Their poems will be a response to artists and their work throughout The Fifth Floor project concerning the credit crunch and present day Liverpool. Listen to poets and writers reading their poems and prose in response to this theme, and musician Duncan Stuart will be performing.<br />
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Performance curated by Alice Lenkiewicz. Music composed by Duncan Stuart. <br />
Performance will take place on the fourth floor as part of International Festival.<br />
Tate Liverpool Fourth floor galleries<br />
Free, no bookings taken<br />
This event is related to the The Fifth Floor: Ideas Taking Space exhibition<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Solo Readings<br />
<br />
Journeys: Blackburne House: 2010<br />
<br />
Manchester Independent Book Market: Lit North West: 2010<br />
<br />
Digital Content Day: 2010<br />
<br />
Hammersmith Ram: Seven Towers Writers: 2010<br />
<br />
Bookclub Boutique: Through the Looking Glass: 2009: London Soho.<br />
<br />
Tate 5th Floor project: Ideas Taking Space: CRUNCH. 2009<br />
<br />
Costa Liverpool Poetry Cafe: 2008<br />
<br />
Everyman Bistro: Dead Good Poets.<br />
<br />
The Rose: Edge Hill<br />
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33-45 Club<br />
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Masque Club<br />
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Hornby Room<br />
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Bluecoat Sandon Room.<br />
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Editor Edit Neon highway <br />
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Writing and Editing industry <br />
<br />
September 2002 – Present (8 years 5 months) <br />
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Description:<br />
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The Avant-garde poetry magazine, 'Neon Highway' is edited by Jane Marsh and Alice Lenkiewicz. Neon Highway was set up in 2002 as a non profit making little poetry/arts magazine. It has since published many talented known and unknown poets.<br />
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<br />
<br />
Neon Highway<br />
<br />
Avant-garde<br />
<br />
Literary journal<br />
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PUBLISHES:<br />
<br />
POETRY and ART<br />
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Neon Highway is available bi-annually, with 2 issues costing £5.50, or a single Issue available at £3.00. Order your next issue by sending a cheque made out to Alice Lenkiewicz at 37, Grinshill Close, Liverpool, L8 8LD</div>
Alice Lenkiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04020676166907047838noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4359728548211384456.post-44903122160261991152011-01-05T06:28:00.000-08:002013-05-28T00:44:45.382-07:00ISSUE: 19<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Contents <br />
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Front cover and artworks by the artist Jacqueline Mckenzie<br />
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<br />
Note from Jane Marsh, assistant editor.<br />
<br />
Page 5-6: Chris Hardy<br />
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Page 7: Harriet E Rose<br />
<br />
Page 9: Leilanie Cesnik<br />
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Page: 10: Carlos Nogueiras<br />
<br />
Page: 11: Noel King<br />
<br />
Page 11- 12 Rabie<br />
<br />
Page 12-13: Geoffrey Godbert<br />
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Page 14: Anne Reese<br />
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Page 15-16: Phil Knight<br />
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Page 17: J.P Christjansen<br />
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Page: 18-19: David Mac<br />
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Page: 19-20: Darren Caffrey<br />
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Page 20-22: L Montauti<br />
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Page 22-23: G David Schwartz <br />
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Page 23: Chris Churchill<br />
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Page 25-27: Scott Laudati<br />
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Page 28: Publications<br />
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Page 29: Submissions<br />
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<em>Note from Jane</em><br />
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Welcome dear readers to our late autumn issue. I do apologise for this late issue. Last year I had a terrible time. My horrible landlord tried to evict me for being behind with my rent. If I have to type up the magazine or try and sort out my situation, well you can understand which choice I have to make. Without my home and without my computer, there is no magazine. But I do so apologise and please do be patient. If you have any enquiries about late submissions or unanswered letters, do keep contacting me until I answer and please do not worry about badgering me. <br />
It seems a long time since I applied my thoughts to poetry. For some time now I have been worrying about my rent. I lagged behind for a while due to the fact I was travelling. My landlord, a certain 'Vinny' as they call him wanted seven weeks rent from me. I had to delay him and told him that it would be fine next month, that he would be paid but intead he sent me an eviction notice. (Nice man). My neighbour opposite is on housing benefit and Vinny wasn't very pleasant to her as he didn't want to wait for her housing benefit to come through even though she showed him the letter with backpay as proof. She has a child and wants to get a place through a housing association but the goverment have changed all that now so it's alot harder. So, it looks like my friend is stuck in her dingy bedsit for the rest of her life unless she comes into alot of money or trains again but even that is hard as the fees are high. Times are becoming harsher my friends. And yes, we cn see what is happening. It's that old, dog eat dog mentality creeping up again, the survival of the fitest and all that rubbish.<br />
<br />
I must admit, I am so bored with success lately. Succesful people bore me. I want to hang around with down and outs, people of the street, loners, dropouts, the homeless. There is a beauty in this kind of exile. I get so bored of people parading their success stories around during these harsh times which is why poetry is still so important because poetry speaks between the lines, poetry is for every person. Don't forget to care and help others my dear friends. And while I write this on 31st October of Halloween, let us spare a thought for those who have very little comfort and whose lives have not gone according to their wishes.<br />
<br />
Blessed be<br />
<br />
<br />
Jane Marsh<br />
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<br />
<strong>Chris Hardy</strong><br />
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<br />
BELLE TOUT<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The cliff top leans<br />
<br />
like the lid<br />
<br />
of a grand piano.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
High up on rising ground<br />
<br />
the air sings<br />
<br />
the note first struck<br />
<br />
when I drew breath,<br />
<br />
that will sound while I am here.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ahead the horizon retreats<br />
<br />
step by step.<br />
<br />
Above it stands<br />
<br />
a trackless blue<br />
<br />
inviting mountain.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The sheer impossible face<br />
<br />
must be accomplished <br />
<br />
in one move,<br />
<br />
to be silent again<br />
<br />
with the unborn.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
BLACK MARSH UNDER CORNDON<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Black hedge- trees drip along the lane,<br />
<br />
cut lines across the hill<br />
<br />
beneath its snow-cap merging<br />
<br />
into a white cold sky<br />
<br />
as we approach Black Marsh<br />
<br />
under Corndon.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A big grey mare hooves stamping down<br />
<br />
between rough grass tussocks<br />
<br />
thick with snow appears<br />
<br />
her eyes are marble yellow globes<br />
<br />
her mouth and soaked hide smoke<br />
<br />
in the perishing wet air.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A driver on the road<br />
<br />
glancing through the gate<br />
<br />
saw us stop then stumble on<br />
<br />
across an empty field<br />
<br />
towards the stones that stand<br />
<br />
above the snow like graves.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<strong>Harriet E Rose</strong><strong></strong><br />
<br />
<br />
GRISELDA – OR THE SECOND COMING<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The microphone exaggerates, spittle on tongue, acid rain.<br />
The Divil has many progeny<br />
Sanctus erectus, his member, large as a bull’s<br />
has been fruitful and multiplied<br />
subduing earth with numbers, rivers of blood,<br />
purple as robes of office, decorated with gold<br />
by that Sun that melts the soul in summer.<br />
The Devil’s spawn are greedy as swarming locusts.<br />
They are consumed by lust.<br />
Each creature has a time.<br />
The prophets of Lucifer have made<br />
a God of Death, Prophets speak in riddles<br />
and aphorisms widely broadcast to any who will listen.<br />
They claim that they can placate Death with worship<br />
and the weapons of destruction.<br />
that nothing there is can be uninvented.<br />
The tigress roars, Blood drips from her mouth.<br />
Blood stains the metal fangs of engines of destruction.<br />
In cap and gown a crocodile of young gradulates<br />
approach the podium each to receive a piece of printed vellum<br />
that will enable them to indoctrinate the following generations<br />
to practise alchemy in laboratories and surgeries,<br />
to lie in courts of law enslaving<br />
their own kind with legislation.<br />
Sun burns their foreheads and souls of feet.<br />
Thunderclouds gather in the east<br />
from where originates all weather and disease.<br />
Then a grey harridan, her body bent double with old age,<br />
begins to hum a Muzak echoed by planets,<br />
millions of transistors joining in. My name’<br />
she announces ‘’ is Griselda’’.<br />
A white acid rises from her forked tongue<br />
becomes a vapour. It cleans away<br />
all signs of age revealing beauty.<br />
She grows in stature till she dwarfs the universe<br />
which with all inhabitants she swallows whole<br />
mouth expanding to the mouth of a cave.<br />
This she calls ‘’THE SECOND COMING’’.<br />
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<strong>Leilanie Cesnik</strong><br />
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<strong>PERCEPTIONS AS TRUTH</strong><br />
<br />
What if the sky was made of Papier-mâché<br />
and the land a giant bathtub<br />
with its stopper in New Zealand?<br />
<br />
And what if the lines of latitude<br />
were rings of wire suspending the paper dome<br />
above the earth?<br />
<br />
What if it's all illusion and we're simply make believe<br />
and our eyes are telling us<br />
what they perceive to be the truth?<br />
<br />
What does it really matter?<br />
What do we even care?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Carlos Nogueiras</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
A Terror Let Loose<br />
<br />
<br />
Men divulge their sadness as proof<br />
That in all endeavour there is<br />
<br />
An attempt to get across<br />
A terror let loose,<br />
<br />
And if time cannot be relied upon<br />
As a measurement of talent<br />
<br />
Then destiny must surely be a fluke.<br />
All caution thrown to the wind<br />
<br />
Should we die in a tailspin,<br />
Yet for those who live long<br />
<br />
A kindness in old age,<br />
For a battering awaits them<br />
<br />
In the world beyond.<br />
The longer you live - the more karma<br />
<br />
To your name, and don't tell me<br />
You think yourself strong.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<strong>Noel King</strong><br />
<br />
Lemons in History<br />
<br />
Yellow is this mother's colour. She sees<br />
lemons on branches of a tree bending<br />
in gentle winds, a tree that bottoms her garden.<br />
But oranges are the more normal orifice<br />
of her routine. She squashes eight to her family<br />
every morning with an electric squeezer.<br />
Her mother did it by hand while her father<br />
made porridge; her own children eat Ready Brek.<br />
<br />
There must be <em>something, </em>perhaps a meaning<br />
in Greek Mythology? For now we squeeze away<br />
onto foods, tongues, while less cultured families<br />
buy processed lemon juice in plastic lemons.<em> </em><br />
<br />
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<br />
<strong>Rabi</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
Shades of Love<br />
<br />
<br />
winter skies tremble<br />
‘never leave I beg you’<br />
<br />
<br />
The wood nymph sneers sadly<br />
‘It is our calling to ensnare the issue of Adam<br />
and over the centuries I have ruined myriads of men.<br />
Why should I feel any differently about you?<br />
<br />
I gurgle like a baby<br />
‘witch-demon I love you,<br />
left everything because you love me.<br />
I know it and so do you.’<br />
<br />
Now the temptress sobs and unfolds<br />
wings feathered with green leaves<br />
like thumbnails, her sighs hollow as a bell,<br />
‘Then I must leave you for a while<br />
to return to my master.<br />
A year is but a day in our time<br />
so wait and I will send you word.’<br />
<br />
Twelve months pass like<br />
a slow slow drive behind a tractor<br />
on a winding country lane.<br />
<br />
I sip autumnal wine in my rose garden,<br />
thoughts of her promise<br />
‘I will send you word’<br />
<br />
And as I muse<br />
a leaf like a thumbnail<br />
drops into my glass,<br />
floats on my drink –<br />
<br />
so brown and twisted<br />
how it curls<br />
like a sigh.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Geoffrey Godbert</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
IL SISTEMA PERIODICO<br />
<br />
<em>In memory of Primo Levi</em><br />
<br />
I’ve just been breathing to see<br />
what happens tenderly<br />
delicately violently:<br />
a touch of strangeness, a drop<br />
of this or that, otherwise<br />
it wouldn’t work, it couldn’t protect<br />
and so give rise to change<br />
<br />
generate life, diversity<br />
in a grain of salt<br />
of what is needed<br />
from the hidden order<br />
what naturally makes<br />
the natural world<br />
<br />
suddenly and best of all<br />
in one’s own surprised life<br />
even for a second or so<br />
is quite long enough<br />
<br />
so we can pass through infancy<br />
we can pass through adolescence<br />
scenes of daily life, survival,<br />
metaphorical experiments<br />
to see what happens next<br />
<br />
which makes a story <br />
of which all the peoples are composed<br />
even in foreign languages<br />
as each make their own detections<br />
<br />
just as I shall make my own<br />
investigations, too,<br />
into what is worth discovering<br />
<br />
and so begin my own enquiries<br />
into everyone<br />
and everyone’s discoveries<br />
for as long as life allows.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Anne Rees<br />
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<br />
MOMENTO MORI SADIE<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The sun’s still golden but it’s local<br />
to sheltered corners, hazy white middays.<br />
at dawn, at sunset, sharp cold draughts of air<br />
blow through frayed leaves and spiders’ webs<br />
winter is coming near down its freezing corridor.<br />
<br />
The first anniversary of your death presages<br />
evaporating golds, scaffolds revealed behind motheaten fabrics<br />
gardens yawning illimitably to let in frosts and darkness.<br />
Nothing I can say can stop it, our shadows fade just like<br />
our deaths sewn to our heels, flickering greyly over sunny brick.<br />
<br />
Overhead at night wide wings beat, musical trumpetings<br />
ring out as wild geese flee the Arctic tundra<br />
daring depths of raging autumn air to reach the reservoirs.<br />
Branches may snatch their rags, we may clutch coats<br />
but wild geese expose warm feathers to cold searching night <br />
<br />
like warriors, like Valkyries, they called, your brave soul went in faith<br />
that God would not obliterate such courage. Wild geese are harbingers<br />
of the terror in my heart in this dark borough, the wilderness<br />
wormholing town hall and glowing pubs, people are getting ill<br />
and dying all the time beneath this crust of brick and tile.<br />
<br />
Jolly voices cry out on Capital FM, we can’t kid ourselves, no - one is safe,<br />
wild geese cry out for death, for glory and Valhalla! Death!<br />
<br />
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<br />
<strong>Phil Knight</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>HOW CULHWCH WON OLWEN</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Before you can take as a bride my daughter the fair Olwen<br />
She of the short dresses and golden thighs,<br />
you must perform certain tasks to convince me of your worth”<br />
said Ysbaddaden Chief Man of all the Giants of Wales”.<br />
<br />
“Ask for any service I shall perform it,<br />
ask for any gift and it shall be yours”<br />
said Culhwch the Hero, friend of good men.<br />
<br />
“A flock of seagulls has take up residence in my beard<br />
and their fighting and squawking gives me no peace to sleep<br />
therefore I ask you to bring me a comb”.<br />
<br />
“I can do that” said the Hero.<br />
<br />
“Not so fast young man, not any comb will do for my beard<br />
I require the comb that lies between the ears of Reg<br />
the Red Boar of the Rhondda, who belches fire<br />
and farts clouds of mustard gas”.<br />
<br />
“No problem it will be easy for me,<br />
though you think otherwise”.<br />
<br />
The Giant then reeled off a list of other fabulous creatures<br />
that needed putting down, including eight dragons,<br />
seven flying Lyons, six huge snakes, five Unicorns<br />
one of them a Cyborg armed with a chain-saw and a giant<br />
evil talking Octopus called Bob.<br />
<br />
Each time the Hero replied “No problem,<br />
It will be easy for me though you think otherwise”.<br />
<br />
The Giant then demanded a large a number of rare and magical items<br />
Including the Lost Ark of the Covenant, the Holy Grail<br />
the sword Excalibur and a whole host of singing harps<br />
and other such knickknacks, regarding items of more recent origin<br />
the Giant said “ can you bring me the time travelling bicycle<br />
of H G Wells, the braces of T S Eliot, Ezra Pound’s corduroy trousers,<br />
the eighteen straight whiskeys that killed Dylan Thomas<br />
and the knockers of Jordan, but remember I want them alive<br />
such harsh critics I will kill with my own hands”.<br />
<br />
In each case our Hero answered “No problem<br />
it will be easy for me though you think otherwise”.<br />
<br />
“Lastly I require that you obtain the Social Conscience<br />
of David Cameron, it will be the glory and pride of my collection”.<br />
<br />
“Ah” said the Hero “that will be a problem<br />
according to Boris Johnson it is already lost”.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<strong>J.P CHRISTJANSEN</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
QUEEN OF THE NIGHT<br />
<br />
<br />
Queen Of the Night,<br />
<br />
with long black hair and lips of red<br />
would be waiting in the shadow of guilt<br />
hiding to others seeking the dark mistress<br />
of secret lustful hearts deceiving their wives<br />
resting and expecting child and telling them<br />
“please don’t be late!”<br />
as into the twilight they steal with just-less plans<br />
and I find the shadow where she waits<br />
to take me into her arms for the opening kiss<br />
confirming the whispered promises of the one<br />
who naked under the moon locks me tight<br />
with legs pulling me up inside her womb<br />
where I find my ancient primitive self<br />
shipped of all senses but the spelling one<br />
cast on my loins by the Queen of the Night<br />
who out from the shadow of guilt once stepped <br />
to show me her long black hair and painted red lips<br />
contorted in a smile of irresistible seduction<br />
making me deaf to please of “please don’t be late!”…<br />
<br />
words which haunt in the tired moon<br />
and neons shutting down.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
David Mac<br />
<br />
<br />
Do Another Day<br />
<br />
<br />
Night. Strange blue coming in,<br />
my wild head eating up thoughts,<br />
the clock’s noose around my neck.<br />
<br />
And there’s a large number of sheep in this tomb,<br />
about 2 per second,<br />
for hours now.<br />
<br />
There’s a thick panic when I discover birdsong:<br />
It’s early it’s late,<br />
It’s morning it’s night.<br />
<br />
Perhaps a drink will soften the blow<br />
as the quick hours fall<br />
away into the dawn<br />
<br />
Get up and get to work, sad life,<br />
know the poet’s<br />
the lowest paid creature in humanity.<br />
<br />
But still, as an alligator caked in cool mud,<br />
eyes flicker<br />
at the thought of the world.<br />
<br />
With an alarming sound, I get up,<br />
Into the universe.<br />
I drift into the sun,<br />
<br />
where I harden<br />
ripen,<br />
and burn.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Darren Caffrey<br />
<br />
<em>Idea for a dream…..Scene 2</em><br />
<br />
<br />
would there be a cage between the body – shaken leaves – oddly falling into piles -<br />
structures that make it easier – I can hear the wind through a whistle – I cannot see much<br />
<br />
more – and mistakenly begin to run – told – tiresome to a voice – when a mad dog cuts the<br />
silence – foot stopped into heart – looking over – toward the meaning of a sun – on the rise<br />
-one or two are pounding the tarmac – cannot run forever – one more flight in brief – off –<br />
where music keys into - how – and they are coming – the felt of lightening iron – a cast of<br />
oranged beacon – tables turned by a dream – too cold to hear my own – beneath the<br />
gorgeousness – fires – and blood a distinction to remember me –ready by the mouths –<br />
cornered into a V – carried up – and taking nothing – to imagine – bedlam of a beginning –<br />
tell them again what you have seen – and the light falls – by your side<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
L Montauti<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Sleep</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The invasion of flesh<br />
<br />
awaking in the night<br />
<br />
to find someone’s already inside.<br />
<br />
No question, no request?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I wake to feel<br />
<br />
the push and change.<br />
<br />
The atmosphere<br />
<br />
screams my shock,<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I lie still<br />
<br />
wondering if you’re awake too?<br />
<br />
Do you even know<br />
<br />
the damage you are causing?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
This sleepy satisfaction you seek,<br />
<br />
is it me you want?<br />
<br />
Is this pain worth the virtue<br />
<br />
you destroy?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The conversation,<br />
<br />
the heart beat you corrupt<br />
<br />
The kisses you disease<br />
<br />
the promises you broke,<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the pain relief<br />
<br />
that love promises<br />
<br />
occurs only in the <br />
<br />
Honeymoon period.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The pain it creates<br />
<br />
punishes again and again.<br />
<br />
The confusion it portrays<br />
<br />
Is implausible to any man.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The abuse of respect<br />
<br />
the unexplainable;<br />
<br />
the indignity;<br />
<br />
the unstoppable;<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
To wake and feel invasion<br />
<br />
to see with eyes open,<br />
<br />
to look upon<br />
<br />
broken trust.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><strong>G David Schwartz</strong> </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Come Cry In My Arms <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Come and cry in my arms<br />
Just be close to me <br />
I need to be close to you<br />
You are all I want to see<br />
If you think you need<br />
Come crying in my arms<br />
Never go away again<br />
Just stay in my arms<br />
I have always loved you <br />
With a touch of respects<br />
Loved you past trust<br />
And sung to my neck <br />
So strep up into my arms<br />
If that’s what you need<br />
And soon or later <br />
We’ll get up to speed <br />
So come and be in my deep thoughts<br />
Let’s make shards ad water bots<br />
And let us sing between <br />
The yellow and the green <br />
And with you in my arms <br />
Life will take on reason<br />
Once again this session <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Chris Churchill</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
This Imperfect Love<br />
<br />
<br />
What are these words I hear you speak<br />
This story you have layed before me<br />
Please tell me I sleep<br />
For I cannot bare this to be reality<br />
<br />
I would tear off my ears, wash my eyes, destroy <br />
all senses if it left me blissfully unaware of this truth.<br />
<br />
This truth which haunted my dreams, and would have plagued my thoughts if I had known <br />
it was to become an eventuality.<br />
<br />
There is nowhere to hide, no open arms to run into, as the man whome I entrusted,<br />
whome unleashed this terrible fate, is not there,<br />
as he has polluted this imperfect love and now a stranger stands before me, for the man<br />
I once knew is gone.<br />
<br />
I hold many questions, to which I could not hear the answers, for the thought, which<br />
excludes elaboration is painfull enough.<br />
<br />
It is no longer a nightmare, for it is now an intoxicating memory, a wound cut so deep <br />
into my very soul.<br />
To which I cannot nuture with my hands, I hold no anesthetic, and I prey time will<br />
bring back my sanity.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Scott Laudati</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
From Here to LA<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
we drove from here to LA<br />
<br />
in total silence<br />
<br />
because Ace Enders,<br />
<br />
said we should.<br />
<br />
of course he talked,<br />
<br />
for hours<br />
<br />
actually he just screamed<br />
<br />
and he did it for hours,<br />
<br />
into a cell phone<br />
<br />
as he paced around the trailer<br />
<br />
in the parking lot of every gas station<br />
<br />
from here to LA<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
he wrote his best songs at his worst.<br />
<br />
after the phone calls <br />
<br />
with his soul mate,<br />
<br />
the women never understand <br />
<br />
the artist,<br />
<br />
but if she didn’t tear him apart<br />
<br />
he never would’ve written those songs<br />
<br />
and I wouldn’t have fallen asleep each night<br />
<br />
listening to him finger the guitar strings<br />
<br />
and singing about the love he would see<br />
<br />
when we finally sold enough merch<br />
<br />
to fly her<br />
<br />
from here to LA<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
his hair grew long<br />
<br />
(he was the converse wearing allstar)<br />
<br />
he grew out his beard<br />
<br />
(mad whiskers on a mad dog)<br />
<br />
somewhere between Wind Gap and Winnemucca<br />
<br />
we became a tribe,<br />
<br />
and Ace<br />
<br />
wore the feathered headdress.<br />
<br />
it was never spoken of,<br />
<br />
never decided,<br />
<br />
but he was the man for that place<br />
<br />
and time,<br />
<br />
and the other bands knew it too.<br />
<br />
we weren’t the headliners<br />
<br />
and we didn’t draw the biggest crowds,<br />
<br />
but the other bands hushed<br />
<br />
when Ace walked into the room,<br />
<br />
we all knew we were treading <br />
<br />
with a real songwriter.<br />
<br />
but HE DIDN’T KNOW IT,<br />
<br />
would never accept it,<br />
<br />
and I watched him go mad<br />
<br />
trying to write<br />
<br />
The Book of Love,<br />
<br />
and recite it every night<br />
<br />
to the girl on the cell phone.<br />
<br />
in every parking lot<br />
<br />
every gas station<br />
<br />
every motel<br />
<br />
from here to LA<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
half the band watched<br />
<br />
the karate kid on repeat,<br />
<br />
the rest of us read road novels<br />
<br />
and listened to Wilco,<br />
<br />
but not Ace!<br />
<br />
he just stared<br />
<br />
and occasionally would jump up and scream<br />
<br />
until his face got hot and red<br />
<br />
and then he’d quiet down<br />
<br />
and start staring again.<br />
<br />
in portland <br />
<br />
Ace and I jockeyed across the city<br />
<br />
to find a post office.<br />
<br />
the mental institution had just run our of funds<br />
<br />
and all the crazies were living on the streets,<br />
<br />
one grabbed Ace’s shirt<br />
<br />
and like a zoo animal does when you catch it staring at you,<br />
<br />
he looked right into Ace’s soul,<br />
<br />
and said, “I know what you did.”<br />
<br />
I knew<br />
<br />
that he knew<br />
<br />
whatever it was,<br />
<br />
no matter how nuts the bum was,<br />
<br />
that he really knew<br />
<br />
what Ace had done,<br />
<br />
even if I didn’t know Ace had ever done anything.<br />
<br />
Ace asked me if I though the bum knew what he did.<br />
<br />
I didn’t ask what he had done, but said that the bum probably did,<br />
<br />
but Ace liked attention,<br />
<br />
and asked everyone this question<br />
<br />
from there to LA<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
they called him a mad genius<br />
<br />
they called him a crazy artist<br />
<br />
they called him a possessed songwriter<br />
<br />
I’m not really sure of any of those things,<br />
<br />
because it took a woman to make him crazy<br />
<br />
and a country to drive him insane,<br />
<br />
but on monday most people still have to get up and<br />
<br />
go to work.<br />
<br />
I do know that all it takes to make a beautiful brain crumble,<br />
<br />
is a woman <br />
<br />
pushing the ‘ignore’ button <br />
<br />
on the other end of the cell phone.<br />
<br />
and it can happen in less time<br />
<br />
then it takes,<br />
<br />
to drive from here to LA<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong><u>Publications</u></strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Review of The Given in<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.handandstar.co.uk/">http://www.handandstar.co.uk/</a><br />
<br />
It's the ezine of Penned in the Margins, run by Tom Chivers.<br />
Read the early fictional poems of Rene Van Valckenborch at<br />
<a href="http://adirondackreview.homestead.com/VanValckenborch.html">http://adirondackreview.homestead.com/VanValckenborch.html</a><br />
Follow his fictional twitter trickle at<br />
<a href="http://twitter.com/VanValckenborch">http://twitter.com/VanValckenborch</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
www.parra-art.com<br />
<br />
http://parra-art.com/images/stories/92ndFusion.pdf <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
REM magazine<br />
<br />
http://remmagazine.net/<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Nutshell Magazine<br />
<br />
http://www.nutshellmagazine.com/<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A C Evans<br />
<br />
Twilight of The Avant Garde<br />
<br />
http://ac-cygnusx.blogspot.com/<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Selby’s List<br />
<br />
http://www.selbyslist.com/<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Small Press Scene<br />
<br />
http://www.poetrymagazines.org.uk/<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Pages<br />
<br />
http://www.robertsheppard.blogspot.com/<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Reality Street<br />
<br />
http://www.realitystreet.co.uk/<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Neon Highway Poetry Magazine is edited by Jane Marsh and Alice Lenkiewicz. Neon Highway was set up in 2002 as a non- profit making little poetry/arts magazine<br />
<br />
Neon Highway (ISSN: 1476-9867)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Avant-garde<br />
<br />
Literary journal<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
PUBLISHES:<br />
<br />
POETRY and ART<br />
<br />
Neon Highway is available bi-annually, with 2 issues costing £5.50, or a single Issue available at £3.00. Order your next issue by sending a cheque made out to Alice Lenkiewicz at 37, Grinshill Close, Liverpool, L8 8LD<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Submissions<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
We prefer to receive work by snail-mail. Sometimes email is useful if your work format is 'experimental' or you have images and of course if you are abroad. For these reasons, email submissions will be accepted. On a general level, email submissions will only be read if we have time to, as we prefer to receive your works in the post. Please do not forget to enclose a sae for returns and replies.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Follow us on http://neon-highway.blogspot.com/<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Alice Lenkiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04020676166907047838noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4359728548211384456.post-84074662002619531132011-01-04T16:43:00.000-08:002013-05-28T01:00:39.296-07:00ISSUE: 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<br />
May 2002<br />
Contributors in this issue are:<br />
<br />
Allen Fisher<br />
<br />
Active as a poet since 1967, Allen Fisher has worked as printer and painter (examples of his Fluxus work are in the Tate Gallery collection) and as editor of Spanner magazine and books. After a considerable period in London (the mainspring of his Place sequence 1974-1981), he moved to Hereford, where he teaches at Hereford College of Art. His work includes Brixton Fractals (Aloes 1985), Unpolished Mirrors (Reality studios 1986), Stepping Out (Pig Press) 1989), Dispossession and Cure (Reality Street 1994), and Breadboard (Spanner 1995).<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Scott Thurston<br />
<br />
Scott Thurston's publications include Poems Nov 89 - Jun 91 (1991),<br />
<br />
Stateswalks (1994) (both Writers Forum) and Two Sequences (RWC, 1998). He also appeared in Sleight of Foot (Reality Street, 1996). He has just completed a Ph.D thesis on British Linguistically Innovative Poetry and Poetics. He currently edits the poetics journal The Radiator.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Colin Harris<br />
<br />
Colin Harris was born and raised on the Wirral. He writes fiction and poetry, as well as tinkering with songwriting. He is currently studying his MA in writing studies at Edgehill.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Alan Halsey<br />
<br />
Born in Croydon, Halsey ran The Poetry Bookshop in Hay-on-Wye 1979-97, a key source for British and American small press material. He runs West House Books, and has published papers on David Jones and Thomas Lovell Beddoes. He now lives in Sheffield. His books include Perspectives on the Reach (Galloping Dog 1981), Auto Dada Café (Five Seasons 1987), Five Years Out( Galloping Dog Press 1989), Reasonable Distance (Equipage 1992), and A Robin Hood Book (West House 1996). <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Andrew Taylor<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Andrew Taylor is poet-in-residence at Liverpool Architecture and Design Trust (www.ladt.org.uk) and is currently researching the role that locality <br />
<br />
plays in poetry for his PhD. His work has appeared nationally and locally, <br />
<br />
in print and on the air waves.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Contents<br />
<br />
<br />
1. Allen Fisher- Vole (p.1)<br />
<br />
2. Colin Harris- Father / Dead Language (p.8/p.9)<br />
<br />
3. Alan Halsey- Visual Art <br />
<br />
4. Scott Thurston- The Child’s Ear Place (p.10) <br />
<br />
5. Andrew Taylor- Deoua- (p.22)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Allen Fisher<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
1.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
There was once a town...<br />
<br />
the intellectual reality <br />
<br />
of a root-tree<br />
<br />
where life seemed <br />
<br />
a strange blight<br />
<br />
in binary logic harmony <br />
<br />
with its surroundings<br />
<br />
a syntagmatic model<br />
<br />
disrupted the idea of garden<br />
<br />
a city street<br />
<br />
criteria exacted as reportability<br />
<br />
without coherent row<br />
<br />
shred-multiplies assumption.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A burglar hastens to disorder, <br />
<br />
a self-condemning look, <br />
<br />
arrested at a touch dock. <br />
<br />
Fugitive! <br />
<br />
no baggage ... no friends accompany adieux<br />
<br />
simply moths and rust <br />
<br />
in the midst of Paradise, Good night <br />
<br />
several times descended by way of a trap-door, <br />
<br />
announces opening of <br />
<br />
a pocket filled with gunpowder<br />
<br />
charged with laudanum<br />
<br />
“In no Paradise myself, <br />
<br />
I am impatient of all misery<br />
<br />
without madness, how does she do it<br />
<br />
without the spin of a shroud out of herself?<br />
<br />
Get these traps out of sight.<br />
<br />
The meeting of hands, eyes fastened,<br />
<br />
tears the glue,<br />
<br />
a foolproof test to distinguish truth <br />
<br />
from falsehood, probability is enough,<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
things have to get done.<br />
<br />
Paradise becomes a<br />
<br />
private area <br />
<br />
beyond the control of law or public opinion. <br />
<br />
Enjoyment of activity enslaves<br />
<br />
but no action binds the self, <br />
<br />
in its multiplicity its freedom.<br />
<br />
Free will, like a plowing neighbour,<br />
<br />
needs the distinction between <br />
<br />
good and bad, a blacksmith maintains,<br />
<br />
welds to the notion of cause <br />
<br />
a because, in relation to moral action,<br />
<br />
an acquired responsibility<br />
<br />
that demands<br />
<br />
accountable spacetime.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
2.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Blacksmith knows she must do something, <br />
<br />
knows she can<br />
<br />
because she comprehends her freedom<br />
<br />
without need to cohere it.<br />
<br />
She feels obliged from a law which she legislates.<br />
<br />
“My need for dignity need not <br />
<br />
derive from reason. I choose its being.”<br />
<br />
She at least hopes for the possibility <br />
<br />
of improvement, stands<br />
<br />
in the garden and proposes a pond.<br />
<br />
It is a moment of coherence and hiatus<br />
<br />
that postulates connection<br />
<br />
and change<br />
<br />
where contract<br />
<br />
between individual and common good<br />
<br />
becomes necessity<br />
<br />
in a knowledge of alternatives. <br />
<br />
Her freedom signals a position to shape <br />
<br />
the character of where she digs.<br />
<br />
She brings compatibility without strain<br />
<br />
to cohere or call forth an angel,<br />
<br />
free to have the will she wants,<br />
<br />
wants a civitas.<br />
<br />
The demand is for reference <br />
<br />
to the welfare of the community<br />
<br />
merged in a joint stock company of <br />
<br />
freedom and determinism.<br />
<br />
A shrill of echoing distinctions<br />
<br />
speed up<br />
<br />
not completely under the control of another<br />
<br />
able to care for each other and whose welfare <br />
<br />
depends on each other’s freely chosen action <br />
<br />
constitute a good before the door bangs.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Blacksmith achieves freedom, <br />
<br />
self-determination,<br />
<br />
articulates her being as part of nature,<br />
<br />
an enhanced self-understanding,<br />
<br />
without reduction to sensible spontaneity. <br />
<br />
She dredges her humanity to distinguish<br />
<br />
the useful from the proven.<br />
<br />
The duration wherein she acts<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
becomes a duration wherein her states <br />
<br />
melt into each other. <br />
<br />
The intimate nature of this action<br />
<br />
becomes a discussion of human freedom,<br />
<br />
oh yeah, hold on!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
3. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Moorman uses nonlinear analysis<br />
<br />
to examine recorded succession<br />
<br />
compares this with dynamics parameterised <br />
<br />
with field data predicts an agitation that resembles <br />
<br />
observation of boreal rodent populations.<br />
<br />
This appparency of mutual chaos<br />
<br />
consists with the results of<br />
<br />
the analysis of directed succession.<br />
<br />
The amplitude of the Moorman’s observed<br />
<br />
vole flucuations somewhat greater than, <br />
<br />
stochasticly interrupted, that predicted.<br />
<br />
Hold on!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Each object’s information demands <br />
<br />
deaccession, broken egg shells <br />
<br />
to analyse connection residues between<br />
<br />
pesticides and eggshell thinning.<br />
<br />
Regardless of the angle of incidence<br />
<br />
a particle leaves in a vertical direction<br />
<br />
slowed eventually turned down <br />
<br />
by gravity above limited in motion <br />
<br />
by a mirror beneath trapped<br />
<br />
in stepped increases<br />
<br />
jumped from a moment of austerity –<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
daisies on the lawn<br />
<br />
illuminate a row <br />
<br />
of new crocus shoots<br />
<br />
wishing you the compliments<br />
<br />
recovers a sense<br />
<br />
of the coming season<br />
<br />
Intelligible freedom versus forgery <br />
<br />
to discard perfection<br />
<br />
and account for responsibility <br />
<br />
in place of composition<br />
<br />
demands justice <br />
<br />
spellbound at recollection<br />
<br />
speaks of “equal rights” <br />
<br />
an accessory of it<br />
<br />
wants to get away<br />
<br />
has not yet superiority<br />
<br />
or numbness irresponsible and <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
no business<br />
<br />
the menagerie a gravitational <br />
<br />
privilege of not being<br />
<br />
or an automaton centre within itself<br />
<br />
demanding peripheral intelligence<br />
<br />
that iron bars can be profitable<br />
<br />
animal-trainers not afraid <br />
<br />
of terrible means is presupposition<br />
<br />
“freedom” at the risk of choosing wrongly<br />
<br />
a picture of the world in which<br />
<br />
a critique of morality<br />
<br />
frees functions of first insight<br />
<br />
juxtaposes multiplicity<br />
<br />
a geographical relativity<br />
<br />
of judgements against obligation,<br />
<br />
eyes leaning on the tv whilst reading<br />
<br />
against legality, against the compulsion to<br />
<br />
happiness a consequence of rodent<br />
<br />
fitness the result of self-direction<br />
<br />
the drive called resistance the measure<br />
<br />
of freedom as positive capital<br />
<br />
the degree of power<br />
<br />
that the one or the other should exercise<br />
<br />
experiment in self-overcoming<br />
<br />
emergence to exceptional actions<br />
<br />
a positive hesitantly achieved, terrible as fake<br />
<br />
to prevent a governed whole <br />
<br />
And to what end <br />
<br />
raised and trained? <br />
<br />
The urge to self-sufficiency, <br />
<br />
simplifies, distinguishes, <br />
<br />
make unambiguous<br />
<br />
a preference for surface beavers.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
4. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Actions are partly indeterminate to <br />
<br />
which becoming clings to distinct moments, condensed <br />
<br />
matter digested into movements of <br />
<br />
response passed through the meshes <br />
<br />
of natural necessity, free from the particular <br />
<br />
rhythm which grades the flow in such a <br />
<br />
way that sensible qualities, in memory-perception, <br />
<br />
particulate aspects of a successive reality.<br />
<br />
You’d expect our willings were<br />
<br />
“more <br />
<br />
obstinate<br />
<br />
by being oppos’d”<br />
<br />
as if spacetime<br />
<br />
dominated the proceeds<br />
<br />
of search because<br />
<br />
each occasion<br />
<br />
is first of all<br />
<br />
a search for truth, a<br />
<br />
premeditated decision<br />
<br />
in advance of the good<br />
<br />
oblivious to<br />
<br />
truth’s implicit nostalgia<br />
<br />
Beneath a sewer<br />
<br />
live kids discuss<br />
<br />
potential of<br />
<br />
matches of moving visual media<br />
<br />
with performance of text<br />
<br />
misread into their own gullibility<br />
<br />
dismissal of community use<br />
<br />
in a pretence of its celebration. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
They watch the collision again<br />
<br />
and watch account of is repetition<br />
<br />
in a pie chart, a Boltzmann truth<br />
<br />
a prediction of text before it is read<br />
<br />
eyes glue balled in a rodent sharpness<br />
<br />
quicker than fox call<br />
<br />
with less smell and wile<br />
<br />
in which self-destruct is<br />
<br />
superceded or given narrative<br />
<br />
intention, rows of calculated pronouns<br />
<br />
and implicit actions, forward<br />
<br />
or more cunning<br />
<br />
surprised around the corner<br />
<br />
by every spelling era<br />
<br />
every swing of the camera <br />
<br />
in mobile seat tracks<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
on the motorway on the<br />
<br />
video belt off limits<br />
<br />
voice of a stomach pump<br />
<br />
dialectic coherence, bless them,<br />
<br />
The marked distinction between light as substance<br />
<br />
and degrees of freedom remains but he<br />
<br />
does not remember this threshold opposition <br />
<br />
of the inextended and extended notions<br />
<br />
of freedom intimately organised with necessity.<br />
<br />
What the Burglar takes from substance<br />
<br />
the perceptions on which it feeds they become <br />
<br />
movements flick in and away nietzsche’d<br />
<br />
in revelations or mistakes steeped with <br />
<br />
expectations of a future freedom. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Colin Harris</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Father<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
new life<br />
<br />
old life<br />
<br />
i do what i need to survive<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the phone<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
i loved her once<br />
<br />
people change<br />
<br />
i changed<br />
<br />
and changed her<br />
<br />
it’s all done now<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
children<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I love<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Whatever anyone thinks, I love<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Colin Harris<br />
January 2001<br />
<br />
Dead Language<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Scott Thurston<br />
<br />
<br />
THE CHILD’S EAR PLACE<br />
<br />
A writing-through of the novels Ambiguous Adventure (1962) by Cheikh Hamidou Kane and Weep Not Child (1964) by Ngugi Wa Thiong’o<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the child’s ear place already healed<br />
<br />
trying to recite my verse correctly<br />
<br />
accurate in repeating the flashing <br />
<br />
sentence this word was not like<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
mastering completely the smallest<br />
<br />
measure instant eyes lowered<br />
<br />
to tablet some steps rectified<br />
<br />
my error gave me attentiveness<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
over and over the text restored<br />
<br />
the morning at a sign now seen<br />
<br />
in profile periodically edified<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(10)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
now refused pressure to commit<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
filing into the cabin for long<br />
<br />
periods the chief rose at verse<br />
<br />
topics caught at intervals<br />
<br />
with my finger and said<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
in another year that road produces<br />
<br />
a pause at the proper prepared<br />
<br />
age taking classical possession<br />
<br />
of me<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
this man who dominated obeyed<br />
<br />
the directions of stature<br />
<br />
with his own hands as if<br />
<br />
pain were not visibly present<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
when the hour arrived at the<br />
<br />
level of fashion the aroused mood<br />
<br />
left me remaining serious<br />
<br />
held back towards the east<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
my will is better completely<br />
<br />
bound restored with recourse<br />
<br />
on essential points once more<br />
<br />
the solid ground of mutual<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(11)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
am I a landmark sufficiently<br />
<br />
furrowed under my stable so<br />
<br />
the authority trembles you<br />
<br />
are that also<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the absence of weight gives use<br />
<br />
of arms to add another word<br />
<br />
long drawn out tone changed<br />
<br />
rose in the scale brief<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
something multiplies the beatings<br />
<br />
composing themselves conquered<br />
<br />
invisible and imperious disorder<br />
<br />
organised appeased rebellion mornings<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
of resentment resound with songs<br />
<br />
neither of them wants the other<br />
<br />
imposing the necessity of sitting<br />
<br />
where its necessity has landed<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
several seconds same movement<br />
<br />
already acquainted with a motion<br />
<br />
clear around streets of white marl<br />
<br />
red sand milky euphorbia<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(12)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
lay straight ahead out flat at<br />
<br />
nape neck seated setting dyed<br />
<br />
passage basalt muscle riveted<br />
<br />
spoken for the sake of saying<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I had begun at once to think<br />
<br />
of rising to envisage cruelties<br />
<br />
of the same order these reasons<br />
<br />
pulled the fold over my finger<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
to draw the measure on hearth<br />
<br />
mimicry of original colours<br />
<br />
to associate itself with<br />
<br />
delicate weight evidence<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
but at the same time it exiles <br />
<br />
you here more and more slow<br />
<br />
invasion of garment decisions<br />
<br />
the hand which acts the succession<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(13)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
of numbers in all senses without<br />
<br />
limits is short and plain nothing<br />
<br />
more easily can be said no more<br />
<br />
reason to say this <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
preserve it hence work is strict<br />
<br />
full littleness compelled to part<br />
<br />
between the inverted assurance of<br />
<br />
banner and wind<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
everything will depend on a <br />
<br />
courier captured at the end of<br />
<br />
the itinerary reef reference<br />
<br />
at disposal had this choice<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(14)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
II<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
on my body for the first time<br />
<br />
I am being trained to be a modern<br />
<br />
white man to go and disturb<br />
<br />
the other young men and women<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
they wanted to hear stories<br />
<br />
together in the same place<br />
<br />
showing their new clothes<br />
<br />
starting to read and write<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
you had been there out<br />
<br />
in the courtyard a number of times<br />
<br />
around the whole compound always <br />
<br />
curious to know what the inside looked like<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
that was used for all the forming<br />
<br />
part of the day’s proceedings<br />
<br />
which in turn caused the long grace<br />
<br />
to be cut short<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(15)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I very rarely alluded to the <br />
<br />
actual fighting very much we<br />
<br />
all behaved as if it were a very<br />
<br />
popular place<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the habit was observed and accepted<br />
<br />
by all but sometimes just<br />
<br />
taking anything you’re given not<br />
<br />
wishing to appear ignorant<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
why don’t you start to<br />
<br />
retaliate you always asked <br />
<br />
you thought the end of all living<br />
<br />
was the very best a boy could have<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
don’t pretend you don’t know the <br />
<br />
answer can’t you see<br />
<br />
what I am doing is important<br />
<br />
I could be rich<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(16)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
annoyed with myself at my poor showing<br />
<br />
I could now be heard trying to <br />
<br />
re-establish myself by telling them<br />
<br />
what they ought to have answered<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
why didn’t I speak up when<br />
<br />
she was here singing the answer<br />
<br />
what would I feel if I touched<br />
<br />
her when she entered<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
sometimes men came to see my father<br />
<br />
as the centre of everything as long<br />
<br />
as he lived nothing could go wrong<br />
<br />
putting implicit faith in him<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
they talked about affairs of the talks<br />
<br />
felt intimate with this man <br />
<br />
sure that they had read him<br />
<br />
it was obvious<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I wanted an assurance a foretaste <br />
<br />
of the future before it came I<br />
<br />
could do the same thing now<br />
<br />
seriously and quietly<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(17)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I was still listening when I<br />
<br />
fell asleep from defeat and exhaustion<br />
<br />
the people gathered there<br />
<br />
could not applaud<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
it fixed me to the ground<br />
<br />
the images around transformed<br />
<br />
from something grey to blue <br />
<br />
and then to total black<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I cleared my eyes the black<br />
<br />
remained there now approaching<br />
<br />
and then I saw I was now<br />
<br />
speaking in a loud voice<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
everyone listened to me in silence<br />
<br />
but something unusual happened<br />
<br />
to me for one single moment<br />
<br />
I crystallized into a concrete<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(18)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
physical personification of the platform<br />
<br />
while everyone watched<br />
<br />
wondering what was happening<br />
<br />
I kept on looking at the ground<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
and then rose up unsteadily<br />
<br />
I almost fell down into the<br />
<br />
surprised audience<br />
<br />
but first I laughed<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
they took us to the field<br />
<br />
then when you escaped we were put<br />
<br />
into trucks the truck in which I was<br />
<br />
slowed down to look at my knee<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
but what could I have done<br />
<br />
what had gone before me gave<br />
<br />
me vitality I had to go on<br />
<br />
sorely tried alienated further<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
by the something that had urged me<br />
<br />
I wondered if I had really done well<br />
<br />
if I had failed I was ready<br />
<br />
to suffer for it<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(19)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
but whatever I had been prepared <br />
<br />
to do to redeem myself would not<br />
<br />
be ordered even if I had been to <br />
<br />
many places and knew many things<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I had no right to reverse custom<br />
<br />
I stopped and stared at all the people<br />
<br />
who had fallen into the building<br />
<br />
I could have stopped it if I thought<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
all this would work out well in the end<br />
<br />
the gun and the pistol I carry<br />
<br />
make me a stranger<br />
<br />
everywhere<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I was not really attending when I<br />
<br />
heard some people talking of my own<br />
<br />
death people are always avoiding me <br />
<br />
I think the country really needs me<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(20)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I was not too happy in the morning<br />
<br />
I did not like the last observation<br />
<br />
so much that I have been unable <br />
<br />
to write<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
in the post of pain I was called<br />
<br />
into a small room<br />
<br />
one of the guards outside <br />
<br />
shouted<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I sat in the corner seeing the<br />
<br />
emergency in a new light<br />
<br />
as I could not lift my hand<br />
<br />
I turned my eyes fell<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
there was a cold security<br />
<br />
in command of another <br />
<br />
presence in the room<br />
<br />
standing at the door<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
away from the light<br />
<br />
he seemed to hesitate<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(21)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Andrew Taylor<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Deoua<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Florescent lights stripped<br />
<br />
Explosives drilled concrete struts naked<br />
<br />
‘The light pours out of me’<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Altered horizons one way Thornton Road<br />
<br />
Launderette lit beacon like an early warning station<br />
<br />
‘A person isn’t safe anywhere these days’<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
River mind metallic sounds gaping holes<br />
<br />
Cut through security passes idle in grids<br />
<br />
‘Into the arms of Venus de Milo’<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Washing drying on landings boxed in banisters<br />
<br />
Lilac angled bedroom ceiling<br />
<br />
‘It takes guts to be gentle and kind’<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Temporary roosting place between floors<br />
<br />
Shelter in lift shafts disturbed emptiness<br />
<br />
Snow gathers on ledges<br />
<br />
‘See you at the barricades’<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(with thanks to Ursula Hurley)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(22)<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>RECENT PUBLICATIONS</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Morning Light: Lee Harwood , Slow Dancer Press. London. 1871033411. £6.99<br />
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<br />
The end of the twentieth century: a text for readers and writers. Robert Sheppard. Ship of Fools, 2002<br />
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The Radiator: A Journal of Contemporary Poetics, edited by Scott Thurston. The Radiator publishes essays on poetics by contemporary writers.<br />
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<br />
The Text Of Shelley’s Death. (First trade edition. Prose Poem) by Alan Halsey. 0904052002. £8.95<br />
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<br />
Your thinking Tracts Or Nations. 14 pictures by Alan Halsey with 14 poems/sequences by Kevin Corcoran. 1904052029. £7.95<br />
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NOCTIVAGATIONS. Geraldine Monk. New poems & performance pieces, her first substantial collection since Interregnum (1993). 0953150992. £10.95<br />
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Galleries/Exhibitions<br />
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New Art Gallery. Liverpool<br />
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Collect Gallery, 49 Lark Lane, Liverpool (Gallery run by Caroline Black) <br />
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PRESS RELEASE<br />
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RE-USE an exhibition of work by artists from the North West/ North of England, dealing with issues of recycling within their art practice, will be held @ The Collect Gallery (artist led) from 15th April until 13th May.<br />
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Gallery opening times<br />
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Mon/tuse 11 am – 5pm<br />
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Wed/thur closed<br />
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Fri/sat 11am-6pm<br />
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Sun 11am- 5pm<br />
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www.collectgallery.co.uk<br />
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gallerycollect@hotmail.com<br />
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Neon Highway recognises the need for ongoing change and innovation in poetry and art. <br />
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The magazine aims to encourage diversity and creative individuality.<br />
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4 issues £5<br />
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Single issue £1.75 <br />
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Submissions sent to the editor:<br />
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Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
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35 Glebe Road<br />
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Skelmersdale<br />
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Lancashire<br />
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WN8 9JP<br />
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Cheques made out to:<br />
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Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
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Artwork submissions in black and white, no larger than A4<br />
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Originals not necessary. <br />
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Please enclose sae for all work to be returned <br />
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Contact/Information:alice@lenkiewicz.freeserve.co.uk<br />
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(Please note, submissions not accepted via email)</div>
Alice Lenkiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04020676166907047838noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4359728548211384456.post-56514068070409198962011-01-03T10:54:00.000-08:002013-05-28T00:46:18.707-07:00ISSUE: 10<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
ISSN: 1476-9867<br />
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Neon Highway 10<br />
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Contributors 2005<br />
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Contributors: 2<br />
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Note from Editor: 3<br />
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Simon Zonenblick: 4-5<br />
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Michael Johnson: 6<br />
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Mike Hoy: 7<br />
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Robert Black: 7<br />
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Gemma Caunce: 8<br />
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Ally Coward: 8-9<br />
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Matt Smith: 9<br />
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Niall McGrath: 9-11<br />
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Tolu Ogunlesi: 11<br />
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Eugenie Kelly: 11-13<br />
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Robert Rogers: 13<br />
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Chris McCabe: 14<br />
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A A Marcoff: 14<br />
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Elizabeth Kate Switaj: 15<br />
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Will Daunt: 16<br />
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Maurice Oliver: 16-17<br />
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Dee Mcmahon: 17-18<br />
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Ken Champion: 18-19<br />
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Neil Campbell: 19-20<br />
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K.M. Dersley: 20-21<br />
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Ronnie Goodyear: 21<br />
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Dee Rimbaud: 21-22<br />
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Alice Lenkiewicz: 22-24<br />
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and Dee McMahon<br />
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Martin A. Hibbert: 24-25<br />
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Kerri Moore: 25-26<br />
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Colin Harris: 26<br />
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Jane Marsh interviews Bill Griffiths------27-32<br />
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Poems by Bill Griffiths----------------------32-40<br />
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Short Story by Bill Griffiths----------------41-44<br />
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Information---------------------------------- 45-48<br />
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Subscription-----------------------------------48<br />
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Illustrations by Kate Eggleston-Wirtz: (Pages 5/22/ including front cover.<br />
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Note from the editor: <br />
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Welcome to Neon Highway, Issue 10 which will be followed by two more issues this year. I look forward to Steve Sneyd and A.C Evans being interviewed by Jane Marsh for the remaining part of this year. <br />
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In 2006 Neon Highway will be commissioning work, focusing on experimental, pulp, esoteric prose and poetry in 2006. Interviews by Jane Marsh will continue. Neon Highway will no longer be accepting unsolicited work but instead commissioning writers. This will take the form of one issue a year. New subscription details and month to be released have yet to be announced. Updates will be announced on my website www.neonhighway.co.uk or you can email me on poetshideout@yahoo.com nearer the time <br />
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I would like to thank all poets who have contributed their work to previous issues and for the remaining forthcoming issues this year and for also helping Neon Highway to establish itself. I hope that you will all continue to subscribe and support the magazine in 2006. <br />
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I am also happy to mention that the Neon Highway poetry readings became part of the first Liverpool poetry festival this year on 10th April. The readings have been going for two years in the city and finally we landed ourselves a well-deserved place in the Liverpool Poetry festival with Allen fisher being mentioned along with Roger McGough and Brian Patten who took part in the event. Allen Fisher was guest poet at the Walker art gallery as the first event in the programme, supported by the Culture Company, creating a further step towards diversifying and expanding the local poetry scene. <br />
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In this issue, I would like to thank Bill Griffiths for his interview with Jane Marsh on page 27 and for his poems and short story. Thank you also to Kate Eggleston-Wirtz for her drawings throughout this issue.<br />
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Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
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Simon Zonenblick<br />
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The Buddhist<br />
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I am a Buddhist. For twenty five years I have lived in this cell, in this Monastery here in deepest China, recanting my prayers, meditating, fasting…it’s a far cry from my upbringing in the swinging streets of Shanghai, that’s for sure! In fact, so cut off am I from civilisation that, apart from the occasional correspondence from relatives-who have, in most cases, pretty much abandoned me anyway-I have little clue what the outside world is like at all. When I first came here, the Chinese Government were just beginning to have friendly relations with the USA, and things looked generally promising. I hope that’s still the case. But whatever the situation, I can certainly not be blamed, here in the mountains, away from it all…<br />
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Unfortunately, though, all is not well with me at present. Recently, I have begun doubting my vocation. I have tried fighting it, if you’ll pardon the expression, but it has become abundantly clear to me that this religion, this philosophical doctrine, is no longer for me. I can hardly believe it, but the life which once struck me as the most immaculate form of spiritual existence now appears devoid of meaning and utterly stupid. Things have changed. I have changed. It is the life of an Acrobat which I now desire.<br />
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Why? I do not know, but all my waking hours I dwell on it, and every night I dream of it, passionately, insatiably, helplessly…Acrobatics! Oh, my word, I was born to do it!<br />
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But how could I possibly acquire such a job? For a start, I have no experience. Assuming there were vacancies for the post, what would I write on the application forms? Previous Occupation? Buddhist Monk? And in terms of references, I would almost certainly be at a loss, since my contact with other Human Beings is extremely limited; even when I do see my fellow Monks it is usually only in passing, and the conversations are of the most basic and commonplace kind. Moreover, my age would surely act against me. How could a man of forty three, and no longer at the peak of physical fitness, possibly hope to pursue the life of a professional Acrobat? And let’s not forget, my total and complete seclusion in the mountains, my retreat from civilisation, has meant that I naturally lost any acquaintance with the practices and normalities of the Human world. I do not doubt that there have been innumerable technological advances since I left the city, and the language of everyday conversation has itself become a maze of words and phrases which, to one such as myself, would prove entirely alien. So much for my aspirations.<br />
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No, my destiny is sealed. There’s no way out. I’ve been doing this for twenty five years- twenty five years!<br />
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Maybe I made the wrong choice, maybe my chances have been completely wasted, perhaps the very act of describing myself as a Buddhist is now an act of falsehood, for how can I claim an identity of that sort while the faith and belief which must accompany the title have long since evaded my consciousness?<br />
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<br />
But sincerely or not, I must carry on-praying, meditating, fasting, generally being a Buddhist. And I suppose that this is the life I must live, for the next twenty five, or thirty five years, or fifty years, until I finally drop, having fulfilled my obligations to the end.<br />
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Mike Johnson<br />
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Mike Hoy<br />
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WALKING WIH MY DAUGHTER<br />
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Manhattan is bustling<br />
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people push and jostle<br />
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buildings shoulder the sky<br />
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shadowing churches<br />
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into insignificance.<br />
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Some bum crows crazy liturgy<br />
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not hiding insanity like some.<br />
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This hick from the sticks,<br />
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a council estate kid,<br />
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is walking with a slim chick<br />
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cool as the breeze down <br />
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Broadway, riding a private lift<br />
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elevating into an apartment<br />
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stacked with books and feeling<br />
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at home in heaven.<br />
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•<br />
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Robert Black<br />
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Not Time Yet<br />
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Bottled cheerfulness pours till he wants no more<br />
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Then rests his head on the barroom floor<br />
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Where he stares in wonder at a revolving door <br />
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Which flicks back and forth, but never closed;<br />
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Then an angel smiles from the ceiling above<br />
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And lifts his soul out of the evening smudge,<br />
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Reaching for his final reward ( time to let go ),<br />
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A better place awaits ( he’s letting go ),<br />
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Then angel winks and he crashes to the floor.<br />
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•<br />
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Gemma Caunce<br />
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A Window<br />
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Going through,<br />
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looking,<br />
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On the inside, to the outside.<br />
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It is the feeling that rips down<br />
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holding you,<br />
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under,<br />
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gasping for air.<br />
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To breath is<br />
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to be alive,<br />
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to give thanks.<br />
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On the outside, to the inside,<br />
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physically free.<br />
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Move away from shadows<br />
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Look inside and outside.<br />
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•<br />
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Ally Coward<br />
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Based on the structure of ‘The Jacob’s Ladder’<br />
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There isn’t an end<br />
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to the rainbow with a <br />
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beautiful pot of Gold<br />
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awaiting the adventurer<br />
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who dares to approach<br />
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a miracle.<br />
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It is a ghost<br />
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an image that can’t <br />
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be touched & disappears<br />
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as quickly as Mother Nature demanded it<br />
<br />
amidst the rain.<br />
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<br />
A trick of lights,<br />
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a spectrum, boasting &<br />
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teasing all the colours that<br />
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a painter would need for his palette. The <br />
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adventurer is fooled:<br />
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<br />
<br />
by the deceitful bridge<br />
<br />
that carries fairies<br />
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ogres and dragons from far away lands<br />
<br />
to watch the rays of sunlight catch<br />
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the rain. Then go. <br />
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•<br />
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Matt Smith<br />
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for Daniel Rhodes<br />
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Photograph of a struggle<br />
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Decades old and aging <br />
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A burning monk<br />
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Sits perfectly still<br />
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Oblivious to the flames<br />
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His heart safe inside<br />
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An impenetrable diamond<br />
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While I sit at home<br />
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Ashamed of wrinkles<br />
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•<br />
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Niall McGrath<br />
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DIABOLICAL<br />
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On the plasma screen I witness scenes:<br />
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A group in camouflage robes giggle like youngsters<br />
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About to receive their First Communion,<br />
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Their hair glittering like Roswell tinfoil;<br />
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Behind them bodies fall past towerblock glass,<br />
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See how they cry like Edvard’s pastel friend<br />
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As all crumbles into grey dust.<br />
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Even the pearl-pale cheeks of a girl with an earring<br />
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Crinkle impasto, become arctic crags.<br />
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On a high ridge a Buddhist monk meditates to death,<br />
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Mummifies his cause, the relief of his valley;<br />
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The salvation of impassive burghers whose ears are cocked<br />
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Like terrorists’ mercury tilt-switches, straining<br />
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To explode into action if the price is right<br />
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At the urging of golfing buddies, angel brokers – <br />
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Oh, what did the cleric say just then?<br />
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Eye off the ball; his hand on a hairless scrotum,<br />
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Scratching, tickling, urging with a twisted finger<br />
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The innocent to submit under the fist of the fiery-eyed one.<br />
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Hand me a plate, garnished with mangetout and carrot,<br />
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The centrepiece the raw tent of chicken buttocks,<br />
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Tear off legs, stuff its core to make it sweet,<br />
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Chop it up like the jigsaw of a Flemish painting, <br />
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As dancing girls in leather bikinis stomp and whip,<br />
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Gorging the masochist sprawling on the tabletop<br />
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Handcuffed to Heaven’s banister<br />
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Calling out to those on either side of him:<br />
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Franz, write me a certificate, 40 days remission from purgatory,<br />
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Heironymous, draw me a picture on the plasma screen<br />
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Of prisons in the desert or on a humid island<br />
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Where a group in khaki titter as they snap<br />
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Photos, posing like gods, imperial hunters who’ve bagged a kill,<br />
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Bodies writhing in glorious ecstasy and agony<br />
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As they crack the whip for the damned.<br />
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Spotlight the body, as the mountains erupt;<br />
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As hail sweeps, cuts to the bone, stings eyes,<br />
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Darkness surrounds; but the scene gradually focuses<br />
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On lichen-damp pumice walls - bobbing upstream<br />
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On a craft on automatic pilot, through the arch below the window,<br />
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Pray refreshment lies somewhere beyond the flickering screen. <br />
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•<br />
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Tolu Ogunlesi<br />
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SLEEP SALE<br />
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Trapped in an Auschwitz<br />
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Of tossing and turning nights,<br />
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Voices of springs, harsh<br />
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As Gestapo, fill the night<br />
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Dreams and Nightmares for sale - As is - <br />
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All payments by Valiu-<br />
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MCard, slotted into bidder's<br />
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Automated Teller - Metabolism!<br />
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Our eyes bore holes in the rafters<br />
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Ears nibbling at a clock's creeping crumbs<br />
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- Counsel of a veteran insomniac,<br />
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Mouth building prayer altars<br />
<br />
<br />
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For Somnus at Crossroads<br />
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Of Teeth, Tongue and Lips<br />
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Seeking mercy, spewed, like gas<br />
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From the gauges of a holocaust hovel<br />
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•<br />
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Eugenie Kelly<br />
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REBIRTHDAY IN THE YELLOW ROOM (Dublin 15-4-2000)<br />
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<br />
Way down <br />
<br />
by the River<br />
<br />
Liffey in Dublin Town<br />
<br />
I lay my burden down<br />
<br />
My cares dem troubles<br />
<br />
Let the river wash it<br />
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All away and cleanse<br />
<br />
Me clean as the new<br />
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Day – magic and mystery<br />
<br />
Bleach me light<br />
<br />
And I will wear that<br />
<br />
White dress<br />
<br />
ivory pure<br />
<br />
The pearl of wisdom<br />
<br />
It’s mine now and<br />
<br />
In time to be<br />
<br />
Coming through me<br />
<br />
It’s all arriving<br />
<br />
Back at the place<br />
<br />
Where we all began<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And I want my<br />
<br />
Innocence back<br />
<br />
Sixties and Beatles and<br />
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Flowers in my hair<br />
<br />
Naked and bare <br />
<br />
I revel in it soft as snow<br />
<br />
had enough of<br />
<br />
Darkness <br />
<br />
Now I’ve seen the pink dawn<br />
<br />
Breaking in the mirror after<br />
<br />
my vision<br />
<br />
Where I lay down my sword<br />
<br />
in the wet<br />
<br />
Green grass and blessed it<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I let it go and all flow<br />
<br />
Let it all fly <br />
<br />
And transform into stars in my eyes<br />
<br />
And yours ….<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And all the right songs are playing,<br />
<br />
Melanie and Donovan in the yellow room<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
In Dublin<br />
<br />
The sun shines in my heart<br />
<br />
Full to bursting, whole now at long last<br />
<br />
Yellow and green <br />
<br />
Van Gogh would know<br />
<br />
and Donovan catch the wind<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
John is walking in the garden –<br />
<br />
And I feel the goddess rising<br />
<br />
Breaking like the day and smiling<br />
<br />
All on me and in and through you<br />
<br />
My words are gifts god-spell and if the<br />
<br />
World says stop then I say go, go go …<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
All the way to the garden.<br />
<br />
Swordplay wordplay<br />
<br />
music plays -<br />
<br />
Harmony<br />
<br />
I think<br />
<br />
I’m home now<br />
<br />
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<br />
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•<br />
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Robert Rogers<br />
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My back turned against the town,<br />
<br />
the river flows across my view,<br />
<br />
tidal, broad, flowing slowly<br />
<br />
into The Wash, through the fens<br />
<br />
mixing with salt here.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The town ,behind me, silent,<br />
<br />
noisy only on market days,<br />
<br />
waits for no-one and expects nothing.<br />
<br />
Old beams giving way to shopping<br />
<br />
precincts that empty at five.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
From over the river the ferry<br />
<br />
begins to glide diagonally here,<br />
<br />
three women stand up front<br />
<br />
their headscarves flap like pennants<br />
<br />
blown on a salt breeze.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The ferryman grins and shows<br />
<br />
his dark teeth. The coins<br />
<br />
for passage pressed tight<br />
<br />
in his palm, the other hand<br />
<br />
firm on the tiller guides to shore.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Chris McCabe<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
a one-eyed poem for Birkenhead<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
another place, of another select language<br />
<br />
imagine how untrue it is –<br />
<br />
london news drips into bowlers –<br />
<br />
then the presentation of intelligence despite accent<br />
<br />
did I say catullus I meant calculus?<br />
<br />
back in liverpool<br />
<br />
we allowed “ovale” to be scrabbled in<br />
<br />
which wasn’t in the collins dictionary colin held<br />
<br />
-three distinct definitions around a hole –<br />
<br />
soft vortices of the mersey on the tourist route<br />
<br />
past a smokable clock (Little Bill stuck 20 to 6)<br />
<br />
untelevised dock warehouses<br />
<br />
beetle-humped rubble (a.k.a.bootle)<br />
<br />
self-cut ups, silk of seagulls<br />
<br />
the bank holiday pub’s sporan-latched yard<br />
<br />
opened to victorian park, desolate<br />
<br />
we laughed<br />
<br />
towards the friable background of doubles-bars<br />
<br />
& the louche music of money pockets, expectant mothers<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A A Marcoff<br />
<br />
Miranda<br />
<br />
Beauty and the rock. The rock and the white rose. Earth to earth. Into the heart of the rock she went step by fluted step. She was a Botticelli angel with sun bleached hair long and fair and she walked alone for centuries through the archaic woods virginal and more pure than the forgotten chalice. She was the Botticelli angel and she spoke with the lucidity of leaves rustling in the ancient winds.<br />
<br />
A rock, a rock, a dark rock, swallowing adamant and not disturbed by the encroachment of she: it took her, earth to earth and without a threat of ashes even in that vibrant sunlight. She walked into its heart, the rock, with the pipes of Pan lyrical as an elegy of light inspired by her, the woodland angel, and she went musically, earth to earth and without a threat of ashes.<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Elizabeth Kate Switaj<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Looking Through the Blind Slat Crack<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
vibrate water membrane oil sheen<br />
<br />
puddles<br />
<br />
underneath breathe<br />
<br />
of course, of course<br />
<br />
everything smothered used to breathe<br />
<br />
devouring the rain<br />
<br />
echoes swallowing rings<br />
<br />
snake & rat<br />
<br />
no two heads<br />
<br />
but resolution<br />
<br />
(as always<br />
<br />
just the next<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
day extended<br />
<br />
not <br />
<br />
in this alley<br />
<br />
where I leave<br />
<br />
empty shelves<br />
<br />
broken chair<br />
<br />
only drainage<br />
<br />
the parking lot depths<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Will Daunt<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
ANOTHER-IN-LAW<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
could be anyhow, anyone, met or reviled<br />
<br />
in the mazes of hurried love, shame has revealed;<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
lies limp in the spiralling genes of the young,<br />
<br />
spirals under control, where desire turns to yawn;<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
might be grandfathers’ moments of groping, or rage<br />
<br />
in a terrace, now pulverised, fruits of an urge;<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
remains in the dregs of each evening ahead,<br />
<br />
a dance, an encountered lust, lino or bed;<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
would be slyly unlikely in God-nearing homes,<br />
<br />
but who hasn’t prayed for release from their harm?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
was where many swapped flesh in a duct, or a life,<br />
<br />
their ill-conceived stretch of coincidence doomed.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Maurice Oliver<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
"The IMAX" Sonnet<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Picture a wind crossing the<br />
<br />
gulf. Marathon dancers. A <br />
<br />
floor glowing from wax. <br />
<br />
Blackout curtains. Crab claws. <br />
<br />
The feather of a white dove. <br />
<br />
Yellow silk. Oil on oxen <br />
<br />
hooves. Ivy gathered under a <br />
<br />
half-moon. The plague. Strokes <br />
<br />
from a charcoal pencil. Walls <br />
<br />
stained in smoke. Three hundred <br />
<br />
times. A bamboo flute. Ice on a <br />
<br />
river. Herring & dark bread. Two <br />
<br />
cracked mirrors. Four onlookers.<br />
<br />
Baby shoes. Sailboats. Then sky. <br />
<br />
Ancient swords & pistols. A <br />
<br />
penny whistle. Scarecrows. <br />
<br />
Several clowns. Shadows in the <br />
<br />
orchard. April dusk. One copper <br />
<br />
lantern. And the night bats stir.<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
Dee Mcmahon<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Spellbound<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Blank sheet reflector of white light<br />
<br />
Smooth undulating lizard home<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Follow the flow<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
a high-cidine and a low-cidine<br />
<br />
a marjorine and a josephine<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Malleable marbled worry bead<br />
<br />
Punishing pummel<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Drum away the anxiety <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
up under a bush<br />
<br />
a rainbow, a jelly bag<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Pitch gather<br />
<br />
Target scatter <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Coordinate the brain drain<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
a touch the ground<br />
<br />
and a turn around<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
Ken Champion<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
ENDSTOP<br />
<br />
Tree-dotted land<br />
<br />
Like a Lichenstein print<br />
<br />
As banking over Barajas<br />
<br />
I try to glimpse the Bernabeu<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I think of Julie<br />
<br />
and our dot-filled night<br />
<br />
her face in close-up<br />
<br />
tearsplashed cheek<br />
<br />
lips a lateral heart<br />
<br />
my indigo hair in profile<br />
<br />
chiselled nose strong jaw<br />
<br />
We gotta end it Johnny right now<br />
<br />
Zeros coming in at twelve o’clock<br />
<br />
cockpits hazy behind propeller circles<br />
<br />
kerpow kerpow kerpow Bam!<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
Neil Campbell<br />
<br />
Time To Think.<br />
<br />
A twenty two year old boy<br />
<br />
with the original dead-end job<br />
<br />
is stuck with nothing.<br />
<br />
He is knackered after work<br />
<br />
and he goes to bed<br />
<br />
before ten every night of the week.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
At weekend he goes out<br />
<br />
drinks and looks at girls.<br />
<br />
He rarely talks to them<br />
<br />
and when he does it is because<br />
<br />
he has forced himself.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He drinks too much<br />
<br />
and gets into trouble<br />
<br />
by doing silly things<br />
<br />
that he thinks will get laughs.<br />
<br />
But the laughs don’t come<br />
<br />
-only fists.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
When he gets home<br />
<br />
he is met with verbal abuse<br />
<br />
from his father<br />
<br />
whilst his mother sometimes<br />
<br />
opens his bedroom door for him<br />
<br />
and puts a glass of water by the bed.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
On Sunday’s he runs off his hangover<br />
<br />
by playing sport.<br />
<br />
He doesn’t care whether he wins or loses<br />
<br />
and so he invariably loses.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Before he knows what he is doing<br />
<br />
it is Monday, and he is lying awake<br />
<br />
in the dark looking at the clock,<br />
<br />
waiting for the alarm to go off.<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
K.M. Dersley<br />
<br />
HOT NEWS: NOT ALL POETS ON THE MAKE<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
that journal decked out as<br />
<br />
professional as some<br />
<br />
banking or insurance<br />
<br />
magazine,<br />
<br />
look at the competition it runs.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
from last time’s winning entry<br />
<br />
and the commendations<br />
<br />
the whole thing has got to be rife<br />
<br />
with salmonella.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the best poetry yeah, but according to<br />
<br />
which conspiracy?<br />
<br />
I’d rather have the opinion of an honest bus<br />
<br />
conductor or dosser<br />
<br />
who didn’t have cataracts.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the poetry pantomime<br />
<br />
has mercifully been exposed<br />
<br />
as a con. poets do not sell like<br />
<br />
slimmers or biographers,<br />
<br />
don’t make a company<br />
<br />
that sort of money.<br />
<br />
the marketing men<br />
<br />
have long gone back<br />
<br />
to publicising quick snacks<br />
<br />
and alcoholic sodas.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
there will always be plenty<br />
<br />
who, with persistence and friends<br />
<br />
to back them up<br />
<br />
wish to be known as poets,<br />
<br />
but the few good poems<br />
<br />
perhaps one<br />
<br />
perhaps none<br />
<br />
in a poetry mag<br />
<br />
will get through to<br />
<br />
those few verse addicts<br />
<br />
with hardly any money<br />
<br />
but willing<br />
<br />
to send off a cheque. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ronnie Goodyear<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Nick and Judy and Me<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Nick was the River Man,<br />
<br />
with you spinning, the old stash<br />
<br />
forming clouds, a gypsy flowing<br />
<br />
and dark brown brows.<br />
<br />
Cross- legged sandals under print<br />
<br />
and a smoky smell that drew<br />
<br />
the power of dancing in waves,<br />
<br />
and I asked if I could fall<br />
<br />
in love with you then.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Summertime can be an all-night show<br />
<br />
particularly when the moon is peeled.<br />
<br />
Don’t Bogart you said so I didn’t.<br />
<br />
You drew on me and we laughed<br />
<br />
simultaneously, forehead and noses<br />
<br />
pressed together, quiet now,<br />
<br />
as he tells us all he knows,<br />
<br />
about the way the river flows…..<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
Dee Rimbaud<br />
<br />
THE CALL<br />
<br />
Night crawls in and wraps itself round the town,<br />
<br />
Heavy as iron ore.<br />
<br />
A dull wind stirs.<br />
<br />
I walk into the street, midnight street<br />
<br />
And I am tumbleweed.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Electric street.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Empty street -<br />
<br />
Abraxas waits in a dark doorway:<br />
<br />
Hands soft as death.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I walk past him, whistling under my breath.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz / Dee Mcmahon<br />
<br />
(collaboration)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
individual sacrificial collective<br />
<br />
nouns to name a one<br />
<br />
this one, that<br />
<br />
as the flood of words wash<br />
<br />
through closed lips<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
you intent on stillness, resistance<br />
<br />
wrapping silence in the dense<br />
<br />
volumetrics of much<br />
<br />
and more<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
when the moment is lost<br />
<br />
to the birth and delivery <br />
<br />
of ribbled nodes<br />
<br />
I scrape the trip from beneath pink nails<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
you ignore the motion, focus instead <br />
<br />
on sweetness, dank rotting green<br />
<br />
the intensity of finding ones roots<br />
<br />
ones roots buried deep<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
he says your country has no culture<br />
<br />
this was never the case<br />
<br />
this was never the way you felt it as a child <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
in you I dream a wakening <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
sap pollen stem you lie, <br />
<br />
star-studded <br />
<br />
curiosity <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
reflecting distance<br />
<br />
gashed memories secreting truth<br />
<br />
star studded for sure<br />
<br />
curiosity secreting truth<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
beneath it beneath nothing in this<br />
<br />
nothing in this...<br />
<br />
diary to be raging in the outward drawer<br />
<br />
of mahogany<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
with pen to quill of past trusting<br />
<br />
similar it seems to fragility of wings<br />
<br />
or possibility no problem <br />
<br />
or velvet labels better at seeing something<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
helpful to be useful in their service<br />
<br />
sacrificing it was here, I promise you it was here<br />
<br />
I was there, we were there<br />
<br />
inside the water<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
over the water<br />
<br />
individual<br />
<br />
one's roots buried deep<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
addictive upon which<br />
<br />
it stands or perhaps <br />
<br />
handmade uplifting<br />
<br />
throughout wicca or hemp<br />
<br />
mislaid batons<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
handmade of the virgin<br />
<br />
detail to be enunciated<br />
<br />
swords of every metal<br />
<br />
wand unyielding <br />
<br />
feted traveller<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
pentacles and cups<br />
<br />
rotting flowers compost<br />
<br />
uniform earth belongs to no one<br />
<br />
but meagre stepping lords<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
now to float flawed at gun point<br />
<br />
gasping medals gifted <br />
<br />
they aim for bombed out subways<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
slant fever persistent ferrying <br />
<br />
licensed backpacks<br />
<br />
cupboards inside suitcases<br />
<br />
sincere fluidity marked<br />
<br />
sun-kissed avery swarmed<br />
<br />
blankly docked hiding<br />
<br />
a lizards head<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
M. A. Duxbury-Hibbert<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Shooting from the Cuff<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
In the perverse Sixties glamour<br />
<br />
of a London afternoon of heat & haze<br />
<br />
bought in cuff links, a medallion<br />
<br />
with a Greek owl, a razor kit<br />
<br />
with Centurion motif, ribbed polo-neck<br />
<br />
in several shades of meaning<br />
<br />
six cunning ties with matching shirts<br />
<br />
& went back bag-swinging into the interior<br />
<br />
of neatly mixed trad & mod, studiously<br />
<br />
checking growth of hair & penis, fiddling<br />
<br />
as burning issues & scorching riffs<br />
<br />
fell into place & the flame<br />
<br />
of the hour was kindled<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Only practising, but seriously<br />
<br />
shooting from the cuff<br />
<br />
to catch the light, those old links<br />
<br />
of a youth of vicious enchantment<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Kerri Moore<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Vestige<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He fell faster than stars could shoot,<br />
<br />
He repositioned satellites,<br />
<br />
Then taking the atmosphere from the skies,<br />
<br />
He made beauty.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He made inscrutable the insane,<br />
<br />
He made sincere the spirit,<br />
<br />
Then came the eternal essence,<br />
<br />
Enigmatic of the flame.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He made godsend of his mercy,<br />
<br />
Forbore the ideals of the mighty,<br />
<br />
‘Til weakened in scrutiny,<br />
<br />
He made saintly the profane.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I make communiqué in my lassitude,<br />
<br />
I make ladylike my perchance<br />
<br />
To complexity, the dumbfounded<br />
<br />
Sweet-talk, the captivating cant.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Colin Harris<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
cigarette butts<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
we do not exist just to make another<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I won’t walk out<br />
<br />
until I’ve remembered why I entered<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
animals will eventually kill out of fear<br />
<br />
the knowledge I have no use for will be passed on<br />
<br />
but each sentence is preceded and killed by the next<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
there is a story<br />
<br />
but it isn’t worth the telling<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
what is never begun cannot be finished<br />
<br />
what is never finished cannot be left behind<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I’m not going anywhere<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Interview with Bill Grifffiths by Jane Marsh. <br />
<br />
Bill Griffiths - born London 1948, moved north to Seaham in 1990. Taking a first degree in History, he went on to undertake a PhD in Old English at King's College London in the 1980s. Published primarily as a poet, he also writes in the fields of Old English and local history, northern dialect and some fantasy/fiction. He helps edit 'Northern Review' at the University of Northumbria, Newcastle upon Tyne as well as writing and publishing poetry and devising websites. Recent books 'Spilt Cities' (Etruscan Books), 'Durham and other sequences' (Westhouse Books), 'Tyne Txts' (with Tom Pickard, Amra Imprint). Websites: billygriff.co.uk, story-of-seaham.com, pitmatic.co.uk, the-lollipop.co.uk (little press listing). Has campaigned, with Bruce Kent and others, for appeal hearing for long-serving Liverpool prisoner Ray Gilbert (the subject of several of his poems).<br />
<br />
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Hello Bill. Your poems were first published by Eric Mottram in the Poetry Review. Do you feel that Poetry Review has maintained the same perspective over the years in terms of the kind of poetry it promotes? I confess, I read it rarely due to so many little magazines coming my way but perhaps you could persuade me otherwise.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Back in 1971 or so, Poetry Review was quite prestigious among the ‘properly’ printed and bound poetry quarterlies. The appointment of Mottram as editor was untypical of The Poetry Society (its publisher) but evinced a glimmer of interest in new types of poetry already appearing in print elsewhere (e.g. Fulcrum Press). Mottram set aside the conventional, worthy sort of contributor and gave prominence to younger poets in this country (plus Bunting and MacDiarmid!) and American poets like Duncan, Rukeyser, Zukofsky, Ginsberg, Snyder. As it became clear that not only Poetry Review but The Poetry Society (beginning to style itself The National Poetry Centre) was changing course, there was a growing resentment from the literary establishment, culminating in the Arts Council of Great Britain (which never interferes in its clients’ artistic policy, by the way) vowing to withold its grant unless the elected council of The Poetry Society unelected itself. That would be 1977 or 1978. Their threat worked, and Poetry Review sank back into its unremarkable old ways.<br />
<br />
On the relative merits of Poetry Review with Mottram and Poetry Review without Mottram, you can make up your own mind – copies of the 1970s issues should be available in a good library and are still well worth looking at. That the issue still rankles became clear when Sean O’Brien used Poetry Review to publish a review of Keith Tuma’s UK anthology of 2001 and made unkind references to out “Eric Jealous and E.K.Resentment” - widely assumed to mean Eric Mottram and E.K. Brathwaite. Was anyone seriously objecting to the ‘pollution’ of English poetry by American or Caribbean voices? My feeling is that this elite, exclusive version of ‘England’ is a mythical spot somewhere in the South only mentioned when it is necessary to have something to cudgel peasants and provincials with.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Could you tell me a little about Eric Mottram. What kind of a person was he? Did you ever read his poems? If so how did you respond to them? What kind of response did he have to your work? I notice also in your biography that you spent time cataloguing the Mottram archive bequeathed to Kings College. Could you tell me a little about this archive? If I were to go to Kings College and ask about this archive how would you advise me to start my initial research?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Eric was immensely wide-read and immensely industrious. He had not only all the facts (as it seemed) of the 20th century at his disposal, but made contact with every poet he could who showed a bean of inventiveness. His travels included most Far Eastern countries, with (later) India; Switzerland, Holland, Hungary, etc.; and of course the States. He was immensely generous and constructive with his time, and encouraged a great many poets in their writing, as well as helping on many an academic career. At his best, he went to Court to speak up for Bill Butler and Unicorn Bookshop in Brighton in the 1960s when modern poetry as not immune from prosecution, to be publicly branded unfit to teach at a university by the Magistrates who resented his guidance on literary merit.<br />
<br />
Mind, decades of campaigning for a more inclusive culture didn’t improve his temper, and I cannot say I felt comfortable in his presence the way I did with Bob Cobbing, exploring the mysteries of the Gestetner Duplicator. An hour or two with Eric was like having your brain pummelled by a master mind-boxer, though in a positive and usually kindly way. <br />
<br />
We did not see eye-to-eye on poetry: the essential regard for word-sound I have was just ‘craftmanship’ to him. His style was rather loose and free-line (“spoken words have sufficient rhythm in themselves” he averred), though he developed some interesting dislocations of syntax in later work. He never tried to get me to write like himself, however; there was a tolerance there as well as a lot of self-assuredness.<br />
<br />
I might claim to be one of the few people who have read all his poetry (while cataloguing his archive). You could too, but before turning up at King’s have a look at the online catalogue – it takes some reaching via www.kcl.ac.uk - via academic services…archives…personal papers…Mottram…then the little blue link to the catalogue itself. It’s a fascinating introduction to a great character.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I recently spoke to Lawrence Upton and he said that he and Bob Cobbing had worked on a number of pieces together. What was your relationship with these poets and in what direction did you find your work developing while working with them? <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Bob, with a blobby duplicator and a fizzy scanner, ran Writers Forum, a little press (and a workshop) with a definite emphasis on sound poetry, visual poetry and performance poetry. Early associates of Bob were Jeff Nuttall, Keith Musgrove, and ‘Group H’ (for Hendon, Middlesex). Lawrence and I met him at the time WF and The Poetry Society coincided in the 1970s. Most of my publishing in the 1970s (and a fair bit in the 1980s and ‘90s) was done in collaboration with WF – we shared the work, the costs and the final copies. These were poems of mine, but Bob contributed the machinery of printing which was still rare in those far-off days. In other words, he was willing to open his home and facilities to almost anyone with an interesting idea to translate into print. In particular I learnt the importance of unity of content with technique – a unity that extended to format, printing medium, booklet design and – ultimately – performance.<br />
<br />
Bob’s workshop was a great means of making new contacts and expanding verbal horizons – there was Lawrence of course, but also Clive Fencott, Sean O Huigin, cris cheek, Peter Mayer, Jeremy Adler, an occasional Dom Sylvester Houèdard ruffling the hair of a young Alaric Sumner, plus Betty Radin with her visual fables… Geraldine Monk and Maggie O’Sullivan were soon to feature as WF authors, but not quite that early on.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
What instigated your ambition to study Old English at Kings College London?<br />
<br />
In what way did Old English influence your work?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
After The Poetry Society debacle, I manage to survive for some time on a few prestigious performances with Bob Cobbing and Paula Claire (as Konkrete Canticle), but increasingly found myself needed to look after my aging parents – not an onerous task, but one that seemed ideal combined with part-time study. About 1974 I had been introduced to Old Welsh by Peter Finch; the side-step to the great literature of Old English was unavoidable. Part-time MA courses were then remarkably good bargains (late 1980s), and I did well enough at that to proceed to a PhD.<br />
<br />
Old English has an alliterative pattern to the line; it has certainly boosted my awareness of alliteration; but the rhythm of the line is relatively free (did G. M. Hopkins’ draw his ‘sprung-line’ rhythm from OE rather than Old Greek or Old Welsh?) I like that rhythmic indeterminacy; I think old literatures and languages are an important route to innovation in current culture – think of the impact of Jerry Rothenberg’s Technicians of the Sacred.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The idea of place and dialect I have noticed interests you. Could you expand a little on why this interests you?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Dialect is a descent of Middle English. Place is somewhere to live, an important consideration for every nomadic soul. In the 1980s I was able to secure a houseboat near Uxbridge on the Grand Union, but when the moorings went up from £200 p.a. to £1000 p.a., I retired with good grace to Seaham in Co.Durham (4 hours by train from Liverpool). Having always admired the North-East – its cities and coast, its sense of community, its dark humour (and its Anglo-Saxon speech). The community has taken a battering in the 1990s, but still compares well with the daily warfare of London.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I am fascinated by the fact that you can translate and write in old English.<br />
<br />
Could you tell me a little on how old English sounds compared to how it is written?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It sounds odd to the modern ear. ‘g’ was often ‘y’ (giese is our yes), c was often ch (cyrice is our church), sc was always sh (sceotan is our shoot), cg was always dg (brycg is our bridge). The vocabulary was both similar and contained many extra unfamiliar words that were jettisoned in the later Middle Ages in favour of French- and Latin-based introductions. Try my website www.billygriff.co.uk… go to Old English… to ‘Cuthbert and the seals’ for a text and a sound file.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
What is your favourite old English text?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Beowulf.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Can you translate this?<br />
<br />
Jane Marsh is nothing but a figment of Alice’s imagination.<br />
<br />
Jane Mersc is nawuht ac swefn Alice modes.<br />
<br />
(Where swefn is ‘dream or invention’ and mod is the root of our word ‘mood’ but then meant the stronger qualities of the mind. Neither Jane nor Alice are OE names by the way, unlike Hilda or Edith.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I have heard you were once a Hell’s Angel. Could you tell me a little about this episode in your life?<br />
<br />
Do you feel it affected your writing? If so, in what way?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A belting twinge in one shoulder muscle where I once catapulted over the handlebars of a bike is one lasting effect. It is strange, looking back, how big and grand outlaws in their early 20s seemed to me as a teenager; now I think of 20-year-olds as mere bairns, no more dangerous than a playground slide. <br />
<br />
Culturally speaking, it convinced me I was not cut out to be a hero; so that I paused and thought about what I could really hope to do well at or be useful in (which was poetry); it gave me an underlying sense of the nothing behind our society, which is a resource of a kind; and an enduring respect for relationships of equality.<br />
<br />
Of course a decent bike now costs over £10,000 (as against £30 for my Royal Enfield in 1966), so it isn’t really an option as a career any more.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
You recently attended one of Alice’s poetry readings in Liverpool. In what way did you feel it was successful and what ways was it unsuccessful. What would you have done differently?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I would have given the reader his or her own bottle of wine approx. 50 minutes before they were due on. Before even that, shift the coffins to one side and put up a few balloons and some bunting. (I mean, the room is imposing, but you have to fight against it somewhat.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
You have been campaigning for a long time for the release of the Liverpool prisoner Ray Gilbert. Could you tell me a little as to what instigated your campaign? Are you and Ray still in touch?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I was wondering through Durham Market Place one morning with well-known poetry figure Nicholas Johnson when I came on a stall manned by the bright sparks of the North-East ABC. Not thinking my guest was likely to want to stop and chat with them, I took some leaflets instead, one of which was an appeal on behalf of Ray Gilbert, then in Durham Jail. I visited him twice there before he was moved away and was impressed by his resilience and commonsense in an environment a degree hotter than Hell. His claim to innocence is not easily summarised: there is a website <br />
<br />
www.ray-gilbert.co.uk, with notes on his case by Bruce Kent, if you want more.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Finally, could you tell me what you are presently working on in terms of your poetry and any forthcoming publications you have coming out.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Currently completing a book on the Northern Sinfonia (Newcastle’s orchestra) and a dictionary of North-East dialect past and present. Both due out from Northumbria University. A selected poems is being finalised with SALT (look out for this in 2005). There is a good batch of longer poems meriting reprinting. Online, www.opalcoast.co.uk has recently been completed, and work started on www.ochrecoast.co.uk (collaborative ventures of verse, prose, visual, sound). After that, some new poetic adventure will surely turn up…'The Mud Fort' from Salt Publishing, 2004: Basically it's shorter poems 1984-2004, selected and collected together.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you very much for your time, Bill. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Bill Griffiths<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
ASPIRATIONS<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Of people <br />
<br />
well –<br />
<br />
the flexing memory <br />
<br />
of verbs<br />
<br />
speaks <br />
<br />
a casual<br />
<br />
trigger <br />
<br />
fossil<br />
<br />
energy evokes <br />
<br />
outer realities<br />
<br />
vanities <br />
<br />
slip-clues<br />
<br />
to inner <br />
<br />
emphasis<br />
<br />
like <br />
<br />
walking the plank <br />
<br />
* <br />
<br />
the virtual body<br />
<br />
is bare of face<br />
<br />
often hands<br />
<br />
sometimes forearms <br />
<br />
you can see backs in the warm <br />
<br />
the kingly knee<br />
<br />
is a sport-stamp <br />
<br />
but to bare the throat is aggressive <br />
<br />
the real body is at war <br />
<br />
the virtual body continues to play <br />
<br />
* <br />
<br />
the mouth <br />
<br />
administrator<br />
<br />
and disseminator<br />
<br />
blows and burbles<br />
<br />
cavity complexities<br />
<br />
tide breath<br />
<br />
sucking and rocketting<br />
<br />
an appraisal<br />
<br />
or development plan<br />
<br />
the mouth<br />
<br />
intervenes in democracy<br />
<br />
the palate<br />
<br />
and the food<br />
<br />
parted <br />
<br />
* <br />
<br />
so what that<br />
<br />
I am surrounded by pirates <br />
<br />
teeth <br />
<br />
hold the sword<br />
<br />
like prescriptive medicine <br />
<br />
on the good ship<br />
<br />
Substance <br />
<br />
our century <br />
<br />
colourful, colourful <br />
<br />
for such ghostly effects <br />
<br />
balancing<br />
<br />
reflections<br />
<br />
rush to meet us <br />
<br />
ill<br />
<br />
spill<br />
<br />
concessions to predators <br />
<br />
the chemists <br />
<br />
* <br />
<br />
I sing the node <br />
<br />
the first point of poetry <br />
<br />
the turquoise pendant versicle <br />
<br />
when Astarte<br />
<br />
graces me to drink <br />
<br />
approximate to my beginning <br />
<br />
to be a mammal <br />
<br />
(among a rough-hand dark <br />
<br />
equalities of contact <br />
<br />
they say <br />
<br />
pretend <br />
<br />
there is no need for revolution) <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
TEKNO (Bill Griffiths)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
Years after the grey chrome<br />
<br />
token no-sense<br />
<br />
news<br />
<br />
UP and AT<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
That their own word<br />
<br />
reverse<br />
<br />
be the tekno-trident<br />
<br />
you pull out of the stone<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
Robber-sites<br />
<br />
I arrive<br />
<br />
I admire (as it were) the bare walls of the tomb<br />
<br />
to find no back-button permits release<br />
<br />
the blocks fall<br />
<br />
to lock me in<br />
<br />
Brutally I’m gar ’d reconnect<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
In ices<br />
<br />
I trickle of lime<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
to my fridge-box<br />
<br />
my gob<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
to undry fire-anger<br />
<br />
surrender me<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
Consonants are couplers<br />
<br />
or carriages<br />
<br />
in my train<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Like there are puppet-flats<br />
<br />
Freyja with corn<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
Ayam bored<br />
<br />
an the whole weight of autumn blue pressing on me<br />
<br />
not marvelling<br />
<br />
at TV tales of crocuses<br />
<br />
‘it amazes me’, they say<br />
<br />
as gentle opal ovals of smoke transpire revolve<br />
<br />
lung to coffee-cup<br />
<br />
sleepily I murmur a ‘twat-head’ at Blair onscreen<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
The irritated poet and<br />
<br />
the useless rubber (writes not)<br />
<br />
a lineless mind<br />
<br />
that trick us of the spicey air<br />
<br />
come bulb, come spring<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
Sudden stumbling of states<br />
<br />
Natural gravity<br />
<br />
Like falling asleep<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
Serious man nods to serious man<br />
<br />
dynamic lady sweeps thru, issues orders ‘you and you’<br />
<br />
subordinate offers a little information, ‘sir’<br />
<br />
rude n ignorant crowds make angry noises finding themselves cordoned in<br />
<br />
‘Please remain calm’<br />
<br />
I sup chocolate mousse, me, an infidel,<br />
<br />
n switch channels.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
Who controls the wheels moves time<br />
<br />
whirring and rolling<br />
<br />
perplexically<br />
<br />
starrish gear<br />
<br />
(listen-us, listen-us)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Are you<br />
<br />
turn-time?<br />
<br />
Do the mouth-tappets dance you?<br />
<br />
Perceive dragon turbine?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
On the Jerusalem causeway<br />
<br />
bended ahead<br />
<br />
(always telling you)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The mammal-slain<br />
<br />
past-and-now<br />
<br />
gesture of antique road maps<br />
<br />
of Old Testament warriors<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But we excel the wheels<br />
<br />
(in a slim chance that)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
With what plump surprise<br />
<br />
the BBC invade Thibet<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
for the best bit<br />
<br />
is an Olympic swimming pool<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the top of the world<br />
<br />
has generously acclimatised itself<br />
<br />
to Michael Palin<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Did he dream well<br />
<br />
in Gyantse?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
That am little conformable to a midi<br />
<br />
But love the woodwork’d piano<br />
<br />
When Johannes Zumpe remade the clavichord<br />
<br />
to a long square <br />
<br />
retaining a wrest-board to the right of the strings<br />
<br />
a simple action that projects the hammer<br />
<br />
independent of the key<br />
<br />
And the key still governs the damper<br />
<br />
cloth than felt.<br />
<br />
I depress the key. Beyond the pivot<br />
<br />
a free-rising jack pops up to<br />
<br />
prompt the hammer, its shaft, and layers of leather and felt<br />
<br />
each element to move free after for fingers initiative<br />
<br />
on its own pivot or guides.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
As much as I admire J.C.Bach in London<br />
<br />
agreeable to write sonatas for the new technology<br />
<br />
new durable wood/metal/cloth<br />
<br />
that only need sustainable tempered tuning<br />
<br />
to impel the whole of west-music.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
And the carol is<br />
<br />
the arching of the plank<br />
<br />
the rubbing of the sinew<br />
<br />
as the moon arranges tides<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
dead elocution<br />
<br />
a nation of language<br />
<br />
which decides who to employ<br />
<br />
virtue by credence<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
Billions<br />
<br />
Live<br />
<br />
In excitable oxygen<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
That thing feed us<br />
<br />
Grow coffee n barley<br />
<br />
Bears our wars<br />
<br />
And it eat us up<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
I disperse the spells<br />
<br />
I send them in ocean<br />
<br />
Open zero<br />
<br />
Series Z<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
THE FOG (Bill Griffiths)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I prefer to live in the harbour area. The houses are a little dilapidated, but it is quiet and has a sort of dignity. Inland, higher up, is more lively no doubt, more modern; but the houses are femmer things. ‘Bummlor boxes’ somone called them – cardboard constructions fit to trap a few angry bees.<br />
<br />
When we thought of living there, the estate agent’s report was suitably encouraging:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Modest terrace house, unmodernised, 2 bedrooms and oblique view of the sea. Inside toilet. Useful storage sheds in yard. Easy access to old town centre. Quick sale.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Not so close to the sea as to be liable to flooding. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Providing you don’t mind the odd spell of fog – <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
was the only comment of the person showing us round, delivered with almost an apologetic laugh, as though the fog was somehow their fault, or a particular drawback that accounted for the low price.<br />
<br />
Fog…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Fog occurs when the temperature of the land or sea is lower than the air above it, causing the condensation of milliards of tiny droplets of water that hang in suspension in the air.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The local fogs came from the sea. They were known as ‘sea-frets’…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sea-frets form at sea, and move inland with the incoming tide. While not so much a health risk as land-based fogs, that often hold particulates of carbon and sulphur, the swift and unexpected movements of sea-based fogs are a disturbing factor in residential areas close to the coast.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
We soon learned to avoid them. Though not frequent, they could occur at any time of year, and made driving difficult. People prefered to stay indoors when there was sea-fret, we learned, considering them unhealthy. They made comments, gently guiding us:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ye’re best bidin’ at hyem while the fog clears. It’s not good for the bairns to be out in that sort o’ weather. Aud Mr Jarvis wad gan out in it, and it did his asthma terribul harm – in hospital he was, in the end. Aa alwez say, Aa’d rather watch the telly than the fog, me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It was usually possible to avoid getting cuaght. The fog-horn at the docks would start its eerie-ish wail a good quarter hour before the grey fog rolled up our way. You might think it pittoresque and vaguely dramatick but it wasn’t. A minute or two of its clammy dull touch and you soon turned aside into a café or hurried home to be out of it. You began to talk of your chest or matters of road safety, but the truth was the fog had a depressing and discouraging effect; you felt it might tilt you over the edge into almost suicidal gloom.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
What it makes me think of –<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
said my wife –<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
is unwanted children. Crowds and crowds of lonely, ill-treated bairns, looking for homes they never had. They never speak, but you can almost feel them holding onto you, clinging as you walk, begging you to find them some proper home other than the open sea.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It was an uncomfortable, chilling, near-ghostly thought, suitable to the fog that suggested it. I almost thought I could see some disintegrated confusion of young souls, beings that had never found any love or anywhere to settle down. Those that earn money have limitless respect; even the poor can gain some benefit from government and law; but children have no real status, no adult wit or strength to defend themselves, no title to property, and above all claim on money. They are as easy to forget or dismiss as a dog or a cat, and offer no one any profit. Why waste time on a child when you can watch telly, go to the pub, play a computer game, aim for a better job?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
You have been out in the fog too long –<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
my wife would say, if I touched on these sad matters. Sad, because there seemed so little anyone could do, for the lost children of the past or the present. So when the foghorn sounded, we stayed at home, pulled the curtains, turned up the heating. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
There is a particularly good film on Sky, or would you rather watch that investigation into multiple time zones in 19th century Cornwall? Tell you what, I’ll put it on and let you decide…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Wait, I said, I’ve yet to put the cat out. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Oh, not in this fog, do you have to?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It’s been in all day, I said, as I moved to the door. The cat was not inclined to exit, once it saw the fog outside. I didn’t blame it. I kept the door open a minute in case – when I heard a voice shouting from across the road. It was deadened in the mist, but I felt certain it was Ella, who lived opposite. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Who’s that?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It sounds like Ella. She must have been in her seventies, had always lived there, was the last person I expected to be out in the fog. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Oh no, what does she want?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
No way of telling. She had a certain reputation in the street, being mildly dull, mentally, which was why her bairns had been taken into care. Long ago. You did not avoid her, but you seldom got much sense from her. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
What is it?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I don’t know. Perhaps she’s in some sort of trouble. I looked along the street, hoping to see someone going to her aid, but the fog made it difficult to tell if anyone had heard. A curtain twitched next door, but no one came out. I called out that I was going to check, took a deep breath of home air, stepped over the cat, and made my way across the road to where I thought Ella must be. As I got closer, she emerged to my view, standing on her doorstep, shouting and apparently gone quite crazy. The door was wide open behind her and the fog beginning to drift into her house.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Come back, come back<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
she shouted…but she was not looking at me, but out into the fog. I took her arm gently, as though to steer her back into the warm, but she seemed determined not to budge.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Can you see them? Out there? <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
- she insisted –<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
All the bairns… out there… looking, looking for someone… hoping to find their home…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Ella, it’s the sea-fret,” I said sensibly. “You need to come inbye, out of this cold air!”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It was as if I had not spoken. She giggled, as if she saw something amusing in the fog; then smiled, as if she recognised someone in the fog; she motioned with her arms and her voice almost chirrupped with eagerness -<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Welcome! welcome at last! It’s here ye want! Come yor ways in, sit yorsells doon! Ye’re varry welcome! Bring yorsells in!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And the fog came nearer, seemed to flow round her, sending tentative fingers into the shelter of the doorway. She relaxed then with a long sigh and was calmer, though I still think she did not recognise my presence. It was all the time like she was talking to some other audience, or mebbies just to herself. She spoke, but as if I was not there - <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I’m too aad – I dinnut need it, me – Let ’em have thor hyem – and welcome Aa say!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
She went limp, and frail as she was, I could not hold her up, but had to let her gently down on the low front wall and there she huddled, her back against the house wall, her chin on her chest, very still. I did not like to think she was dead; could not decide what to do. I found I was unwilling to enter the house to use her phone: the fog had got in there, I could see it sliding ever in, down the hall, seeking out the rooms on either side. Thinking of the old lady though, it seemed my only course. I made as if to enter. The fog suddenly thickened indoors, barring my way; on the stairs and in the hall it seemed almost solid, a fence of what I could almost fancy to be faces. Ridiculous. I stepped back.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
To my relief my wife came over then, and she held a torch, and her mobile phone. It was not easy to get an ambulance.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It’s very foggy! Are you sure it’s an emergency? It may take over long to get through the streets at the harbour…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But as we spoke I could see the fog was thinning. We felt for Ella’s pulse – there was none. We covered her with a coat and waited.<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
Information<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Bury Text Festival<br />
<br />
www.textfestival.com<br />
<br />
‘This is the first British festival exploring the idea that art can be read as poetry and poetry can be viewed as art.’<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
New magazine; The Argotist online<br />
<br />
http://www.argotistonline.co.uk/<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
10th Muse 13<br />
<br />
prozac book society<br />
<br />
edited by Andy Jordan: £3.50 each, 2 issues £6, 3 issue subscription £9. All prices include postage.. Cheques payable to 10th Muse. 33, Harlington Road, Southampton, SO14 OEW, UK: email andyj@noplace.screaming.net<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Review by Tony Frazer, editor of Shearsman<br />
<br />
Long-delayed and thus doubly welcome, this issue keeps up the good work <br />
<br />
of the previous ones. I did like the cover, with its invocation of the <br />
<br />
Prozac Book Society suggesting a certain other organisation with the <br />
<br />
same initials. Editor Andrew Jordan contributes a splendidly feisty <br />
<br />
editorial, which ends with an image of the pharmaceuticals referred to <br />
<br />
on the cover and the legend: "Accessible poetry is not necessarily <br />
<br />
social or sociable." A truer word was never uttered. As to the <br />
<br />
contents, there's good work by Estill Pollock (who seems to appear in <br />
<br />
all the magazines that I like), Carrie Etter (ditto), Thomas Warner and <br />
<br />
Simon Perchik, amongst others. The reviews section is combative, <br />
<br />
personal, trenchant and all the better for it. A rather irregular <br />
<br />
journal, but one I like to read when it does appear.<br />
<br />
http://www.shearsman.com/pages/magazine/back_issues/shearsman61/ <br />
<br />
reviews61_mag.html<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
KRAX magazine, c/o 63 Dixon Lane, Leeds LS12 4RR, Yorkshire U.K<br />
<br />
Editor: Andy Robson: £3.50 ($7) each. 3 issues £10 ($20 in USA)<br />
<br />
Remittances payable to ‘A. Robson’<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
The West House Books website is up & running at www.westhousebooks.co.uk Titles in print, Gargoyles, books distributed, secondhand bookshop, Sheffield Poetry International ... and more ...N E W F R O M F I V E S E A S O N S P R E S S www.fiveseasonspress.com<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
Bluechrome was launched in the August of 2002 as an independent publisher of poetry and literary or experimental fiction.<br />
<br />
http://www.bluechrome.co.uk/store/shop/<br />
<br />
• <br />
<br />
PAGES: Edited by Robert Sheppard.<br />
<br />
See PAGES blogzine online at www.robertsheppard.blogspot.com.<br />
<br />
Read a profile of Robert Sheppard at www.soton.ac.uk/~bepc/poets/Sheppard.htm. <br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
Reach magazine. Poet, illustrator, Ronnie Goodyer has taken over at Reach magazine. Published monthly, priced £3.50, full details from Ronnie at lizardpoet@hotmail.co.uk<br />
<br />
If you're writing specifically about Reach magazine, then use<br />
<br />
reachmagazine@indigodreams.plus.com<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
Ormskirk Writers Jo Cowell Short Story competition. Close: 30th <br />
<br />
September 2005. SAE for entry form to Ishbel Kargar, The Flat, 62 Greetby <br />
<br />
Hill, Ormskirk, L39 2DT. (01695 571748)'<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Publications<br />
<br />
PLACE by Allen Fisher<br />
<br />
Publication date: 30 May 2005<br />
<br />
1-874400-28-8 <br />
<br />
234x156mm paperback, 418pp<br />
<br />
Price: £15.00<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
On 30 May 2005 Reality Street Editions will publish the first complete <br />
<br />
Text under one set of covers of Allen Fisher¹s PLACE.<br />
<br />
Ken Edwards, Reality Street Editions<br />
<br />
63 All Saints Street, Hastings, E Sussex TN34 3BN, UK<br />
<br />
Tel: 01424 431271<br />
<br />
Web: www.realitystreet.co.uk<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
Poetry by Rupert Loydell: A CONFERENCE OF VOICES [Shearsman, 2004], <br />
<br />
FAMILIAR TERRITORY [bluechrome, 2004], ENDLESSLY DIVISIBLE [Driftwood, <br />
<br />
2003], THE MUSEUM OF LIGHT [Arc, 2003] all available to buy online at <br />
<br />
www.stridebooks.co.uk<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
Will Daunt<br />
<br />
YearlY<br />
<br />
Poems and images<br />
<br />
48, Tower Hill, Ormskirk L39 2EF<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
Steve Sneyd<br />
<br />
Ahasuerus On Mars<br />
<br />
Atlantean Publishing, 38 Pierrot Steps, 71 Kursaal Way, Southend-on-Sea, Essex, SS1 2UY, UK<br />
<br />
Elsewhen Unbound: Poetry in American Sfanzines the 1930s to 1960s: Hilltop Press, 4 Nowell Place, Almondbury, Huddersfield, HD5 8PB, UK. Price £2.50/$6.00<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
Juke James, Esq.<br />
<br />
Spelt With A ‘J’ NOT A ‘D’<br />
<br />
(a poetic anthology)<br />
<br />
Seeker Publications Liverpool. 0151-727 0150<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
M A R G I N A L I E N<br />
<br />
poems / sequences / prose texts / graphics 1988-2004<br />
<br />
by ALAN HALSEY: A beautifully-produced large-format 416-page collection, including 90 pages of graphics. Each copy has a CD-Rom in a blind-embossed envelope slotted into the back endpaper. Thanks to support from Arts Council England, the book may be purchased for £15.50 (post-free in UK) from:Five Seasons Press, 41 Green Street, Hereford HR1 2QH: books@fiveseasonspress.com. Distributed in the USA by SPD 1341 Seventh Street, Berkeley, CA 94710-1409: www.spdbooks.org, ISBN 0-947960-34-1<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
Emergency Rations by Cliff Yates.<br />
<br />
Smith/Doorstop Books, The Poetry Business, The Studio, Byram Arcade, Westgate, Huddersfield, HDI IND<br />
<br />
ISBN 1-902382-58-7<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
Publishing Technique, MaryMark Press<br />
<br />
Poems by Lila Goodman, Mark Sonnenfeld, Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
<br />
ISBN 1-887379-74-6<br />
<br />
45-08 Old Millstone Drive, East Windsor, NJ 08520 USA<br />
<br />
Editor: Mark Sonnenfeld<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
Maxine: A novella by Alice Lenkiewicz.<br />
<br />
Forthcoming by Bluechrome. <br />
<br />
Further details to be publicized in due course.<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
Metallic Clouds, Geometric Sky<br />
<br />
Audrey Marshall and Peter Faulkner<br />
<br />
The Ghosts of Summer Traffic<br />
<br />
Some poems from the 1980s<br />
<br />
Pete Faulkner<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
Dream Vortex<br />
<br />
A. C. Evans<br />
<br />
Twelve Poems: A.C . Evans<br />
<br />
Twelve Drawings: Illustrated by Susan A. Duxbury-Hibbert<br />
<br />
•<br />
<br />
Lunar Moths<br />
<br />
Jo Haslam<br />
<br />
Smith/Doorstop Books<br />
<br />
The Poetry Business, The Studio, Byram Arcade, Westgate, Huddersfield<br />
<br />
HD1 1ND<br />
<br />
ISBN 1-902382-68-4<br />
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<br />
NEON HIGHWAY: POETRY / ART MAGAZINE<br />
<br />
http://neonhighway.co.uk/<br />
<br />
email: poetshideout@yahoo.com<br />
<br />
For the remainder of this year, each issue: £2<br />
<br />
U.S: 1 issue $6, Europe 4 euros.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Cheques made out to Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Address:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
37, Grinshill Close, Liverpool, L8 8LD<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
‘Neon Highway’ no longer accepts unsolicited work. The magazine will commission writers in 2006.</div>
Alice Lenkiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04020676166907047838noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4359728548211384456.post-69577224634026363242011-01-03T10:16:00.001-08:002011-01-09T09:22:22.454-08:00CRUNCH Special issue 15Neon Highway ISSN: 1476-9867 <br />
<br />
<br />
Special Issue Number 15.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
‘CRUNCH’<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSIW96UAHNI/AAAAAAAAA1E/I5_8Hv7t8K8/s1600/CRUNCH.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="498" n4="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSIW96UAHNI/AAAAAAAAA1E/I5_8Hv7t8K8/s640/CRUNCH.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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Contents<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Introduction: Pages 3-5<br />
<br />
Pages 6-7: Ailsa Cox<br />
<br />
Pages 8-10 Andrew Taylor<br />
<br />
Pages 11-17: Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
<br />
Page 19: Robert Sheppard<br />
<br />
Page 20: Patricia Farrell<br />
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Page 22-28: Scott Thurston<br />
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Page 29-31: Cliff Yates<br />
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Page 32: Stazia Morrill<br />
<br />
Page 33: Duncan Stewart<br />
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Page 34-36: Matt Fallaize<br />
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Page 37-38: Biographies<br />
<br />
Page 39: Subscription<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Images by Alice Lenkiewicz: Front cover, page 1,11.13,18<br />
<br />
Images by Alice Lenkiewicz: www.geocities.com/poetshideout/alenkiewiczdrawings.html<br />
<br />
poetshideout@yahoo.com<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Images by Tim Power: Pages 6, 21.28,30,33<br />
<br />
Tim Power: http://www.flickr.com/photos/gonzopix/<br />
<br />
babelpower@msn.com<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Introduction<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Welcome to this special issue of Neon Highway that includes poems and writings from our performance at Liverpool Tate 5th Floor Project, titled ‘CRUNCH’. Writers read their poems and writings that revolved around the Wall Street Crash of 1929 and the Credit Crunch.<br />
<br />
As a poetry magazine that has run since 2002, I decided to take into consideration the present financial climate, because I felt it would bring forth a variety of viewpoints. <br />
<br />
Here is a quick run down of what I have perceived to be some of the main instigators of our present climate.<br />
<br />
The so-called ‘New Era’. <br />
<br />
The US economy experienced steady growth and expansion after the first world war, during the nineteen twenties. It is quoted as “the first truly modern decade and for better or worse, it created the model for society that all the world follows today.”<br />
<br />
There were three main factors that fuelled economic growth.<br />
<br />
a. Machines<br />
<br />
b. Factories<br />
<br />
c. Processing Standardised Mass production<br />
<br />
Standardised Mass Production led to better Machinery in factories which then led to higher production which led to higher wages therefore producing more consumer goods which then led back to more standardised Mass Production.<br />
<br />
Known as ‘The Great Boom’. The twenties had been a time of fun and partying, hence ‘The Roaring Twenties’. Many people, (although not everyone) during this time were having a comfortable life, able to afford luxury goods. Industry increased, Laws, Science, Arts, Beliefs, and much of social living changed. Americans considered play just as important as work. Confidence in consumers improved. Americans then became brave enough to invest in the market and set up businesses. Factory owners and companies made huge profits. The number of millionaires increased. The negative side was considered the violence, the gangsters, for instance, Al Capone who made money illegally as well as killing mercilessly which then led to the prohibition.<br />
<br />
I found thinking about the whole era and how it relates to today quite challenging but also not easy. It conjured up many emotions for me and made me think about the obsessive consumerist that I really am. I am most certainly a victim of what is known as ‘Conspicuous Consumption’ the familiar term that embodies the cultural mindset of Post World War 1. I will never forget my first Ford Car. Henry Ford once said, “Americans can have any kind of car they want, and any colour they want, as long as it’s Ford, and as long as it’s black.” During this time, the relationship between businessman and government had never been closer. Calvin Coolidge, (Silent Cal) once said “Wealth is the Chief end of Man. The Man who builds a factory builds a temple, The man who works there, worships there.” Can you believe that a prominent figure known as Bruce Barton published a book called ‘The Man Nobody Knows’ a biography about Jesus as the ‘founder of modern business’ and the apostles as the ‘greatest sales force in history’? It is no wonder that people have become so turned on by money,(including myself of course). However there were also critics of America’s culture of consumption, including Sinclair Lewis, author of the novel ‘Babbitt’ (1922) who made fun of the businessman labelling him as a materialistic, amoral, superficial conformist.”<br />
<br />
So where does that lead us? ‘The Great Crash’ followed ‘The Great Boom’.<br />
<br />
Three phrases - Black Thursday, Black Monday, and Black Tuesday - are used to describe this collapse of stock values. All three are appropriate, for the crash was not a one-day affair. The initial crash occurred on Black Thursday (October 24, 1929), but it was the catastrophic downturn of Black Monday and Tuesday (October 28 and October 29, 1929) that initiated widespread panic and the onset of unprecedented and long-lasting consequences for the United States. The collapse continued for a month.<br />
<br />
The October 1929 crash came during a period of declining real estate values in the United States (which peaked in 1925) near the beginning of a chain of events that led to the Great Depression, a period of economic decline in the industrialised nations.<br />
<br />
At the time of the crash, New York City had become a major metropolis and its Wall Street district was one of the world's leading financial centres. The New York Stock Exchange (NYSE) was the largest stock market in the world.<br />
<br />
Together, the 1929 stock market crash and the Great Depression was the largest financial crisis of the" 20th century. "The panic of that October day has come to serve as a symbol of the economic contraction that gripped the world during the next decade." The Wall Street Crash had a major impact on the U.S. and world economy, and it has been the source of intense academic debate—historical, economic and political—from its aftermath until the present day. <br />
<br />
The "1929 crash brought the Roaring Twenties shuddering to a halt. The crash marked the beginning of widespread and long-lasting consequences for the United States. The main question is: Did the "'29 Crash spark The Depression?", or did it merely coincide with the bursting of a credit-inspired economic bubble? The decline in stock prices caused bankruptcies and severe macroeconomic difficulties including business closures, firing of workers and other economic repression measures. The resultant rise of mass unemployment and the depression is seen as a direct result of the crash, though it is by no means the sole event that contributed to the depression; it is usually seen as having the greatest impact on the events that followed. Therefore the Wall Street Crash is widely regarded as signalling the downward economic slide that initiated the Great Depression.<br />
<br />
The poems written in this issue are a response to the past and the present financial climate.<br />
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Yours.<br />
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Jane Marsh.<br />
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Twofer<br />
<br />
So he says to me, ‘What do you think?’ and I say, ‘Are you proposing?’ We’re sitting in the Beehive, eating two meals for the price of one, fish and chips, sausage and mash, a couple of pints. ‘Well yes,’ I say, though I’m actually thinking: can we run through this again? With moonlight? ‘Yes, if you’re asking, I suppose so.’<br />
<br />
On this very weekend, Wayne and Colleen are getting hitched in Portofino. At the moment when they’re declared man and wife, each of the however many guests opens a gilded box, and out comes a butterfly, like Discord released into the world. On Paradise Street, the mirrored city’s open to shoppers. We could hardly get on the trains for the crowds coming in. Stumbling from the dark pub into daylight, I’m dazzled. It seems like I’m dreaming. The street clamour hits me, the din of conversation, the clatter of drills and the over-amplified backing track used by the blind man over on Church Street – dum dum dum dum DUM. Builders clamber over the scaffolding, a bright yellow crane completing a right-angled triangle.<br />
<br />
Next to the hoardings – an exciting retail outlet due for completion September - two young guys are playing Purple Haze, playing it hard and for real. <br />
<br />
‘Look,’ says Ed.<br />
<br />
One of the guitarists has no right hand. He uses his prosthesis like a bow.<br />
<br />
The shoppers course past us, heading upstream for John Lewis. We hang around listening, a couple of minutes, but we have urgent business too – Ed’s eye appointment – buy one, get a free pair of prescription sunglasses. And for me, the cosmetics counter - your exclusive beauty bag with complimentary products worth up to £75. We head in opposite directions – Ed to the opticians, me scuttling towards Boots on Clayton Square, passing the empty shops, closed for relocation. Everything’s different, and yet still the same - the blaring outdoor screen with your local news and weather; and the stalls selling Scarface mirrors and Everton scarves - the distances stretched and the geography shifted. <br />
<br />
A young couple are bumping a buggy up that line of Odessa steps leading up to Lime St, the buggy loaded with Primark bags, carriers dangling from the handles, the woman clamping the pink baby at her middle. The baby stares out from its mother’s grasp, and everything stops just for a minute. Everything stops and starts over again.<br />
<br />
Ailsa Cox<br />
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Carts are Objects they are Little Buildings<br />
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It is important to heal<br />
<br />
and to hydrate <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
seek scraps fallen from fruit and veg<br />
<br />
seller’s barrows<br />
<br />
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Straight pressed into survival<br />
<br />
doorways home to blankets<br />
<br />
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Royal Mail Street public land<br />
<br />
appears private<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Behind the Adelphi Hotel<br />
<br />
houses were built on wasteland <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
repayments are not being met<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
In Winter take on more hot liquid<br />
<br />
wear layers<br />
<br />
keep one room warm stay in it<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
venture out if only absolutely necessary<br />
<br />
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<br />
soup is a valid form of nutrition<br />
<br />
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Been listening to the Palies have you?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Of course there is absolutely<br />
<br />
nothing wrong with listening <br />
<br />
to The Pale Fountains in fact<br />
<br />
it should be encouraged<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
particularly on hot summer days<br />
<br />
when the fields sway heavily<br />
<br />
and the daylight goes on and on<br />
<br />
reflecting shadows long across<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
motorway verges encouraging<br />
<br />
shelter<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
25 years listen on <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
watch midwinter Manhattan a <br />
<br />
temporary writing <br />
<br />
room wonder about the futility of <br />
<br />
holding onto things that should<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
be cast off and thought about differently<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the pound is worthless against the dollar <br />
<br />
they are stripping the Chelsea Hotel <br />
<br />
of its history in an effort to make more money<br />
<br />
room 211 is partly demolished<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
How clever<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
Credit Crunch Hits Toyland as Stores Cut Prices for Christmas<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I can’t imagine being <br />
<br />
the last person in Lewis’s<br />
<br />
Christmas Eve buying Macallan <br />
<br />
10 year old though in 1993 <br />
<br />
that’s exactly what I did<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I was drinking to forget that<br />
<br />
my marriage was almost over<br />
<br />
that the money in my pocket<br />
<br />
was courtesy of HM Government<br />
<br />
and that my parents were sending<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
food parcels I scribbled into <br />
<br />
notebooks from the Pound Shop<br />
<br />
and settled in Bootle library<br />
<br />
for warmth and education<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
This Christmas Eve a payment<br />
<br />
will arrive into my bank account<br />
<br />
from Liverpool City Council for<br />
<br />
work I did talking about my poetry<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
and I will read an edition of<br />
<br />
The New York Times dated 23 <br />
<br />
December delivered via the red-eye<br />
<br />
into Manchester<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I will buy flowers take food out of<br />
<br />
the freezer and be prepared<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Andrew Taylor<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
After Black Thursday<br />
<br />
“The 1929 crash was not a one-day affair. The initial crash occurred on Black Thursday (October 24, 1929), but it was the catastrophic downturn of Black Monday and Tuesday (October 28 and October 29, 1929) that precipitated widespread panic and the onset of unprecedented and long-lasting consequences for the United States. The collapse continued for a month.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Through the blue yonder<br />
<br />
Of a Summer’s sky<br />
<br />
I saw a tranquil place<br />
<br />
Where shadows<br />
<br />
Danced upon the river<br />
<br />
Perhaps slumbered<br />
<br />
Then embraced the dark<br />
<br />
Warm night<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Out of all this chaos<br />
<br />
I feel a sense of calm<br />
<br />
Sitting in the morning light<br />
<br />
A place of mirrors<br />
<br />
In an instant knows<br />
<br />
Virtues though proud<br />
<br />
Seem to be near and <br />
<br />
Help us repair<br />
<br />
The solemn under-wood of<br />
<br />
A withering dream<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Out of corruption there is<br />
<br />
Clarity and possible variety<br />
<br />
In all that we produced<br />
<br />
To work upon ourselves<br />
<br />
Have we lost our way<br />
<br />
I force my mind back<br />
<br />
And now descend<br />
<br />
A silence that made me dream<br />
<br />
Of happiness so youthful <br />
<br />
And serene<br />
<br />
A luminous mist through the<br />
<br />
Morning land<br />
<br />
Sumptuous as summer’s heat<br />
<br />
I search for some greatness<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The sky with all its secrets<br />
<br />
A quiet sparkling forest pool<br />
<br />
Upon my lonely walk<br />
<br />
Weaving the cities fates <br />
<br />
Remember <br />
<br />
The far off sun<br />
<br />
And the mossy stone<br />
<br />
The process of eternal love<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The 1929 St Valentine's Day Massacre<br />
<br />
The St. Valentine's Day Massacre eliminated Capone's enemies, but outraged the general public. Capone (through his henchman Murray the Hump) orchestrated the most notorious gangland killing of the century, the 1929 St. Valentine's Day Massacre in the Lincoln Park neighbourhood on Chicago's North Side.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
we walked the river<br />
<br />
land without shadows<br />
<br />
everywhere knowing<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
you’ve lost all sense of shame<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the sun unfastens a still<br />
<br />
cafe triggers the "raid."<br />
<br />
for hooch as the mob fired<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
seven victims at 2122<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
not a word spoken<br />
<br />
each time returning<br />
<br />
footsteps come into our lives<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
in the view of streetlamps<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
my eyes weeping<br />
<br />
snow is falling<br />
<br />
there he lies body black<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
dreaming of strange cities<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
secrets gather the sleepy<br />
<br />
horizon to lose identity<br />
<br />
re-enter the real world<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
to have nothing else to give<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
as the light fell away<br />
<br />
i stood there beside the<br />
<br />
wonder wheel<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
as the sea soothes this first day<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Fire Starters<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
In 1932<br />
<br />
He shed his shoes<br />
<br />
Walked past the grey<br />
<br />
Drab apartment blocks<br />
<br />
And entered the forest<br />
<br />
Of rising flames where an unfamiliar<br />
<br />
Sky followed a trail of amber smoke<br />
<br />
Above the vivid horizon<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
An eagle watched <br />
<br />
The empty silence the good<br />
<br />
And safe place smoke<br />
<br />
Moving but silent<br />
<br />
There was a moment of consideration<br />
<br />
As he entered the clearing<br />
<br />
Redwood trees<br />
<br />
And fragments<br />
<br />
Translucent in shadows<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Recession Song<br />
<br />
2009<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It was one of those days when I reached for the sales<br />
<br />
Like a pirate craves silver on moon-swept gales<br />
<br />
Faces I saw were eager to spend <br />
<br />
The Banks apparently reluctant to lend<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Church Street sparkled like silver and gold<br />
<br />
In Liverpool's January bitter cold<br />
<br />
Prices had fallen like leaves in the gutter<br />
<br />
This is heaven I heard somebody mutter<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It was one of those days<br />
<br />
When the shops were warm<br />
<br />
And my life should have been tattered and torn<br />
<br />
As I walked around with a golden purse<br />
<br />
I knew this was my social curse<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Don’t stand there and blame the single mum<br />
<br />
When it was with her you had so much fun<br />
<br />
How can you leave the homeless in the street<br />
<br />
To watch their dignity slowly deplete<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It was one of those days when I wanted to cry<br />
<br />
What’s happened to the trees<br />
<br />
And the stars in the sky<br />
<br />
And you may say it is forbidden<br />
<br />
It’s a mystery where new jewels are hidden<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The sun glimmers on a winter tree<br />
<br />
Creating new chances<br />
<br />
The young girl dances<br />
<br />
And let’s build a statue as high as the town<br />
<br />
Of nature wearing her green velvet gown<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
For as I walk up Bold Street and think of my life<br />
<br />
Heaven’s forbid there’s been some strife<br />
<br />
Let us not forget that we’re not here forever<br />
<br />
Love and peace we will endeavour<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And although it is easy to create a war<br />
<br />
Life is too short so don’t close your door<br />
<br />
And remember the banker for all his gloom<br />
<br />
Deserves a friend too on this cold afternoon<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Robert Sheppard<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sensual Music <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
‘Don’t write nature poetry,’<br />
<br />
shouts the horny black bill.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
R.F. Langley<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Cormorant by the lakeside <br />
<br />
Where the heron should be<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
As alert but hanging there <br />
<br />
With wings half-unfurled<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Like a man slipping a jacket <br />
<br />
Down his back<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Gulls with false eye feathered <br />
<br />
Behind each real eye trot<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
To the freshwater and hop in <br />
<br />
Geese side-step flat-footing <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Their shit’s verdure but that’s OK <br />
<br />
This isn’t a nature poem<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
For not all the fowl are real<br />
<br />
The Liver Birds cast into myth atop<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The life assurance capitol preside <br />
<br />
Over acts-of-god and credit-crunch <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But the cormorant dived oily<br />
<br />
Into saltwater once in imitation<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Of its food’s long flight. We <br />
<br />
Did this and I found the words<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Liverpool 2008<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Patricia Farrell<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Turned Figure (paperwork enclosed) – Reprise<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
BREAD<br />
<br />
Too ugly for words<br />
<br />
So who paid for his teeth?<br />
<br />
She has not half the wit of this fish<br />
<br />
I am telling you<br />
<br />
Many mouths singing<br />
<br />
Body leaves inside over<br />
<br />
SALT<br />
<br />
Watching the monitors<br />
<br />
The sadness of seeing oneself seeing<br />
<br />
I have burned his clothes<br />
<br />
And find the body<br />
<br />
Hand pick in those ready<br />
<br />
Good hair helps<br />
<br />
WATER<br />
<br />
From behind the screen<br />
<br />
Objects seem to desert me now<br />
<br />
If they pulled him from the water now<br />
<br />
You must shut your ears<br />
<br />
Don’t buy selected skin<br />
<br />
Load wrong find magic<br />
<br />
FISH<br />
<br />
A land as fine as this<br />
<br />
Easier spot says step it<br />
<br />
A bird on the windowsill sings<br />
<br />
Do not sell me anything<br />
<br />
Now close your eyes<br />
<br />
Free to field customers<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
FOR THE LOVE<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
in a skyscraper<br />
<br />
pale wood and a glass hedge<br />
<br />
fund <br />
<br />
insure me to the end of the<br />
<br />
world<br />
<br />
I have no time<br />
<br />
left<br />
<br />
I want to eat<br />
<br />
time<br />
<br />
sell my mortality<br />
<br />
so I can buy into<br />
<br />
the big one<br />
<br />
the big infinite deal<br />
<br />
the one<br />
<br />
no-one sees coming<br />
<br />
but everyone is waiting for<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
recycle private finance<br />
<br />
into public gain or is<br />
<br />
it the other way around?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
an earthquake devastates California<br />
<br />
a revolutionary Marxist government in Washington<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
insure me for the end <br />
<br />
of the world<br />
<br />
where fear trumps greed<br />
<br />
again and again <br />
<br />
or is it the other way around?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I want a private public fact<br />
<br />
I can rely on<br />
<br />
to credit credit<br />
<br />
trust my trust fund<br />
<br />
command a sociology of knowledge<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
an increased proportion of sellers<br />
<br />
are desperate<br />
<br />
transferring credit risk into<br />
<br />
collateralized debt obligations<br />
<br />
a special purpose vehicle<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
tsunami takes out<br />
<br />
the Cayman islands<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
corporate bonds<br />
<br />
loans<br />
<br />
and mortgage backed bonds<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
set into the terror tower –<br />
<br />
a hierarchically structured set <br />
<br />
of investments in tranches thick<br />
<br />
as Argentinian steak<br />
<br />
impenetrable as water<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
start me on the equity tranche<br />
<br />
where I practically freeze my<br />
<br />
assets in fear but bank on<br />
<br />
the risk of a high return<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
if I can penetrate the skin<br />
<br />
of delirium I wash up on the next<br />
<br />
tranche – the mezzanine trench<br />
<br />
suspended above wrecked aspirations<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
we only hope equity doesn’t<br />
<br />
get sliced out of the system<br />
<br />
or we can’t hope to reach the<br />
<br />
senior tranche<br />
<br />
triple AAA<br />
<br />
second only in safety<br />
<br />
to the super senior<br />
<br />
that we can but dream of<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the air gets thin at this level<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the gains privatized<br />
<br />
the losses shared by all<br />
<br />
or is it other way<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
social and cultural capital<br />
<br />
so rare you kill for it<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the end of high end art –<br />
<br />
a diamond skull tops out the prospects<br />
<br />
gazing over an oil slick off Cornwall<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
autonomy, spontaneity, rhizomorphous capacity, multi-tasking, conviviality, openness to others and novelty, availability, creativity, visionary intuition, sensitivity to differences, listening to lived experiences and receptiveness, informality, search for contact<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
are all fundamental to sound financial management<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
create fact in your investment grade art<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
rating:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
risk of default<br />
<br />
recovery rates<br />
<br />
extent of linked defaults<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
work out the correlation of the risks<br />
<br />
using a single factor Gaussian copula<br />
<br />
gauging:<br />
<br />
the health of the economy<br />
<br />
connectedness of risks<br />
<br />
the bell-shaped curve<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
We have no confidence <br />
<br />
that this is a good measure<br />
<br />
of your art assets<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the artist part of the unnamed consortium<br />
<br />
buying his own works<br />
<br />
for cash<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
these facts offered to<br />
<br />
banks, hedge funds, insurance companies, pension funds<br />
<br />
for shedding credit risk<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
not private individuals<br />
<br />
but based on private facts<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
buy protection / sell protection<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
trade in correlation<br />
<br />
in a huge volume of liquid market<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
we take off senior and super senior<br />
<br />
private citizens and we<br />
<br />
work on the mezzanine<br />
<br />
everyone now equally, heavily<br />
<br />
exposed to risk <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
where does this leave us<br />
<br />
the end of the world<br />
<br />
only a few moments away<br />
<br />
capitalism feels like crumbling, so what<br />
<br />
or is it the other way around?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
If the insurer doesn’t survive<br />
<br />
who gets the big payout?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But you protect<br />
<br />
You book your deal<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Even if it would be gone long before<br />
<br />
you could ever use it<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
apocalypse now so built into<br />
<br />
the system<br />
<br />
it underwrites the whole<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
as death makes sense of life<br />
<br />
and the other way around<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Scott Thurston<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT<br />
<br />
This poem is indebted to my reading of essays by Donald MacKenzie (‘End-of-the-World Trade’) and Hal Foster (‘The Medium is the Market’) published in the London Review of Books in May and October 2008 respectively.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Cliff Yates<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
TAKE HEART<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Two pain-killers first thing, a black tea <br />
<br />
with three sugars and I’m almost human,<br />
<br />
the tooth a dull ache and the throat <br />
<br />
a mere crackle. Cheer up, says the Express, <br />
<br />
forget the economy – temperatures <br />
<br />
in the 70s, sales in the High Street…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
and my body’s a wire, strung across the Pennines<br />
<br />
sat in a draught on the Transpennine Express.<br />
<br />
No one talking, just the rustle of paper, <br />
<br />
a slate blue sky, shadows getting shorter <br />
<br />
as we enter a tunnel, then it’s a mist <br />
<br />
and the presence of trees, the sun <br />
<br />
inching up the absence of sky…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Telegraph poles are poor imitations of trees<br />
<br />
the wires between them, bird flight.<br />
<br />
Power hums not sings.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Cliff Yates<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
EXCHANGE RATE<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Climbing the tree to pick fruit he fell and lost<br />
<br />
most of his hearing. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He shakes my hand, talks in Slovakian,<br />
<br />
tapping his pockets, looking suspiciously <br />
<br />
around him for us to be careful, in the market, of thieves.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
We don’t find any thieves, we find a kilo of walnuts<br />
<br />
for less than a pound but we can’t eat a kilo of walnuts.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Four thousand crowns on the table, a bag of poppy seeds <br />
<br />
in the kitchen and we don’t know what to say or how to say it.<br />
<br />
She draws a bath in her notebook and climbs in.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Cliff Yates<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
FUN<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Al said he was glad that his wife wasn’t with him <br />
<br />
when he watched American Beauty<br />
<br />
he’d have been embarrassed. <br />
<br />
We’d just got back from Paris. <br />
<br />
Best bit was outside the bar, not being able to stop <br />
<br />
laughing. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Such as when the telephone rings at one <br />
<br />
in the morning like it did last night <br />
<br />
and your neighbour’s just chased your son <br />
<br />
off his garden – his daughter’s having a sleepover <br />
<br />
and the scallywag climbed his wall <br />
<br />
and pulled out the tent pegs<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
or hire a gipsy caravan in the Outer Hebrides <br />
<br />
like the bank manager and his wife <br />
<br />
(‘you’ll pass somewhere you can wash on the Thursday’)<br />
<br />
who packed three carrier bags with baby wipes.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Stazia Xenia Lenkiewicz- Morrill<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
There was nothing there<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The children playing in the meadows<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
There was nothing there oh<br />
<br />
Oh Oh Oh Oh<br />
<br />
There was nothing there<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Dancing through streets broad and narrow<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
There was nothing there oh<br />
<br />
Oh Oh Oh Oh<br />
<br />
There was nothing there<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The grass was green<br />
<br />
The sky was blue<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
There was nothing there oh<br />
<br />
Oh Oh Oh Oh<br />
<br />
There was nothing there<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Above the windows of the houses coloured awnings<br />
<br />
Are pulled down <br />
<br />
Today’s the day for fun and laughter<br />
<br />
For this little country town<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
There was nothing there oh.<br />
<br />
Oh Oh Oh Oh<br />
<br />
There was nothing there<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Duncan Stewart<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Money<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Money,<br />
<br />
It's the capital way,<br />
<br />
I've resisted for years,<br />
<br />
But I'm ashamed to say<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
That I'm now - I'm now - I'm now,<br />
<br />
Not where I have been,<br />
<br />
I wonder where my share is coming from,<br />
<br />
Wonder at what it means to me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So share me your secrets,<br />
<br />
Lock them up in a jar,<br />
<br />
And I'll throw it as far as I can,<br />
<br />
From the point that I stand in your heart.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Matt Fallaize<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
it follows<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
decline, sudden and dramatic<br />
<br />
exeunt omnes, bears pursuant<br />
<br />
quick words from the wings<br />
<br />
quicker words from the gods<br />
<br />
no takers for the ice cream in the interval<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
copy that<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
central points of information<br />
<br />
are as lit windows<br />
<br />
or stools<br />
<br />
to be caught between<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
way down in the hole<br />
<br />
I attempted to place a commodified<br />
<br />
price on the <br />
<br />
secret of fire<br />
<br />
as stolen<br />
<br />
from various gods<br />
<br />
so<br />
<br />
they were disinclined<br />
<br />
to extend my credit line<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
antic<br />
<br />
make hay while<br />
<br />
there’s hay<br />
<br />
to be made<br />
<br />
I hope you like hay<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I have an opinion<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It will affect<br />
<br />
percentage points<br />
<br />
listen to me or you’ll lose your house<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
exports<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
as it turns out<br />
<br />
hills still exist<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the end of history<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
bin the exhibits<br />
<br />
throw out the jars<br />
<br />
burn the labels <br />
<br />
it’s done, it’s finished<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
choke the bylines<br />
<br />
garrotte the margins<br />
<br />
run for the hills<br />
<br />
cherish your mattress<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
we’re all going to die especially you<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
piss in the wind<br />
<br />
write a placard use capitals<br />
<br />
imagine some numbers<br />
<br />
imagine them gone<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Commodity<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Friend, feel some comfort<br />
<br />
You’re doing your bit for macroeconomics<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Punch and Judy<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I wrote this, initially on<br />
<br />
a typewriter<br />
<br />
somewhere towards<br />
<br />
the end of the last century<br />
<br />
at which point<br />
<br />
I had a clear idea<br />
<br />
of how it all mapped out<br />
<br />
there would<br />
<br />
of course be a period of struggle<br />
<br />
but this, naturally<br />
<br />
would be followed by triumph<br />
<br />
easy to imagine<br />
<br />
the gates of a city somewhere<br />
<br />
gaping ajar for my open topped bus<br />
<br />
adoring kisses blown<br />
<br />
by the better sort of blowsy type<br />
<br />
a few years of graft<br />
<br />
a small price to pay<br />
<br />
I could of course<br />
<br />
chat cheerfully about<br />
<br />
shoulders and noses and grindstones<br />
<br />
etc<br />
<br />
secure in the knowledge<br />
<br />
that when some<br />
<br />
unquantifiable amount of dues had been paid<br />
<br />
then that would be that<br />
<br />
there’d be a tap on the shoulder<br />
<br />
and from then on out<br />
<br />
well it would mostly be gravy<br />
<br />
and occasional emails from regretful school crushes<br />
<br />
apologising and wondering if there was a chance<br />
<br />
I could liberate them from their middle managers<br />
<br />
and area representatives<br />
<br />
maybe, I’d reply, you never know<br />
<br />
nice to know<br />
<br />
I thought as I typed<br />
<br />
it all works out for the best<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
dissonance<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
action and promises of action<br />
<br />
and acting on intention and the evils<br />
<br />
of inaction and the intention to act<br />
<br />
and acting due to inattentive actioning<br />
<br />
something’s worse than nothing’s<br />
<br />
worse than something worse than<br />
<br />
his idea is worse<br />
<br />
than his idea is worse than his idea<br />
<br />
is worse than nothing is worse<br />
<br />
than inertia is death to the macroeconomic<br />
<br />
flow is a spur to microequanimities<br />
<br />
are a blockade to retrenchment<br />
<br />
is the spur to advancement is<br />
<br />
the fault of defaulters is the damage<br />
<br />
of collateral is the easy punchline <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
readjustment readjustment readjustment<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
this point goes here<br />
<br />
and this point goes here with<br />
<br />
concomitant effects on that point there<br />
<br />
colloidal and compound and fractal and<br />
<br />
prime and ponzi and pounding<br />
<br />
percentage and shifted liquidities <br />
<br />
this debt is this debt but it’s also that debt<br />
<br />
and his debt is your debt I sold it to her <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Biographies<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Robert Sheppard studied economics at A Level and though he steals its vocabulary now and then he is careful to leave its specifics out of his poetry – Ezra Pound being the minatory example. He has written about recessions, in the 1930s ‘Empty Diary’ poems, and in many poems written during and against the Thatcherite project to change human consciousness through economic deprivation – all of which are found in his compendious recent volume Complete Twentieth Century Blues (Salt 2008). In his next book Warrant Error (Shearsman, March 2008) he notes the undeliverable lesson on the £20 note but otherwise his attention is diverted by humanity’s need to survive the ‘September 12’ we seem to be living through co-terminously with the credit-crunch. He is also a critic (Iain Sinclair, 2007) and is Professor of Poetry and Poetics at Edge Hill University. See his Pages: www.robertsheppard.blogspot.com.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Patricia Farrell has had work published in Stride Magazine, Shadowtrain, Great Works, and Shearsman Magazine. Her work is included in the 4-pack anthology New Tonal Language (Reality Street Editions)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Andrew Taylor is a Liverpool based poet. Co-founder and editor of erbacce and erbacce-press, his latest collection comes from Sunnyoutside Press. Poems have recently appeared in Opium Poetry, The Journal of Heroin Love Songs, Eviscerator Heaven and Shoots and Vines. He has a PhD in Poetry and Poetics.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ailsa Cox’s stories have appeared in various magazines and anthologies, including London Magazine, Metropolitan and The Virago Book of Love and Loss.. Like Ice, Like Fire is published as a story pamphlet by Leaf books. A collection is forthcoming from Headland Press in 2009. She’s also the author of Writing Short Stories (Routledge 2005). Ailsa Cox teaches at Edge Hill University.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Scott Thurston’s most recent book is Momentum (Shearsman, 2008). He edits The Radiator, a journal of poetics, and edited The Salt Companion to Geraldine Monk. Scott lectures at the University of Salford and has published widely on innovative poetry. See his pages at www.archiveofthenow.com/.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Cliff Yates is the author of Henry’s Clock (Smith/Doorstop), which won both the Aldeburgh First Collection Prize and the Poetry Business Book & Pamphlet Competition. He wrote ‘Jumpstart Poetry in the Secondary School’ for the Poetry Society. He lives in Skelmersdale and teaches at Maharishi School, where his students are famous for winning poetry competitions. His new collection of poems is forthcoming from Salt.<br />
<br />
An earlier version of ‘Fun’ was published by Smith’s Knoll, and an earlier version of ‘Exchange Rate’ was published by The Slab.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz edits the poetry magazine, Neon Highway along with ‘Jane Marsh’, Matt Fallaize and Dee McMahon. She is the curator of The Toxteth Art Gallery online. She is also an artist and writer and has exhibited her work as well as having been published in poetry magazines and the small press. Further work and information can be found on: toxtethartgallery.wordpress.com and www.geocities.com/poetshideout/alenkiewiczdrawings.html<br />
<br />
http://www.geocities.com/poetshideout/Neon.html<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Matt Fallaize is a poet and lecturer. He also edits Neon Highway Poetry Magazine.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Duncan Stuart on Music<br />
<br />
www.myspace.com/duncanstuart<br />
<br />
duncanstuart_1@hotmail.com<br />
<br />
The Public Service Announcer<br />
<br />
Nigel Harrison (A&R man)<br />
<br />
Email: publicservice2008@yahoo.com<br />
<br />
L1 Ropewalk Recordings<br />
<br />
The new record label of Liverpool (website coming soon)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
http://www.geocities.com/poetshideout/Neon.html<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Neon Highway, the magazine for experimental and innovative poetry.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Submissions of innovative poetry to be sent to editors:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Dee McMahon: 14, Tower Hill, Ormskirk, L39 2EG<br />
<br />
Matt Fallaize: 54, Chapel St. Ormskirk, L39 4QF<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz: 37, Grinshill Close, Liverpool, L8 8LD<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Neon Highway is available bi-annually, with 2 issues costing £5.50, or a single<br />
<br />
Issue available at £3.00. Order your next issue by sending a cheque to Alice Lenkiewicz, 37, Grinshill Close, Liverpool, L8 8LD.Alice Lenkiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04020676166907047838noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4359728548211384456.post-88277761987164051102011-01-03T10:15:00.000-08:002013-05-28T00:47:00.165-07:00ISSUE: 11<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
ISSN: 1476-9867<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Neon Highway 11<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSISZFfQDkI/AAAAAAAAA1A/o4xpL5DQL4k/s1600/cover11.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" n4="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSISZFfQDkI/AAAAAAAAA1A/o4xpL5DQL4k/s400/cover11.png" width="300" /></a></div>
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<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Hi,<br />
<br />
Jane Marsh here. I’m here and yes strangely enough I’m not. I had a drink at lunchtime, one of those drinks you regret. A person I hadn’t seen for years…yes you understand? What is it about those meaningless situations when you ‘catch up’ and then say goodbye forever yet again. Thankfully I was just reading a new collection of poems by William Park, called ‘Surfacing’, right in the middle of his poem ‘The Damned’, so I was able to drift off for a while into another world and distract myself from that rather...( unexpected encounter).After that I read ‘Ahasuerus On Mars’ by Steve Sneyd and went beyond into another world. Later on I reflected on that day. I knew that sometime in the future it would no longer bother me and I would be surprised at how angry I had become. Something else would be on my mind by then. Oh the uselessness of it all. Thank god for books such a wonderful form of escapism, ‘Yellow Torchlight and The Blues’ by Emma Lee, and the beautifully written prose poems of Patricia Debney, ‘How to Be a Dragonfly’. Thank you ladies. <br />
<br />
And now I’m off to the U.S folks, heading for the stars. Have a friend who has been training me to head into space but first I have to pass my Nassa qualifications. Alice stole the idea from me for her novella ‘Maxine’. Details of Maxine in back of this issue. Do buy it, it’s just the most wacky book I’ve read in a while Oh and wait to you meet Mike Stevens. He’s a real dream. You’ll be astral travelling forever!<br />
<br />
We are lucky to have Steve Sneyd interviewed in this issue -Fascinating man. Much more interesting than hanging out in Wigan! I have to be honest, the place was a bit…sleazy. Once had a brief ‘affair’ with a guy there who never stopped clubbing round Wigan. It was like sleeping with George Orwell, an endless journey of down and out nightclub sordid living. I existed by day and night in my evening clothes. I even got to know the people very deeply and personally at the local bars, clubs and social clubs and er…Time to change the subject before I offend, one hears polite coughs and the wine starts to spill…<br />
<br />
Goodbye Darlings. Next issue of Neon Highway in the Spring issue 12, where Alice will publish a magazine containing a final batch of beautifully written unsolicited manuscripts. After that she will ask writers to contribute. Why? Because she doesn’t have time to answer all that post. Simple as that.<br />
<br />
Till then.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Jane x<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Contents<br />
<br />
Thank you to Ronnie Goodyear for front cover image<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
5: Daniel Bevan<br />
<br />
5-6: Charles Frederickson<br />
<br />
7-9: Iain Britton<br />
<br />
9-10: Davide Trame<br />
<br />
10-11: Michael Internicola<br />
<br />
11: Rick Taylor<br />
<br />
12: Georgina Milne<br />
<br />
13: Paul Amlehn<br />
<br />
14: Jason Wilkinson<br />
<br />
15: Ben Mason<br />
<br />
16-17: Aoife Mannix<br />
<br />
17-19: Thomas Lowe Taylor<br />
<br />
19: Sheila Murphy<br />
<br />
20-22: Adam Kane<br />
<br />
22-23: Jim Bennett<br />
<br />
23-28: Mark Farrell<br />
<br />
28-30: Jon Sweet<br />
<br />
31-32: Cory Harding<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
33-39: Jane Marsh questions the poet Steve Sneyd.<br />
<br />
40-42: Poems by Steve Sneyd<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
43-47: Information<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Daniel Bevan<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Estoria<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Denaistar Pemair Felesa<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Faimen Ponten Dacora<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Benta Lofair Tolari<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Topan Lesen Bentari<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Walking Pemansa<br />
<br />
Estoria sleeping<br />
<br />
Talking Peneta<br />
<br />
Bolaria etching<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Charles Frederickson<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
National Parks<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Hundreds of jagged limestone peaks<br />
<br />
Natural habitat of rare serows<br />
<br />
Horned antelope in goat clothing<br />
<br />
Creepy crawlies settling in boots<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
One-way fresh air steep trails<br />
<br />
Eighteen tier gurgling waterfall cascades<br />
<br />
Reflective drop-off pool tossing and<br />
<br />
Turning over during sleepless nightmares<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Secreted tufted exotic rainbow hornbill<br />
<br />
Stolen jewel in formidable beak<br />
<br />
Preening white herons fluffy mums<br />
<br />
Storks balancing on teakwood stilts<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Bat caves shuttered in darkness<br />
<br />
Enveloped black magic foreboding curse<br />
<br />
Sun bears sleeping away season<br />
<br />
Ursa Major satisfying hibernation undisturbed<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Strident wild boars making tracks<br />
<br />
Dense bristles shrub stems brushed<br />
<br />
Prickly porcupine needles stitched with<br />
<br />
Warp snagging weft thorny brambles<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Hordes of monkey teases playful<br />
<br />
Swishy long frazzled jump-rope tails<br />
<br />
Slender arboreal apes swinging treetops<br />
<br />
Gibbons exposing themselves flashing rumps<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Mottled fur civets anal scent<br />
<br />
Glands secreting pungent musky odor<br />
<br />
Shy endangered specie clouded leopard<br />
<br />
Pelt brushed with rosette markings<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Far outreaches assaulted by dragonflies<br />
<br />
Waspish buzz of flighty intrusion<br />
<br />
Trumpeting wild elephants tusks erect<br />
<br />
Upper incisors carved ivory trophies<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
---------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Iain Britton <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
By word of mouth<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*to an artist now lying in state*<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So good so good are you at <br />
<br />
flinging red splotches of paint at the ceiling<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
then watching how they drip and colour<br />
<br />
the floor - so good are you at<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
demonstrating simulating the art of<br />
<br />
puncturing an artery. You’re so bloody good<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
you’ve moved onto greater things...like today<br />
<br />
for instance you went over to the playingfields<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
in Savage Crescent where state-house kids<br />
<br />
play at wars at being war lords <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
bruising each other with clods of dirt<br />
<br />
and you cut the throat of a giant cloud<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
that looked like a man and it’s been raining<br />
<br />
ever since.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
#<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
In your house you begin to dance the dance <br />
<br />
of the seven knives<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
one knife in the heart of each thought<br />
<br />
each emotion each hard-to-give-birth-to idea.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
They show up as pictures in your room<br />
<br />
as abstracts which contract like muscles<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
which claim to feel sharp <br />
<br />
abdominal pains. You<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
aren’t afraid to split open and expose<br />
<br />
the contents of your brain.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
#<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Men in black in hoods of black<br />
<br />
are reading to you soft words hard words<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
words painted red on crisp white paper<br />
<br />
words dripping from watering mouths<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
mouths which deliver ultimatums<br />
<br />
which threaten you <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
with falling blocks of sky. These are<br />
<br />
the men who hold your shadow by its neck<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
who won’t let go until their demands are met.<br />
<br />
These are the men you’ve painted on every wall.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
#<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Hands on the windowsill<br />
<br />
you stare out at the neighbours <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the Kennedys the Trembaths<br />
<br />
the Goughs the chemist who feeds his bloated<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
face on crimson poppies. Neighbours<br />
<br />
ready for the chop. You axe<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
them one by one and pin<br />
<br />
their living parts all over the house. You<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
show them to be different very different<br />
<br />
but belonging to everyone in the town.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
You have moved onto greater things. The men<br />
<br />
in black are satisfied. The kids playkilling<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
for pounds of dirt are satisfied. You are so good<br />
<br />
at squeezing out the best a body can offer. You<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
have spread yourself out on a <br />
<br />
hanging canvas for all to see.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Davide Trame<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
WINTER SOLSTICE<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
In the declining light<br />
<br />
things flash on their screens, you click<br />
<br />
on horizons your eyes promptly swallow<br />
<br />
and wait for clues settling in the blips.<br />
<br />
The real landscape outside<br />
<br />
is a stretch of grey-mauve spiky stubs,<br />
<br />
you think the thin furrows in the field<br />
<br />
were blooming mazes once, now buried.<br />
<br />
At the end of the day, on the way back<br />
<br />
you come across the year's turning<br />
<br />
in a sparkle of window panes,<br />
<br />
your steps in the rhythm of streetlamps<br />
<br />
that hide a buzz of stars;<br />
<br />
at home you want to scan their outlines,<br />
<br />
their screened twinkles secured in your hand.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Then, the power failure.<br />
<br />
And, all of a sudden, nothing is secured.<br />
<br />
You too, a splinter of a maze,<br />
<br />
are plunged down under,<br />
<br />
suspended in a sea, waves<br />
<br />
disentangling your web of wires,<br />
<br />
plugs hushed in a roar of foam.<br />
<br />
Now the light is back,<br />
<br />
you are relieved to be still here<br />
<br />
in your room, with a renewed<br />
<br />
conscience of the other shore<br />
<br />
and your screens' busy glitter perched<br />
<br />
on the unbounded dark.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Michael_Internicola<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
TWO FOR TUESDAY<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
when i pass savannah, georgia and the clouds<br />
<br />
are there and zz top did what they did i see blue<br />
<br />
skies again. mississippi that way. up and down the<br />
<br />
other. pearl jam in raleigh, north carolina tonight<br />
<br />
and it's all about the freedom now even when i<br />
<br />
don't realize it's making me happy. sometimes,<br />
<br />
i get so free i forget. i forget i don't know where<br />
<br />
my home is. i forget that girl i used to know.<br />
<br />
there's bad news before exit 109. terrible crash.<br />
<br />
news crews already there. a guy running across<br />
<br />
interstate 95. it is the middle of april. the concert<br />
<br />
is killer. red necks and preppies though. 37 dollars<br />
<br />
to our name. they wouldn't even let me buy beers<br />
<br />
without my id. hicks. next day i find myself eating<br />
<br />
a turkey sub in a gas station parking lot because it's<br />
<br />
so god damn nice out. new york can wait for me there.<br />
<br />
i still got dick going but being on the road these last<br />
<br />
three months has certainly changed things. my birthday<br />
<br />
is in three weeks. thirty two years of age. i'll be lucky<br />
<br />
to get a phone call. i don't give a shit. anyway--<br />
<br />
heading to richmond to fag off with those punks.<br />
<br />
hardly anyone around anymore. wall and his kids.<br />
<br />
pauly and matty with the girls. new york city life is so<br />
<br />
different. i wonder what sar's up to. i hope she's fine.<br />
<br />
junior stole van halen's 1984 outta the sub joint. girl gone<br />
<br />
bad is on and we're going about 80 down this stretch. god signs<br />
<br />
and semi's everywhere. blown tires and trees forever. junior's<br />
<br />
driving and going crazy inside and to think that this all<br />
<br />
happen only a couple weeks back. i was walking down the street<br />
<br />
and junior said we had three options: vegas, san fran or fla.<br />
<br />
i've been or at least passed thru all three. in a matter of a day,<br />
<br />
a day after i met a beautiful girl named natalie, i was gone for<br />
<br />
three straight weeks. i've written her as best i could. i wrote<br />
<br />
about the other one as best i could. take your time, sari. find love.<br />
<br />
in virginia nothing looks different. emporia is ten miles away.<br />
<br />
wherever the fuck that is.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Rick Taylor<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
THE PURE LIST<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
for L. Cohen<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The window you suggested a scene<br />
<br />
Vancouver the backlit accomplice<br />
<br />
I curbed you in stages<br />
<br />
It’s the traffic mounting<br />
<br />
Your mouth was so frantic<br />
<br />
Robson Hotel seventh floor<br />
<br />
A purse spills its guts<br />
<br />
I spoke for you in the voiceover<br />
<br />
Lie with family in the Appendix<br />
<br />
Your father has my card<br />
<br />
Does Perfection work<br />
<br />
Do you dial zero or one<br />
<br />
Very well open your thighs<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Etc.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Georgina Milne<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
New Boots.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A spangled spike of seven inches <br />
<br />
Brings a sharp rapport towards its noble torque. <br />
<br />
Jelly eyes and butter hands all clam along, <br />
<br />
Placating,…plying at the length and taut<br />
<br />
Skin wrought from plastic while the <br />
<br />
Heavy angled scalene arch<br />
<br />
Threats up to <br />
<br />
Shatter open all the little, crinkle anklebones, <br />
<br />
And twist the sole from recognition.<br />
<br />
It’s the detail: <br />
<br />
Pristine polished gleam, the seam unseen and <br />
<br />
Jointless creaseline where the boot conjoins the heel.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Paul Amlehn <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
KRIYA<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The beginning of the beginning the end of the end an infinite and<br />
<br />
solitary kiss. A single petal made for words. I breathe in a book of<br />
<br />
love upon my mouth a benediction and a kiss the sound of water<br />
<br />
says what I am thinking. Light and dark earth and sky the embrace<br />
<br />
of lovers. The most beautiful harmony born of opposites the world<br />
<br />
both multiple and one. The imprint of the hand sunk deep in the<br />
<br />
mud or that of the foot the bared belly the knees marked with<br />
<br />
crosses. Sitting there together in the dark knowing each other<br />
<br />
waiting for words. The wind of spring billows silken curtains with<br />
<br />
longing we smell like the spices of the trade our ears nostrils navels<br />
<br />
toes skewered by pearls. I am waiting in your monastic breath.<br />
<br />
Threads that tangle roots sinking into the ground the ebb and<br />
<br />
flow of a wandering energy a glorious body fused into unity the<br />
<br />
body the vessel becoming a lymph of The Tree of Life unspoken<br />
<br />
voices yearning. The joining of two universes internal marriage of<br />
<br />
male and female shadow aura void. Out of the open body comes<br />
<br />
a colored swarm of light images of flight subtending a birth<br />
<br />
separated from the earthly vulval bed the meeting of earth and<br />
<br />
ether. Immersion in the chasm of the body the circle the holy<br />
<br />
enclosure. The eternal image of woman turning the world inside<br />
<br />
out reflections in a body of water. The mystery of endless timeless<br />
<br />
celestial reaches wandering lights flesh hued arabesques waves<br />
<br />
billowing and crashing. Rhythms of wind and water.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Jason Wilkinson<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
-thank you for your time<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
1 <br />
<br />
the sun was here <br />
<br />
but now <br />
<br />
tennis courts are dying <br />
<br />
softly beneath our feet/ <br />
<br />
eyes <br />
<br />
trees <br />
<br />
will soon be smashed up <br />
<br />
in dreams; willowy <br />
<br />
flesh disappearing in <br />
<br />
a sheet of forgotten light <br />
<br />
/glass/teenage <br />
<br />
girls <br />
<br />
among the brick+piss <br />
<br />
giving head <br />
<br />
behind tinted windows <br />
<br />
alas <br />
<br />
what we dream by day- <br />
<br />
phantoms become <br />
<br />
pictures when we sleep <br />
<br />
become meritless when we rise <br />
<br />
yawn yawn yawn <br />
<br />
ring ring ring <br />
<br />
smokestacks and nail <br />
<br />
polish hug the sunlit street.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ben Mason<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Family Portrait<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Childs Modesty<br />
<br />
an irregular reflextion<br />
<br />
between open thighs<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
a former entrance to <br />
<br />
life. As naked in <br />
<br />
creation as those behind<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
ornamental primates<br />
<br />
abused by life<br />
<br />
men of Guantanamo –<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Uneasy nakedness<br />
<br />
Eyes averted from<br />
<br />
a voyeuristic keeper<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
of the silent moment<br />
<br />
pleading to cover<br />
<br />
embarrassed flesh.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Aoife Mannix <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Always<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
How can I trust happiness<br />
<br />
when I’ve lived my life in a house of cards?<br />
<br />
The shifting sands of suitcases<br />
<br />
I never learned to unpack.<br />
<br />
The floors swept bare,<br />
<br />
only the toothpaste graffiti,<br />
<br />
a signature of a life I barely knew.<br />
<br />
My mother said, ‘it’s as if we were never here’<br />
<br />
and I thought it’s safer to be invisible,<br />
<br />
to perfect my camouflage, blend myself into the rock,<br />
<br />
then cling to champagne dreams of let’s pretend.<br />
<br />
They wouldn’t let me read my own language,<br />
<br />
and even now I lose myself in the translation,<br />
<br />
can never quite believe you’re not leaving me.<br />
<br />
Even though you say you love the maps in my eyes,<br />
<br />
you can’t follow the roads that race across my skin.<br />
<br />
You see once I start, I don’t know how to stop,<br />
<br />
I spin out the door into a whole new costume,<br />
<br />
Superman was never as schizophrenic as me.<br />
<br />
And you say we can give birth to our own country,<br />
<br />
but I’m lost and I’m scared,<br />
<br />
and I want you to find me and bring me home<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
to a place that has never existed.<br />
<br />
You say have some faith,<br />
<br />
this is how it’s meant to be,<br />
<br />
but I want some kind of guarantee<br />
<br />
that if I close my eyes, you won’t disappear.<br />
<br />
That forever is not a foreign word,<br />
<br />
and you won’t turn into another stranger<br />
<br />
who can’t pronounce my name,<br />
<br />
but will always recognize me in a crowd,<br />
<br />
always wait for me at the end of a long day,<br />
<br />
always kiss me into existence,<br />
<br />
always stay right here where I need you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thomas Lowe Taylor<br />
<br />
(from) the Homages of Eagle<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The light. Clear along yr signs, a<br />
<br />
firmer welcome, a pattern, bedded<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
thorough sung as flatters song along<br />
<br />
Yr highway’s lines are centered in<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the moon’s delivered presences to<br />
<br />
the scores, love. Loop alight her<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
movies playing sharply, left the rest<br />
<br />
was sad, a moment drawn aside:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
marked door drift solemn slow and<br />
<br />
lean aside or drawn throughout, here:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
strong to hold, the sentences swaying<br />
<br />
made again these colors, flue or<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
charm, a wooden day and pruning<br />
<br />
lakes are said the same and<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
home is shore and palm, you’d be<br />
<br />
an eagle flying danced a dream.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Would call yr signs, review. These<br />
<br />
are the colder lines, but gallops.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
into seasons drawn astir you<br />
<br />
are long the waves of light, onto<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
armies drawing artifacts throughout<br />
<br />
Hold, the bed is broken, eyes apart<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
and sending outer met her flesh<br />
<br />
at sentinel and gong the lines.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Hearts afloat and turning seems to<br />
<br />
roam the horses peal these hoes<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
to foal into term, love the mark and<br />
<br />
ship to term again, as left and<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
tongue would shoal to further dues<br />
<br />
the lap of waves, the sliding hue<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
to the west her arches bending light<br />
<br />
love’s arts revive the mind yr eyes.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sheila Murphy<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
recreation<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
a minature cymbal<br />
<br />
spl ices humdrum<br />
<br />
lanky airspace<br />
<br />
warm as lotion<br />
<br />
on the skin<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
akin to labor f laws<br />
<br />
in kept pace<br />
<br />
simple to the iron or<br />
<br />
e<br />
<br />
revoking innocense<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
across fields pressed<br />
<br />
in waves day after<br />
<br />
morrow’s genteel<br />
<br />
overcast as timbre<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
creases slats<br />
<br />
of fabric<br />
<br />
parcelling the window light<br />
<br />
fine powder in<br />
<br />
the grace note of our oxygen<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Adam Kane<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Who is it?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A magazine in a new foreign language “ Czech“<br />
<br />
it takes me time to translate<br />
<br />
even the simplest of captions<br />
<br />
but yeah under this picture its:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Who is it?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So, a contest <br />
<br />
a photograph of someone famous<br />
<br />
a woman Czech, I guess <br />
<br />
half the face blurred to conceal her identity,<br />
<br />
and touched up<br />
<br />
to make it sag<br />
<br />
and strange, this,<br />
<br />
but one of her eyes is wandering<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Who could it be?<br />
<br />
(And what will I win?)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I scan the text,<br />
<br />
see that international word police<br />
<br />
in this language: policie<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(and then) stupid me I figure it out <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
her face is that way from<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
decomposition<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
jesus jesus<br />
<br />
christ<br />
<br />
she’s dead,<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(the magazine closed)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
but<br />
<br />
(the shame) as<br />
<br />
I open it again <br />
<br />
and that’s blood sprinkled<br />
<br />
down her neck<br />
<br />
and blouse<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(continued)<br />
<br />
(the magazine closed again)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
as our young orange cat<br />
<br />
washes herself<br />
<br />
under the hot reading-lamp<br />
<br />
I grab her to me close and hold her<br />
<br />
because it’s so early in the morning and it’s so dark and<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
because my beautiful girlfriend is still sleeping,<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
she is so beautiful<br />
<br />
when she is sleeping <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(Look at all that I’ve won.)<br />
<br />
--------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Jim Bennett<br />
<br />
satnd<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Cmoe adn satnd hree nxteto me<br />
<br />
yuo cna haer teh smuemr diyng<br />
<br />
lesetn to teh tierd snouds of eevnig<br />
<br />
as the cloo ari drifts through the gate<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
teh drkenass is aoslmt sliod <br />
<br />
a wlal to kepe us in <br />
<br />
or teh wolrd otu<br />
<br />
I neevr culod fuirge otu wchih<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
bwron leeavs caerp asocrs teh pitao<br />
<br />
warey ienstcs carek adn cclik<br />
<br />
tiehr fainl wkees<br />
<br />
adn I satnd hree wtaiing fro yuo <br />
<br />
to be hree netx to me<br />
<br />
as wrdos fial me<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Mark Farrell<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
POESY:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
1/.<br />
<br />
letter passed down through the colonies and<br />
<br />
delivered to my flailing sanity<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
splintery cryptic language<br />
<br />
falling from my eyes<br />
<br />
and onto these pages<br />
<br />
from memories,<br />
<br />
adjacent verbs<br />
<br />
that make me recognise<br />
<br />
that a time arrives<br />
<br />
when you must<br />
<br />
look further within self<br />
<br />
to realise that<br />
<br />
it is more simple and virtuous<br />
<br />
to die young<br />
<br />
in a car wreck<br />
<br />
than to bleed<br />
<br />
translucently<br />
<br />
from the gut<br />
<br />
age 65 or 70<br />
<br />
having lived a purple lie.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I remember hard now<br />
<br />
when I was 23<br />
<br />
and living in a small room<br />
<br />
in venice.<br />
<br />
living off beans and corn bread<br />
<br />
drunk everyday by 11<br />
<br />
lonely<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
half mad<br />
<br />
I used to receive letters<br />
<br />
from females in Australia<br />
<br />
(place of birth and childhood)<br />
<br />
that I hardly knew<br />
<br />
or had met twice,<br />
<br />
declaring solidarity to me<br />
<br />
claiming<br />
<br />
my vigour and honest brevity.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I used to take these letters down to the beach<br />
<br />
with a bottle of port wine<br />
<br />
and take off my shirt and shoes<br />
<br />
and lie flat on my back<br />
<br />
in the California sun<br />
<br />
burning.<br />
<br />
drinking that port wine down<br />
<br />
and reading those letters aloud<br />
<br />
always finding something<br />
<br />
mildly humorous or<br />
<br />
significantly interesting<br />
<br />
in their words<br />
<br />
and wondering what I had said<br />
<br />
or done to these females<br />
<br />
so far away<br />
<br />
sending these hot words<br />
<br />
down through the colonies<br />
<br />
words laced with want and need<br />
<br />
like a refugee.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
separated by an ocean,<br />
<br />
those girls with all the strength for me<br />
<br />
so far away,<br />
<br />
me drunk on the beach<br />
<br />
clutching those letters<br />
<br />
being ridiculed by the bums<br />
<br />
and madmen.<br />
<br />
the tourist,<br />
<br />
looking at me like I was a rapist<br />
<br />
because I was young and drunk and<br />
<br />
reading aloud<br />
<br />
and becoming conscious of it all,<br />
<br />
the attention<br />
<br />
from the bums and the madmen<br />
<br />
and the tourists<br />
<br />
and the young females in Australia.<br />
<br />
immediately<br />
<br />
becoming sick of the sand,<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
sick of the blue sky<br />
<br />
and sick of the world.<br />
<br />
feeling that I wanted out<br />
<br />
but knowing I was already finished.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
soon after the letters stopped.<br />
<br />
I never replied<br />
<br />
maybe that was why.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
life was taking care of<br />
<br />
what was left of me.<br />
<br />
I’d return home<br />
<br />
and my landlady<br />
<br />
would be on all fours<br />
<br />
cutting in the turf<br />
<br />
for a new location for a Tulip<br />
<br />
to die.<br />
<br />
I’d walk by without saying a word<br />
<br />
and check the mailbox.<br />
<br />
“desperately empty”, she’d say.<br />
<br />
the corners of her mouth turned up<br />
<br />
with lucid mockery<br />
<br />
her face playing 35<br />
<br />
but her complexion savage with bitterness<br />
<br />
fabricating a declaration of 50.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I’d walk on in<br />
<br />
closing the door quietly behind<br />
<br />
and look at the faded calendar<br />
<br />
hanging by a nail.<br />
<br />
with that relentless<br />
<br />
Californian sun falling all over the place,<br />
<br />
and my buttermilk semblance-<br />
<br />
I’d laugh.<br />
<br />
for all the answers<br />
<br />
were passed over to the sane<br />
<br />
or fare from the reach<br />
<br />
of my simple grip.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
--------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Jon Sweet<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
mural<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
or you hate your mother<br />
<br />
or your father or<br />
<br />
maybe both<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
you slash your wrists at<br />
<br />
the age of sixteen<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
blow your brains out eleven years later<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
all of these brutal attempts<br />
<br />
at self-_expression in a world filled<br />
<br />
with battered children and still there is<br />
<br />
the flight of birds<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the silence of empty highways in the<br />
<br />
last purple light of september evenings<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
and later it's the winter of '56 on fireplace road<br />
<br />
where pollock watches his studio<br />
<br />
from the back door<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
waits without hope for his hands<br />
<br />
to reinvent the world<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
and you tell me that<br />
<br />
you could never stand his work<br />
<br />
and that those who kill others<br />
<br />
deserve to die themselves<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
and you're found swinging in the room<br />
<br />
of hanged men in the week before christmas<br />
<br />
almost half a world away from your home<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
and when i'm fourteen<br />
<br />
i approach morrison like i would a god<br />
<br />
and when i'm twenty-five i can<br />
<br />
finally see him as pathetic<br />
<br />
and there's a woman in a small town i no longer visit<br />
<br />
who will never forgive me for this<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
there are the men who<br />
<br />
fathered her children then left her<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
and maybe the children hate them<br />
<br />
or maybe they just don't care<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
maybe a two year-old girl in another neighborhood<br />
<br />
is locked in a heated room<br />
<br />
in the middle of august and left to die<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
and you ell me that this is what<br />
<br />
you expect from welfare mothers and then<br />
<br />
you talk about the niggers who live<br />
<br />
down the street<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
about how you're not prejudiced<br />
<br />
but you believe in the truth<br />
<br />
and it's a song i've been living with<br />
<br />
my entire life<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
it's the man downstairs<br />
<br />
teaching his wife to bleed<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
it's my childhood spent in the watery light<br />
<br />
of a dozen anonymous bars surrounded by<br />
<br />
false prophets who can no longer<br />
<br />
stand what they've become<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
and you are found on your balcony<br />
<br />
dead of an overdose<br />
<br />
or you're found in your living room<br />
<br />
or maybe you get yourself clean<br />
<br />
only to end up shot to death<br />
<br />
in front of your home<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
and your blood is real<br />
<br />
and spilling everywhere and<br />
<br />
twenty years pass before i wake up in<br />
<br />
the middle of the night to the sound<br />
<br />
of my son crying<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
i have nothing to offer him<br />
<br />
but the past<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
Steve Sneyd was born in 1941 in Maidenhead, England. Courtesy of an English father and an American mother, his childhood was spent in both England and the United States. In addition to his own work, he has supported genre poetry in general, compiling numerous lists of SF/F/H poems in publications genre, non-genre, and fannish. Sneyd's Hilltop Press publishes a number of other writers, including science fiction poetry by Lilith Lorraine, Gavin Salisbury, Andrew Darlington, and Peter Layton; and fantasy poetry by Frances Campbell; as well as both types of poems and more by Steve Sneyd himself, including his publications about science fiction, fantasy, and horror poetry in the US and UK from 1750 to the present. Write the Huddersfield address, Steve Sneyd, 4 Nowell Place, Almondbury, Huddersfield, West Yorkshire, HD5 8PB for current information. <br />
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<br />
1.<br />
<br />
I’ve been reading through some of Alice’s past magazines and found that in issue 5 she has written a little about your book, The Pennine Triangle published by Othername Press. I enjoyed it very much. It has also made me want to put on a spacesuit so here I am. The suit is a little old fashioned but you seem the type to be unaffected by such trivialities.<br />
<br />
Today I will ask you questions from Planet Penelope a distant cousin of Planet Pennine. The one thing I can say about Planet Penelope, unlike Plane Pennine is that everything is artificial here, nothing natural at all. Even the sky is made of plastic. What a terrifying thought or is it? Would one be happier under a plastic sky or a real sky? Wouldn’t it be strange if we couldn’t actually get through the plastic but we were still able to see space through it? How would it affect you?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Steve: Putting on a plastic sky reminds me of the ancient idea of heavenly spheres, and a crystal one enclosing earth, and also the frequent science fiction idea where the earth has been quarantined by other alien civilisations, a source of plague spot, because humans are so savage and warlike they’re too dangerous to be allowed out. If I knew it was like that, there’d be a kind of claustrophobic feel, though in a way nowadays if you live in a town, what with all the light pollution, street lights and security lights, we see less and less of fewer and fewer stars anyhow. In a way knowing there was no way of escaping from this planet, thanks to your plastic roof, could be a good thing in that it might focus minds on stopping the damage humans are doing to the earth, global warming and the rest of it, because it’d close the escape route that’s probably at the back of the ruling elite’s minds, that if worst comes to worst and this world was getting uninhabitable they could sneak off with everything needed for a luxury lifestyle to a dome on Mars or wherever.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
2.<br />
<br />
Have you ever had an out of the ordinary encounter? I remember reading about alien abductions when I lived in New Mexico and you know it was so convincing I was terrified to sleep at night in case the same thing happened to me What do you think of these stories?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Steve: The strongest single instance I’ve ever had of that was walking along a very long straight road called, though with no connection to the Beatles, Penny Lane, northwest of Harrogate, and a long way off in the distance a tractor was coming towards me, and I suddenly had a tremendous irrational conviction that the tractor driver, when it reached me, would leap off and attack me – like that cropduster plane in North-by-Northwest – so I went and hid behind some trees in a plantation till the tractor was well past, even though I felt a real idiot doing so. It was fairly near Menwith Hill, though, even though that big U&S surveillance station’s domes weren’t quite in sight, and they apparently gave out powerful microwave radiation, so just possibly it was some effect of that penetrating my brain.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
3.<br />
<br />
What was the first piece of writing that inspired you in terms of poetry and why?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Steve: If you mean the first poem that stuck in my mind, I must have been tiny when the magpie rhyme – “one for sorrow, two for joy” etc got in my head and it’s still there every time I see the birds. “Jabberwocky”’d ‘ve been very early on, too, trying to get a meaning out of those amazing words, feeling the sense was just over the mind’s horizon somehow, to describe with hindsight, a little further and I’d be there…Looking back , the first poets I read from what I thought of as personal choice would have been Eliot, Auden, Dylan Thomas, and Tennyson’s ‘The Idylls of the King’, either buying copies with my own money or pestering for copies as presents. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
4.<br />
<br />
I notice that in your writing ‘Ahasuerus on Mars’ your language takes your character on a journey quite surreal and magical. I enjoyed this and I found the dislocated language added to this affect of movement and change. What are your feelings towards this piece of work? What made you choose the name Ahasuerus?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Steve: Once a piece of writing is, or feels any how, as complete of “right” or whatever you want to call it, as it’s going to be- and that might be almost right now, or, after years of coming back to and tinkering, that old cliché about “never completed, only abandoned” gets applied. Then it seems to have moved away from me, become very distant in a sense, as if someone else wrote it – which in a way I feel generally anyhow that the reptile brain rather than the conscious mammal brain does the writing, the latter then tidies up and tries to explain if asked. So when I then see a poem in print if it gets published, or do it as part of a reading, or look back at it to think about including it in a collection, I still in a way feel as though it’s a stranger’s work, nothing any longer to do with me. So, although I hope ‘Ahasuerus on Mars’ works for at least some readers, obviously, and that it succeeds to whatever extent in doing what it was intended to do, insofar as that was a conscious decision anyhow, now its appeared I don’t really have feelings about it as such – it exists, it’s out in the world to whatever degree it gets around and gets read, and that’s it. As to why the name Ahasuerus, I was wanting to write about how an immortal would relate to, or co-exist with, or whatever, with “short lives” ie ordinary time-limited people people –responding I suppose to the fact there’s a lot of talk about drugs and techniques that may soon make immensely extended life spans possible, at least for the very rich, and huge questions arise about how society would then change in its functioning, have to change, its something almost on the fringe of ceasing to be science fiction and becoming a reality.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
5.<br />
<br />
Can you describe a day in your life briefly?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Steve: A real-life typical day is a non-stop whingeathon, spent, in Yorkshire poet Dave Wright’s wonderful phrase, “at the superglue crossroads”. Basically, it consists of me endlessly muttering and cursing inwardly or even aloud, trying to kickstart and motivate myself. It starts off with stalling, dragging out looking at the post, listening to the radio, making endless cups of tea etc, putting off starting overdue things, like the ox in the fable that starves because he can’t decide which of two equidistant piles of hay to eat first – “when everything is urgent nothing is urgent” – then, having finally made a start on something, ending up frantically scrabbling through disordered heaps of paper looking for the vital missing bits needed to finish it, and finally, with luck, just catching the post collection with it, after a mad dash and coming back to slump, full of the conviction the day’s ending with me being further behind with things than when I’d started, like those funfair duck shoots where there’s always another coming up, whether or not you hit the first one, which I never did anyhow. And if it’s nice weather, that’s worse still, as keep being tempted to fugue off out – probably afterhang of cognitive dissonance between the two things you get told as a kid, or did then, “get out in the sun, it’ll do you good”, and “do your homework” – since, of course, being a writer, as the old saying has it, means never having finished your homework!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
6.<br />
<br />
Inside Fantasy Commentator with you conversation with H. R. Felgenhauer, he mentions your press, Hilltop and the co-operative Ludds Mill magazine. Could you tell me a little about these presses and their main focus?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Steve: Hilltop Press – which has a not very imaginative name, chosen because at the time it started I lived on top of a small hill, and now I live near the top of a slightly higher one – has been since the late 80s very specialised, publishing science fiction and dark fantasy poetry, some contemporary, some revivals of neglected things out of the past, like for example an amazing cosmic voyage section from an epic tale called ‘the Star-Seer’,written in 1813 by William Dearden, who nowadays is remembered if at all, only because he was a drinking companion of Branwell Bronte. Hilltop also has published my series of slim histories of different<br />
<br />
Aspects of SF poetry, and, for the last 14 years, Data Dump, which is a newsletter about what’s happening in the field of SF, fantasy, dark fantasy and horror poetry, and also about music using those themes, of which there’s an amazing amount, from opera to rock. Ludd’s Mill was – it closed down around the mid 80s. I suppose you could call it counterculture, magazine of poetry and fiction and articles and interviews, plus a lot of graphics – visually sort of a poor man’s Oz, perhaps. It grew out of life poetry events in Huddersfield, initially as a sort of cooperative, and I was co-editor for about 6 years, then Andrew Darlington was sole editor till it closed down because he was doing a lot of rock journalism and didn’t have time for it.<br />
<br />
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<br />
7.<br />
<br />
I have read that you studied Chemistry to degree level. In what way did it influence your writing?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Steve: I suppose the great thing, even though I’ve forgotten just about all the detail –doubt I’d even pass a GCSE Chemistry now – is that it cured any fear of technical subjects, certainly that helped a lot when I worked as a copywriter in feeling at home talking technical stuff, and in science fiction too it means being able to be open to scientific ideas and speculations without that almost fear block you can get with some arts people, as if anything scientific is a dark impenetrable forest, “snear but don’t go near” syndrome setting in for them.<br />
<br />
I suspect also the way shapes and patterns can be found underlying what appears a disparate surface clutter, valency theory in chemistry for example, works within my poetry, that within a mass of apparently unrelated immediate phenomena links can be teased out, perhaps like how the Strange Attractor, to use a term from Chaos Theory, works, where disparate things come into a relationship, bit like the line in alchemy from Hermes Trismegistus’ Emerald Tablets of “As above, so below”. And the way formulae, in chemistry and other sciences, are at the same time metaphors for reality, and summations of essences in it, and tools for working on it – metaphors of metaphors if you like – can suggest interesting parallels, I think, with what poetry tries to do, ways, as it were, of seeing its possible functioning, how it at once observes outer, visible reality, and tries to get inside it to essences, and, like Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle at work, recognises that it cannot observe with full accuracy because the process of observation in itself changes what it observes.<br />
<br />
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<br />
8.<br />
<br />
Have you travelled much and has it influenced your work?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
We moved around a lot when I was a kid, and maybe at some level I reacted against that, and became a stay-where-I’m put adult,living in the same house in the same town since forever and so on (though my brother reacted very differently,being a tremendous traveller), much more of an armchair tourist really. It’s a paradox I suppose, when so much of my writing is about travelling the universe. Most of my travelling is very local, walking on the moors of the South Pennines, and that comes into my writing a lot, particularly the feeling you get up there, with all the traces of the past, from Mesolitihic flintknappers sites on, right to modern communications towers, that you are in touch with all the time at once, and that it’s such out of the way place aliens supposedly land undetected, so in a sense you’re between worlds of time and space up there.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
9.<br />
<br />
If you had to land on a planet where would you most like to be? What kind of landscape would it be? Who would you most like to be stranded with honestly?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Steve: If I had my druthers it’d have rings a la Saturn, and multiple suns so that colours would change constantly, and perhaps lower gravity so there’d be that feeling of ease of movement, floating rather than walking. Puzzling ruins of a lost civilisation, with luck with food and cleaning and clothes-making machines and such that still worked, so all the faff of chores could be forgotten, and with inscriptions, including graphics, so you could try to translate them as poems. As to who I’d want to be stranded with, the fantasy’d be of the perfect Platonic “other half”, although in practice even if such a person existed I imagine it’d soon drive you mad being too well understood and too perfectly in harmony, although with<br />
<br />
A whole planet to go at least it’d be easy to give each other getaway space when that happened!<br />
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<br />
10.<br />
<br />
Who is you favourite science fiction character?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Steve: The first one who comes to mind is the dark-haired girl who turns up over and over in Philip K. Dick’s stories, even though (perhaps because) she remains so mysterious, more a catalyst the reader knows nothing about than a fully-formed entity. Bunny Jinglejangelow in Brian Aldiss’ ‘Greybeard’ also comes to mind, mainly because I envied him his coat made of rabbit heads – the nearest I ever got to owning one is having,successively, a white then, when that went missing, a dark rabbit’s foot, which I still have, neither ever conspicuously bringing luck!<br />
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<br />
11.<br />
<br />
You sent Alice an interesting essay you wrote on text and image. Could you say a little what motivated you to write this?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Steve: It’s seemed to me for a long time that visual images can act as another “field” for the poet, one more toll in the toolkit, to use or not use as suits the material, alongside different kinds of rhyme and metre and syllabics and spacings and so on – after all, words and pictures began in the same “place”, as communications tools. A visual within, or around, a poem, can disrupt linearity, it can give a different, even contradictory, meaning, and since one of the greatest things I think a poet can do is offer the possibility of multiple interpretation, then there’s a strong motive to consider, rather than neglect or ignore or oppose, another way of adding to that potential richness.<br />
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13.<br />
<br />
Can you list 4 poetry books you have written with their press details that you would like to share with us.<br />
<br />
Can you list 4 stories you have written also?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Steve: ‘Ahasuerus on Mars’has already been mentioned- that long narrative poem is in Atlantean Publishing’s Bards series, at a £1. That’s this year, and so is a palmtop-size (ie ideal to read undetected during dull work meetings) one of mainly science fiction theme haikuform syllabics called ‘Three Star Chamber’, from KRAX/Rump Press, which is 33p including postage. A couple of book-length ones are ‘What Time Has Use For’, from K T Publications, which is Arthurian poems – the third edition is still in print, that one’s £5.50. ‘Gestaltmacher, Gestaltmacher, Make Me A Gestalt’ (Four Quarters Press) is a cross section of work, science fiction, dark fantasy, sense – of – place, “mainstream”, you name it, for £6.50.<br />
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14.<br />
<br />
And now for my little game.<br />
<br />
You have to tick off all the objects you possess below .<br />
<br />
If you possess less than 12 items then you have to write a short piece of sci fi , about one paragraph, about a person who lands on this planet and influences George Bush to change his mind beyond doubt about leaving the American troops in Iraque. (or if you wish you are welcome to write it anyway.) Feel free to make comments next to items.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A Spacesuit <br />
<br />
A model of Star Trek’s Enterprise<br />
<br />
Neon light <br />
<br />
Crystals<br />
<br />
Movies: Barbarella, The Fly<br />
<br />
Space Instruction Manual<br />
<br />
A piece of conceptual art: <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Star map<br />
<br />
Blow up alien: <br />
<br />
Music by David Bowie: <br />
<br />
major tom <br />
<br />
The book ‘Communion’<br />
<br />
Any plastic figurines: <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Klingon dictionary<br />
<br />
Periodic table of the elements: <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Microscope: <br />
<br />
Telescope<br />
<br />
Globe: <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Snow boots<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So am short of the twelve needed to not write the paragraph: So here goes.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Hello, I’m Jesus, and you gotta get all your boys outta Iraq?” “How come, Lord, they’re doin your work.” “Because Rapture starts soon and I only got enough lift capability to uptake the salvationed to Heaven from one location, and that’s right here in your good ole U S of A, so unless you want your brave doughboys left behind to Satan’s hands, get ‘em back here right pronto.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
15.<br />
<br />
Finally, What are you working on presently and have you any work being published forthcoming. If so please do provide details for the readers.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Steve: SF writer John Brunner said one of the truest things ever, that “the sort term projects turn out to be long.” For twenty years I’ve been writing poems about a conflict between a species called the Nixil, who combat us by playing with our minds and fantasies. (Last year, my longest poem ever, where the Nixil manipulate our Grail myth, appeared in Atlantean P’s Grails anthology, but most of the poems are short), I’m determined to get them all into some sort of coherent shape, with the incentive that a U S publisher was positive about the idea recently. N other things are in various stages, including trying to get back to an intended epic-length sequence of poems of a modern self-styled reincarnation of the Childe Roland of Browning’s Dark Tower, now that the two already written, as the creative writing part of my Poetry MA dissertation back in ’99, have finally both been published, in Fire magazine, but I always feel as though it’s a bit of a chicken-countingly unlucky talking about future possibilities too much. That also applies to the biggest forthcoming thing, a book about pioneering American science fiction poet Lilith Lorraine, which, with a reprinting of a selection of her work, was commissioned by Cosmos books in the States, and the text accepted by them a couple of years back plus, and proofs seen and checked 18 months or so back, but still, at time of writing, it continues, according to their website, obstinately in “forthcoming” limbo (aka development hell?) so I just hope mentioning it at all here doesn’t push it to the bottom of their priority list!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you for your time, Steve!<br />
<br />
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<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Steve Sneyd<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Myth of Open Skies<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
ok you all know someone who knows someone<br />
<br />
saw it happen some whatsisface stood up<br />
<br />
in dock and the wig asks anything to say<br />
<br />
before passes sentence and out comes cig<br />
<br />
packet holds it up and says “Beam me up<br />
<br />
Scotty” only think on a bit big universe<br />
<br />
big big numbers someone has to beat odds<br />
<br />
stands to reason and was me it worked for<br />
<br />
one minute facing time for twooking next <br />
<br />
other side of time in this glittersmooth<br />
<br />
control room just like’d seen so often on<br />
<br />
telly screen except see the real thing see<br />
<br />
a little tatty as anywhere’d be too many<br />
<br />
folk been in too long like everywhere i’ve<br />
<br />
been for real not on the screen and i stand <br />
<br />
there thinking trouble coming will get boot<br />
<br />
dead quick back to where I came from but is<br />
<br />
funny as funny no one even seems to notice<br />
<br />
me is like i’m a ghost out of well think<br />
<br />
about it i am i must be dead by now is so<br />
<br />
far into tomorrow’s tomorrow the hell they<br />
<br />
can’t see me i can do just what i like set<br />
<br />
controls for heart of sun like that old <br />
<br />
hit once i get knobs dials all that sussed<br />
<br />
finish off whole lot or really surprise Uhura<br />
<br />
like that joke about Lois Lane and Invisible<br />
<br />
Man and Superman diving down to give her a<br />
<br />
surprise and all seems wonderful except is<br />
<br />
horrible food doesn’t exist yet goes right<br />
<br />
through leaves me thinner and thinner no<br />
<br />
reply when i speak just all these uniforms<br />
<br />
worse’n copshot shooting round ignoring me<br />
<br />
not even bothered to pay enough mind to<br />
<br />
scum they think i am to listen write down<br />
<br />
what I confess over and over i ask Scotty<br />
<br />
beam me down no sign of life i might’s well<br />
<br />
not exist i hit them poke them pinch them<br />
<br />
kick em up and down should be blue black no<br />
<br />
twitch alright if i don’t exist i’ll make<br />
<br />
sure they don’t still got that cig packet<br />
<br />
take it out say beam whole lot down back<br />
<br />
Scotty into court shouldn’t work it does<br />
<br />
squnches all whole lot by god I needed that<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
AT THE HEART OF NOTHING BUSINESS PLANS<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
dreaming joy power to annoy<br />
<br />
safely at some genteel-gentle<br />
<br />
lit-type do claiming proof to<br />
<br />
hand will soon reveal of just<br />
<br />
you wait interBronte incest in<br />
<br />
as many possible combinations<br />
<br />
as moor-edge hidden pathways<br />
<br />
woke to thuds bangs to windows<br />
<br />
whathehell next door’s garden<br />
<br />
gone to Pennine abandoned all<br />
<br />
heather-grown humps full bloom<br />
<br />
now though not bright under<br />
<br />
grey sky quarry and rust-piled it<br />
<br />
bristled as hedgehog back with in<br />
<br />
sort of wedged crown dead rocket<br />
<br />
ships end of space age or USSR<br />
<br />
stuff and how the hell got there<br />
<br />
and to hell would worry when time <br />
<br />
to get up too early yet to think<br />
<br />
and thought’d teach him mock in<br />
<br />
dream even Brontes sure after all <br />
<br />
a coven and what powers there to<br />
<br />
change world even dead could<br />
<br />
even out of all stars bring all<br />
<br />
spacemen back to visit crash<br />
<br />
their ships in tribute to them<br />
<br />
there and anyway good this no<br />
<br />
longer feel obliged to go each<br />
<br />
year see heather out in colour<br />
<br />
here come to him his doorstep and<br />
<br />
with that huge mess there who cd<br />
<br />
ever even notice how his own plot<br />
<br />
just mess setaside ca/rbon sink he<br />
<br />
preferred name for jungle and next <br />
<br />
time spoke to that gathering he<br />
<br />
thought will prove how Branwell’s<br />
<br />
biggest failure unsuccess as Fenian<br />
<br />
spy bomber railway saboteur in<br />
<br />
next dream side by side all battled<br />
<br />
dinosaurs before the Flood no crazier<br />
<br />
than blackbird gobbles hung as tight-<br />
<br />
-rope artist till near falls off with<br />
<br />
fatness rowan berries soon’s red<br />
<br />
ripe will curse all winter none are<br />
<br />
left to tasty up ice times and through<br />
<br />
such sleep reluctant to get up restart<br />
<br />
day’s do is sure hears in new quarry<br />
<br />
new there so old abandoned in its<br />
<br />
look hammer and chisel sounds of who<br />
<br />
inscribing on those fallen dreamers’<br />
<br />
ships messages just right to keep them<br />
<br />
returned rightly down to earth old<br />
<br />
Tyke way of cutting what sticks up<br />
<br />
above parapet down to size Town<br />
<br />
Rules etc or more likely just like<br />
<br />
Haworth now guidance information done<br />
<br />
in Japanese soon as Berlin Wall in<br />
<br />
bits most even genuine as Bronte bobbins<br />
<br />
off dead mills be time to turn starfaring<br />
<br />
remnants into souvenirs wonder what<br />
<br />
percent his neighbour’d share could<br />
<br />
market slogan how really truly all<br />
<br />
those loving Brontes found alive Out There<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Information<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Maxine by Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
<br />
ISBN: 1-904781-72-1<br />
<br />
Bluechrome<br />
<br />
£7.99<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
This is my first novella. It started as a book of poems but then developed into a story. It seems to have been placed into a science fiction category although I’m not sure if that is the correct genre for it. Maxine does astral travel and go into space (in a kind of metaphorical way) but whether it is considered sci-fi, I’m not too sure. For me it was just fiction but interesting all the same to see it categorised as sci-fi, although I am sure some would disagree. This book was my final thesis for my MA in writing studies at Edge Hill College. The book contains prose and poetry.<br />
<br />
http://www.bluechrome.co.uk<br />
<br />
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
From: Rupert Loydell<br />
<br />
New Stride books, autumn 2005<br />
<br />
TERTIUM QUID Robert Lax<br />
<br />
ISBN 1-905024-02-9 £10.00 147pp pbck October 2005<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
SPIRITUAL LETTERS 3 David Miller<br />
<br />
ISBN 1-905024-03-7 £5.00 20pp pamphlet October 2005<br />
<br />
edition of 100 copies<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
THE SOLEX BROTHERS and other prose poems Luke Kennard<br />
<br />
ISBN 1-905024-04-5 £6.95 47pp pbck October 2005<br />
<br />
STRIDE PUBLICATIONS, 11 SYLVAN ROAD, EXETER,<br />
<br />
DEVON EX4 6EW, ENGLAND<br />
<br />
(In the spring of 2006, Stride will publish The Peter Redgrove Archive: new editions of his seven novels* [two co-written with Penelope Shuttle] and a new book of selected essays & interviews edited by Professor Neil Roberts.) <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Poetry of Saying: British Poetry and its Discontents 1950-2000<br />
<br />
Robert Sheppard: <br />
<br />
Published now by Liverpool University Press at £50 hardback.<br />
<br />
Liverpool University Press <br />
<br />
4 Cambridge Street <br />
<br />
Liverpool <br />
<br />
L69 7ZU <br />
<br />
ISBN: 0853238197<br />
<br />
Synopsis<br />
<br />
The Poetry of Saying presents the history and social development of alternative forms of British poetry, still little examined or dismissed, set against the context of the development of the Movement Orthodoxy, those writers who followed and attenuated the tradition of Philip Larkin, even as Larkin’s cultural capital fell. Ranging from the quiet work of Lee Harwood to the avant-gardism of Bob Cobbing, from the major works of Roy Fisher to the still developing sonic and semantic experiments of Maggie O’Sullivan, and covering a number of other writers in their historical context, this work is theorised in terms of a poetry of saying, which aims to keep interpretations maximally open. This theoretical perspective, which is balanced against the historicising element, uses Bakhtin and Levinas as its touchstones, and reaches its highest pitch with relation to the work of Tom Raworth, which it argues is ethically open through its textual strategies. <br />
<br />
See further details available at:<br />
<br />
www.liverpool-unipress.co.uk/html/publication.asp?idProduct=3630<br />
<br />
-------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
SURFACING (Spike, 2005)<br />
<br />
William Park,<br />
<br />
ISBN: 0 9518978 7 X<br />
<br />
£5.99<br />
<br />
Spike Press: c/o Liver House, 96, Bold Street,Liverpool L1 4HY<br />
<br />
---------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
The Hutton Enquiry<br />
<br />
Chris McCabe,<br />
<br />
Salt Publishing: ISBN: 1-84471-074-2<br />
<br />
£10.99<br />
<br />
www.saltpublishing.com<br />
<br />
WRITING SHORT STORIES (Routledge) now available. http://www.theshortstory.org.uk for further details.<br />
<br />
------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
AHASUERUS ON MARS<br />
<br />
Steve Sneyd<br />
<br />
Atlantean Publishing<br />
<br />
38, Pierrot Steps, 71 Kursaal Way<br />
<br />
Southend-On-Sea, Essex, SS1 2UY, UK<br />
<br />
Price £1.00<br />
<br />
Cheques made payable to DJ Tyrer.<br />
<br />
Fractured Muse<br />
<br />
By AC Evans<br />
<br />
Atlantean Publishing<br />
<br />
38, Pierrot Steps, 71 Kursaal Way<br />
<br />
Southend-On-Sea, Essex, SS1 2UY, UK<br />
<br />
Price £1.00<br />
<br />
Cheques made payable to DJ Tyrer.<br />
<br />
------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
The Pennine Triangle<br />
<br />
Poems by<br />
<br />
Steve Sneyd<br />
<br />
J C Hartly<br />
<br />
J F Haines<br />
<br />
Othername Press<br />
<br />
ISBN: 0 9521806 2 6<br />
<br />
14, Rosebank, Rawtenstall,Rossendale,BB4 7RD<br />
<br />
email: othernamepress@tiscali.co.uk<br />
<br />
--------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
Twelve Writers on Writing<br />
<br />
Anthology of poems from the members of the first Poetry Business Writing School, (based in Huddersfield) written while on the course.<br />
<br />
ISBN: 1-902382-69-2<br />
<br />
Contact Janet Fisher, The Poetry Business, Distribution Central Books, 99 Wallis Road, London E9 5LN <br />
<br />
Email: orders@centralbooks.com<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Cathedral Poems<br />
<br />
by Andrew Taylor<br />
<br />
Paula Brown Publishing<br />
<br />
ISBN: 0 9543621 9 5<br />
<br />
www.andrewtaylorpoetry.com<br />
<br />
-----------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
Yellow Torchlight and The Blues<br />
<br />
By Emma Lee<br />
<br />
ISBN:0953359190<br />
<br />
Price £7.00<br />
<br />
‘original plus’, Flat 3,18 Oxford Grove,Ilfracombe,Devon, EX34 9HQ<br />
<br />
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
How to Be a Dragonfly<br />
<br />
By Patricia Debney<br />
<br />
ISBN: 1-902382-71-4<br />
<br />
42 prose poems<br />
<br />
Smith/Doorstop Books,The Poetry Business, The Studio, Byram Arcade,Wesgate,Huddersfield,HD1 1ND<br />
<br />
£7.95<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Open Wide magazine<br />
<br />
issue 17 now available<br />
<br />
www.openwidemagazine.co.uk<br />
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<br />
SleepingFish<br />
<br />
Editor: David White<br />
<br />
www.sleepingfish.net <br />
<br />
www.calamaripress.com <br />
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-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
Pulsar<br />
<br />
www.pulsarpoetry.com<br />
<br />
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
Dee Rimbaud/ AA Independent Press Guide - http://www.thunderburst.co.uk<br />
<br />
-----------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
Citizen 32 http://citizen32live.moonfruit.com<br />
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<br />
<br />
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<br />
Interlude Magazine<br />
<br />
Editor: Francesca Ricci<br />
<br />
http://interludemagazine.co.uk<br />
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Highblue<br />
<br />
D.P. Ryan<br />
<br />
Founder and Publisher of the highblue community<br />
<br />
www.highblue.co.uk<br />
<br />
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Neon Highway Poetry/Art Magazine<br />
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http://www.neonhighway.co.uk/<br />
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email: poetshideout@yahoo.com<br />
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Current and forthcoming Issues numbers 11 to 12<br />
<br />
£2 per issue.<br />
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U.S: 1 issue $6, Europe 4 euros.<br />
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Cheques made out to Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
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Address:<br />
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‘Neon Highway’ no longer accepts unsolicited work.<br />
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The magazine will operate on a commission basis later in 06. Details will be updated on website regarding forthcoming issues</div>
Alice Lenkiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04020676166907047838noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4359728548211384456.post-38286922770803596692011-01-03T09:36:00.000-08:002013-05-28T00:49:36.654-07:00ISSUE: 16<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Neon Highway ISSN: 1476-9867<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Issue 16<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSIGGNYL4CI/AAAAAAAAA0U/45WeJasz-S0/s1600/cover16.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" n4="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSIGGNYL4CI/AAAAAAAAA0U/45WeJasz-S0/s400/cover16.png" width="396" /></a></div>
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<br />
<br />
<br />
Contents<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Note from Jane Marsh: pages 3-6<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Eunice Ogunkoya: pages 7-8<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sam Smith: page 9<br />
<br />
Kim Goldberg: pages10-11<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Richard Asworth: page 12 (Collage)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Janet Currie: page: page 13<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Carlos Nogueiras: pages 14- 15<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Fergus Dick: pages 16-17<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Kate Edwards: pages 18-20<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Geoffrey Loe: pages 21-22<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Steve Spence: pages 23-24<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Dave Sealey: page 25<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Jordan McMahon: pages 26-27<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Simon Leake: pages 27-28<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Henry Blake: pages 28-30<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ivor C Treby: pages 31-33<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Phil Knight: pages 34-35<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Austin Mc Carron: pages 36-37<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Publications: pages 38-39<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sunscription: page 40<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Front Cover and page 12. Artwork by the artist, Richard Ashworth.<br />
<br />
ashworth_richard_66@hotmail.com<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Introduction<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
June 2009<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSIGnbvGAOI/AAAAAAAAA0Y/lL7dj01zCY0/s1600/jane16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSIGnbvGAOI/AAAAAAAAA0Y/lL7dj01zCY0/s320/jane16.jpg" width="233" /></a></div>
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<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Jane Marsh<br />
<br />
(Some thoughts on plastic surgery and achieving perfection)<br />
<br />
I feel lately, I am getting older. I no longer gain the attention I once received as a younger woman. You discover many programmes these days about women having surgery, makeovers, implants and botox and god knows what else.<br />
<br />
However, I do think, unless you have a real physical ailment it is not worth it. I also think that faces and bodies are a little like creating paintings and poems. There is that neverending desire to keep going, to try and improve, to make it better, to disect and to edit, to build and rebuild.<br />
<br />
The only trouble is, that you can’t really do that with your face so easily. Have you ever noticed how people always want a bit more done to themselves? Even after they have had an important aspect rebuilt, such as the nose for instance! They are still not satisfied. I have an explanation for this and I think it is one of the reasons why many people get hooked onto this ridiculous obsession. It’s what I call the ‘Frankensteining’ of oneself, the obsessional need to re-create, of taking control and re-building the body. If all goes wrong, of course, we are dissatisfied. Even if it is fine, we then become what I call ‘Phantom of the opera’. We hide away, can’t face ourselves, don’t want to go out, fall into self- hate which is something similar to what we had in the first place before we ‘frankensteined’ ourselves and therefore we are capable of becoming compulsive in our desire to change the way we look.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So why do I disagree with these changes? I feel it is how we are taught to look at ourselves and we need to get beyond this ‘frankensteining’ and instead look at the beauty within ourselves that exists already that needs to come out instead of being hidden or changed. Why cover a flower in spray paint if it is a beautiful flower already?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
There are similarities to painting and poetry. For instance, if you put red into a painting it will need to be balanced out with other colours to make it the right amount and to give it the right harmony and composition in the overall painting and the same with words, if you add a word into a poem that seems harsh for instance or sounds odd to the ear, you may want to balance it out with other sounds to emphasise the language you are using. The great thing is of course that you do at least have the opportunity to change things, but this isn’t so easy with physical selves. So, when a person has their nose changed, for instance, they will be excited and may think that once the nose is changed, that they will look ‘prettier’ or ‘better’ in some way. But it is all relative. You could look prettier or worse depending on the rest of your face. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
For instance, you have now had your operation. Although the nose is now what you always wanted, unfortuntaly it has now inadversedly changed the width of your cheekbones and has now set the face offbalance in a certain way as to distract from what were previously some of your better features, for instance the eyes or the mouth. So now, you may be thinking about or needing to have another job done to raise your eyes, to make them more slanted or something done to your mouth to compensate for your new nose. <br />
<br />
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I often want to say to celebrities. Leave yourself alone! What they seem to forget and miss out on, is that the features we all have are all in harmony with our other features so if you change something, then it will automatically make the other features change also, so you have to realise that your one change will affect everything as a whole, as a result of one simple aspect changing. It won’t just be the one feature that will change. I can understand of course that sometimes there is a feelgood factor to all of this and that sometimes it is necessary to change in order to benefit more confidence but only if necessary...please!<br />
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Also, another piece of advice. Don’t think that by having a feature from a famous person will necessarily make you look like that person or even change you greatly. I will give you an example. Imagine you are looking at a painting of the great Mona Lisa and you decide to give her a different nose, and you want her to have a cute little nose. Let’s try it. Let us give her Reese Witherspoon’s nose as below.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSIHOZWi-EI/AAAAAAAAA0c/DLnclfmx3B0/s1600/Untitled.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" n4="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSIHOZWi-EI/AAAAAAAAA0c/DLnclfmx3B0/s200/Untitled.jpg" width="175" /></a></div>
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Example 1.<br />
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The question is, even if we like this better, what is the point? It looked okay in the first place and is this nose on this face really any better? She looks different but not amazing and basically this nose looks better on the face of Reese Witherspoon because it goes in harmony with the other features of Reese. Now imagine that it wasn’t Reese Witherspoon’s nose that you wanted and instead it was your idol, Kate Winslet’s nose and you think if you give Mona Lisa, Kate Winslet’s nose then everything will be amazing and she will forever look just like Kate Winslet. So lets give it a go.<br />
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Example 2.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSIH2XcOkkI/AAAAAAAAA0g/53h_Ehgf_PE/s1600/sample2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" n4="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSIH2XcOkkI/AAAAAAAAA0g/53h_Ehgf_PE/s200/sample2.jpg" width="176" /></a></div>
Here is the face of the Mona Lisa with Kate Winslet’s nose.<br />
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As you can see it looks surprisingly identical to the original Mona Lisa nose. Therfore this just goes to prove that by using the nose of the person you feel most attached to, for instance, Kate Winslet, doesn’t necessarily mean that you will end up looking much different than you did in the first place.<br />
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I hope you have enjoyed Jane Marshe’s beauty therapy advice and learnt that you are also a unique masterpiece and like the Mona Lisa you should not be tampered with because as you can see we can go on forvever finding the right nose and never be satisfied, so why not keep it as it was originally? A beautiful nose in its own right as the Mona Lisa has proved over many <br />
centuries.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSIIdx1Sj3I/AAAAAAAAA0k/zhYrPiivbOM/s1600/mona.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" n4="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSIIdx1Sj3I/AAAAAAAAA0k/zhYrPiivbOM/s200/mona.jpg" width="175" /></a></div>
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All the very best.<br />
<br />
<br />
Jane Marsh.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Eunice Ogunkoya</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
STUCK IN THE MIDDLE<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Whilst waiting for life to begin at forty<br />
<br />
As her first-born child approaches adulthood<br />
<br />
She imagines what it would be like<br />
<br />
To be stuck at the age of sixteen<br />
<br />
Not yet an adult<br />
<br />
But no longer a child.<br />
<br />
Being a caring mother<br />
<br />
And at the big crossroad of life<br />
<br />
She wonders whether he would rather be<br />
<br />
Like Jack and the Beanstalk<br />
<br />
Or like Peter Pan in Neverland<br />
<br />
He's trying ever so hard<br />
<br />
To fulfill all the hopes of achievement<br />
<br />
Being expected of him<br />
<br />
But yet he's got to make major decisions<br />
<br />
About whether or not to strive<br />
<br />
To join the race to lose virginity<br />
<br />
To take up a human vice<br />
<br />
To aim for an ASBO award.<br />
<br />
And what about responsibilities?<br />
<br />
Old enough for some<br />
<br />
Too young for others<br />
<br />
Who should decide?<br />
<br />
Perhaps he should<br />
<br />
He's ever so fearless<br />
<br />
Unlike good old-cautious she.<br />
<br />
She imagines how he must feel<br />
<br />
What with all the peer pressure<br />
<br />
And that from her<br />
<br />
It must be ever so confusing <br />
<br />
Being stuck in the middle<br />
<br />
Especially with her in limbo too.<br />
<br />
They both deserve some respite and rescue<br />
<br />
From this precarious position <br />
<br />
In the halfway house of hope<br />
<br />
By means of the magnet of salvation<br />
<br />
And the alarm clock,<br />
<br />
To avoid being suck in a moment in time.<br />
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<br />
MIRROR, MIRAGE, MIRACLES<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Reflecting light rays from a concrete plane<br />
<br />
Of silvered glass<br />
<br />
Disclosing desires and dislikes<br />
<br />
With clear-cut images<br />
<br />
This is the mirror that cancels mirk.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Reflecting light rays from a visual plane<br />
<br />
Of heated air<br />
<br />
Distorting delusions and distress<br />
<br />
With glimpses of water<br />
<br />
This is the mirage that causes mire.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Reflecting light rays from abstract planes<br />
<br />
Of thoughtful minds<br />
<br />
Discerning dreams and dispelling doubts<br />
<br />
With true brillant outcomes<br />
<br />
These are miracles that create mirth.<br />
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<br />
<br />
Sam Smith<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Acceptance<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The grief that bursts in a blasting out<br />
<br />
shout of despair, whole of the torso<br />
<br />
bone-racked and rocking; <br />
<br />
and goes on<br />
<br />
for one long, sore-eyed waking is, all told<br />
<br />
probably the best cure for such loss.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A death greeted with instant numbness<br />
<br />
that looks on, is composed, equally still....<br />
<br />
And yet grief has snuck in, has become<br />
<br />
a blister ready to be popped, lies<br />
<br />
in wait for another loss, trivial maybe....<br />
<br />
a broken toy? <br />
<br />
a missed appointment?<br />
<br />
and then the snot-spluttering howl,<br />
<br />
bystanders looking to one another puzzled.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Lock-In<br />
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<br />
....hero herein heroin .... searching by means of mental mirrors for some mislaid idea — pearls are dried oyster spit? — such a self-appointed task can still be a binding act that does not allow time or mind-space for self-wonder .... in a shut-in life, unpeopled and uneventful, early evening comes up against the barrier, an awareness of yet unspent time, hectare after hectare of grey terrain to be crossed, and with the tired brain unable to offer any distraction, the only company this hollow muscular sac, the heart; and in the beckoning distance absence in sleep....<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
Crown of Thorns<br />
<br />
Kim Goldberg<br />
<br />
the sperm of<br />
<br />
jesus christ is believed to be<br />
<br />
a snail<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
a hermaphrodite<br />
<br />
will swoop and dive in unison<br />
<br />
by certain schools of devout christians<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the snails sex life<br />
<br />
as well as some atheists<br />
<br />
is unbelievably complicated to start with<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the evidence offered includes<br />
<br />
they are hermaphrodites each possessing a vagina and<br />
<br />
the virgin birth since high school biology<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
two penises<br />
<br />
tells us this can only lead to<br />
<br />
mating<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
two X chromosomes<br />
<br />
can take up to twelve hours<br />
<br />
the position is further supported by much<br />
<br />
which is understandable<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
early medieval art depicting<br />
<br />
the foreplay involves firing<br />
<br />
jesus as a woman<br />
<br />
solid (and often lethal)<br />
<br />
complete with breasts suggesting<br />
<br />
darts<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the true reason they all came<br />
<br />
into each others bodies<br />
<br />
to behold<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(Assembled from Worlds Within Worlds microbiology textbook <br />
<br />
and blog postings about Jesus)<br />
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<br />
<br />
* * *<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Breaking of Waves<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Crashed <br />
<br />
as wave, as borderless boundarygone<br />
<br />
toptorn wave Cast<br />
<br />
out<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
from shorn<br />
<br />
sea, from wonderless stupefied<br />
<br />
uniform sea Left to<br />
<br />
wander<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the beach<br />
<br />
the forsaken legless genreless<br />
<br />
beach The <br />
<br />
unstoppered<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
wave, taking <br />
<br />
not shape not precision not scissors<br />
<br />
to cloth The naked<br />
<br />
wave <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
when fundamentals <br />
<br />
fall away, when spent thought lies<br />
<br />
splayed In tall <br />
<br />
grass<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
vacant as <br />
<br />
shotguns, vanished as brainstems <br />
<br />
writ In wet sand<br />
<br />
blashpemous <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
banished, clamped<br />
<br />
as bass jaw, upswept as gulls, shunned<br />
<br />
staked Unflocked<br />
<br />
expatriated<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
becoming<br />
<br />
the rolling wave, the locating wave, the unshapable<br />
<br />
wave The <br />
<br />
unbroken wave<br />
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Janet Currie<br />
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B<br />
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O<br />
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R<br />
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E<br />
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D<br />
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S<br />
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I ?????<br />
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L<br />
<br />
L is protest poetry <br />
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Y<br />
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?????<br />
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d<br />
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o<br />
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w<br />
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n<br />
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M H<br />
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O T<br />
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U<br />
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O O<br />
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RISITJUSTWASTINGTIMEUNTILDEATHCALLSGUESSWH<br />
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Carlos Nogueiras<br />
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Childish Dreams<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
A phoney ceiling in the sky, like a sheet of greyness<br />
<br />
To dampen her childish dreams of big city lights.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The men she slept with for money always wore cheap<br />
<br />
Suits, travelling salesmen with ordinary families, car<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Payments and mortgages to trouble their minds, men<br />
<br />
Who often discovered something new and profoundly<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Liberating buried between her thighs: A momentary<br />
<br />
Escape from the rat race, a quick release from the<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Tyranny of life, and she was making money, plenty of <br />
<br />
Money, and saving it for a rainy day which glistened<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
In the distance on the edge of nowhere, like one<br />
<br />
Of her clients, fully satisfied with her willingness<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
To please, yet muttering to himself obscene words<br />
<br />
Pregnant with the mystery of a foreign tongue.<br />
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<br />
Maldito River <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Her body sunk in the Maldito River,<br />
<br />
Floating there peacefully unclaimed,<br />
<br />
Enticing the bloodsuckers thirsty<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
For the scent of redness under<br />
<br />
Warm inviting skin, a gang of black<br />
<br />
Scabs clung to shivering flesh,<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
She would have to burn those off<br />
<br />
Applying the healing power of <br />
<br />
A match, a task assigned<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
To an angelic stranger who pulled<br />
<br />
Her out of water, and thus<br />
<br />
Voluntarily assumed the role of <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Saviour by holding her down as<br />
<br />
He plucked the evildoers off her<br />
<br />
Body with his bare hands.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
She squirmed and winced for <br />
<br />
The pain was intense, then offered<br />
<br />
Herself to him- who shook his<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Head and mutely declined, walking<br />
<br />
Away with a trace of regret<br />
<br />
Painted in his dark vigilant eyes.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Fergus Dick<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A3<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
There’s a hole the size of a bath tub in<br />
<br />
The middle of the carriageway at the<br />
<br />
Crossing of Cedars Road and Long Road.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Where on rushed winter mornings a cyclist<br />
<br />
May jump the lights with desperation<br />
<br />
In fear of imminent observation<br />
<br />
By men from Offsted in cream silk cravats.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And Clapham Common snorts away to port<br />
<br />
With distant dogs of no particular sort.<br />
<br />
The trunk road exhibits this chasm<br />
<br />
Leaving queuing white van men in spasm,<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
As they rev their utes in growing folly<br />
<br />
Scared of missing Grandma Lerner’s lolly<br />
<br />
She’ll spread the loot to other worthy guys<br />
<br />
Who weren’t so startling blown by surprise<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Who didn’t dip their 1990 chassis<br />
<br />
Cold steel crunch in the crucial thoroughfare<br />
<br />
London to Guildford via Wandsworth.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Fergus Dick<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the Death of the Supermarket<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
When Tescoe and Sainsbury<br />
<br />
are old-fashioned<br />
<br />
when the bright young branch manager<br />
<br />
looks back on the boom<br />
<br />
from his retirement home in Henley<br />
<br />
I hope he knows how many blows<br />
<br />
to the chin and gut<br />
<br />
of so many valuable things<br />
<br />
he struck<br />
<br />
with his re-arrangement of the store.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Kate Edwards<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Deep Night Loving.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
There was a time,<br />
<br />
lying in deep grass<br />
<br />
under a melting moon.<br />
<br />
you, kissing my lips,<br />
<br />
kissing my pale skin,<br />
<br />
all set fair, love forever,<br />
<br />
lying always each on each,<br />
<br />
body on body, mind on mind,<br />
<br />
such longing, such passion,<br />
<br />
flesh seeking flesh,<br />
<br />
sweat mixing with sweat,<br />
<br />
bodies fitting, joining,<br />
<br />
rising to a sudden ecstasy,<br />
<br />
the collapse into satiety,<br />
<br />
limbs tangled, enfeebled,<br />
<br />
murmers of enduring love,<br />
<br />
of everlasting desire.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Why did the night suddenly seem colder,<br />
<br />
the moon glide, hiding behind a cloud?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A Small Adventure.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Out of the door,<br />
<br />
along the lane<br />
<br />
scented with shrubs,<br />
<br />
white candles<br />
<br />
lighting the chestnuts, <br />
<br />
torches in the night.<br />
<br />
I run through streets,<br />
<br />
houses with tidy gardens,<br />
<br />
moon-paled azaleas,<br />
<br />
star-spiked magnolia.<br />
<br />
I reach the track<br />
<br />
to the wild wood,<br />
<br />
I find a place to lie,<br />
<br />
a soft and fern strewn hollow, <br />
<br />
a deep earth smell.<br />
<br />
Branches shelter above,<br />
<br />
night air caressing me,<br />
<br />
I lie back, watching <br />
<br />
the revolving universe.<br />
<br />
The moon is thin,<br />
<br />
the stars are far apart,<br />
<br />
lanterns in vacancy.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A heavy rustling<br />
<br />
disturbs the dark<br />
<br />
beyond my shelter,<br />
<br />
startled I swiftly rise,<br />
<br />
running back to the streets,<br />
<br />
to lights, to safety.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It was<br />
<br />
a small adventure<br />
<br />
perfumed by the night.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
----------------------------<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
‘Can’t we still be friends…’<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
This<br />
<br />
after a short, disjointed conversation in which<br />
<br />
you told me nothing after your first words,<br />
<br />
‘I ‘m out of it.’<br />
<br />
Out of this situation, you meant, out of this affair,<br />
<br />
this erotic kinship<br />
<br />
this body on body, <br />
<br />
this mind on mind,<br />
<br />
now revealed for the illusion it was. A quote<br />
<br />
hazed in my head, ‘I have been so deceived.’<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A week I had waited for you, dressed and perfumed,<br />
<br />
each night watching the dusk fail, an indigo sky<br />
<br />
robbing the trees of colour. Another drink,<br />
<br />
a hand reaching for the phone, then retreating,<br />
<br />
a book unread, thrown careless on the floor,<br />
<br />
the scent of Rive Gauche on my skin<br />
<br />
sickening me. Thinking every minute, every moment<br />
<br />
I would hear your car, your footsteps.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Now this.<br />
<br />
A broken voice on the line, almost sobbing.<br />
<br />
‘Don’t pretend to be upset!’ I hissed, ‘it is you<br />
<br />
who is ending it. All I want to know is why,<br />
<br />
tell me why, I’ll ask no more, but tell me why.’<br />
<br />
You couldn’t or wouldn’t. You left me empty,<br />
<br />
no reasons, no excuses, no explanations, just<br />
<br />
those foolish words repeated, ‘Can’t we still be friends.’<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
‘Don’t be so stupid,’ I shouted, banging down the phone<br />
<br />
and staring through a window at a world turned bleak,<br />
<br />
turned grey and ordinary, the shining gone, gone<br />
<br />
with the deep night longing, the searching, the joining,<br />
<br />
mouth on mouth, part to part, compelling fusion.<br />
<br />
I never did discover why you wanted this no longer.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Geoffrey Loe<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
WITH BUILT-IN RADIO<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The prostitutes move inland on Christmas Day<br />
<br />
to stalk solitary men like seagulls in<br />
<br />
a boat’s wake. Their unfamiliar words<br />
<br />
just aggravate until ‘darling’ restrains.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Where the dirt of boredom’s trodden on,<br />
<br />
this square could be a prison yard, sky-high<br />
<br />
with cameras. That man’s spun a yarn but looks<br />
<br />
as though it’s canteen day. ‘Come on, sweetheart.’<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Later, his mind will take him down the block,<br />
<br />
investigate his ruin. While shopping<br />
<br />
explodes in climax at the till, he should<br />
<br />
have waited for the sales. He’d know nothing.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But won’t be content, if adverts arouse<br />
<br />
him still. They leave you feeling you’re one short<br />
<br />
of a six-pack, a sandwhich from a picnic.<br />
<br />
He’s seen Bangkok to leer in Heathrow’s squall<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
and might say it’s just like wanking-robbing,<br />
<br />
though, seems more honest as it quietly meets<br />
<br />
the needs of kleptomaniacs and the poor,<br />
<br />
who know the jingle: If the alarm sounds, run.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
BLOWN AWAY<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Shot, I staggered to one wall, another,<br />
<br />
Eyes all disbelief, guts hanging out.<br />
<br />
My pulse was racing to a finish.<br />
<br />
I would die in a minute. I would die.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The world stopped spinning in the corner, but<br />
<br />
I was a boxer on the referee’s shoulder:<br />
<br />
Legs jelly, arms like lead; bricks blurred and then<br />
<br />
My throat filled up with anger. Looking down<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The puddled alley, the most beautiful<br />
<br />
Girl I ever knew, said, ‘Sorry,’ Tottering<br />
<br />
To her, I fell among the dustbins. Bitch.<br />
<br />
My breath unsteady, clouds enclosed the moon.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Steve Spence<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Slowed down, it’s a performance full of grace<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
As I watched her gazing out past the other boats<br />
<br />
in the bay, I heard the pirate whisper in her ear.<br />
<br />
“This week we’re going to look skywards & marvel<br />
<br />
at the mystery of clouds”. His early works have<br />
<br />
that tinge of melancholic wit, a comical mismatch<br />
<br />
between the banal & the sublime, yet as the<br />
<br />
economic slowdown starts to bite, are we seeing<br />
<br />
a backlash against green policies? There was a<br />
<br />
full moon the night I moved in & it literally filled<br />
<br />
the room. When a butterfly leaves the safety of<br />
<br />
its cocoon, does it realise how beautiful it has<br />
<br />
become? Here, on the other side of the island,<br />
<br />
the view is entirely different, yet the interior of the <br />
<br />
ship is decorated in a similar pastiche baroque style.<br />
<br />
It has been suggested that strobe lighting is an<br />
<br />
optional extra.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Every time a flare rose up towards the sky,<br />
<br />
the figure of a pirate stood out plainly against the<br />
<br />
dark background. There is a great variety of fauna<br />
<br />
on the island, including several comparatively<br />
<br />
rare species. This week we’re going to look skywards<br />
<br />
& marvel at the mystery of clouds. People in the <br />
<br />
street can be incredibly aggressive but it’s easy to<br />
<br />
lose the nuthatch’s song in the middle of a woodland<br />
<br />
chorus. Alice was as interested in man-made clouds<br />
<br />
as in the natural variety, yet choosing your aperture<br />
<br />
or what you want in-focus, helps define your role as<br />
<br />
a photographer. She hesitated & the stranger caught<br />
<br />
her by the throat again. As waves swept the decks &<br />
<br />
guns broke adrift, they made their way towards the<br />
<br />
jutting spit of land at the tip of the crescent of sand.<br />
<br />
Strobe lighting is an optional extra.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Last night I met draco, the pirate who modelled for<br />
<br />
Salvador Dali. Soon I was surrounded by dancing<br />
<br />
buccaneers, armed with pistols & cutlasses, yet <br />
<br />
the terror of waking up in an alien world has never<br />
<br />
been more eloquently expressed. Suddenly, there<br />
<br />
was a loud bang in the parlour & I hurried in to behold<br />
<br />
the captain lying full-length upon the floor. It was not<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Alice who hesitated but the man whose authority had <br />
<br />
brought her here. He was finicky & fastidious, with<br />
<br />
a dandy’s taste in waistcoats. How she longed to get<br />
<br />
out of that dark, sunless cabin & wander around<br />
<br />
among those beds of bright flowers. Yet she shifts<br />
<br />
from one persona to another with a change of hat<br />
<br />
& a drop in her voice. Her face flushed slightly, like<br />
<br />
a glacier at sunrise & there was a rustling of dresses<br />
<br />
as the cries of her rapture roused me from my reverie.<br />
<br />
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<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Dave Sealey<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Never-ending Economy<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Queue Here” reads the sign<br />
<br />
underneath the old railway bridge.<br />
<br />
An arrow points towards the wall<br />
<br />
networked with ivy tracing mortar-<br />
<br />
the road map of the industrial age<br />
<br />
in dark green with white flecked veins.<br />
<br />
The line begins to form, men and women<br />
<br />
in polyester uniforms and crumpled suits,<br />
<br />
virgins to hand-outs clutch at tickets-<br />
<br />
early birds to an imaginary worm.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Eventually they begin to die, they fall<br />
<br />
at the wayside and lose their place.<br />
<br />
“Someone should be on the way” they moan.<br />
<br />
Imaginary bankers walk amongst them<br />
<br />
nudging out pockets into invisible sacks,<br />
<br />
grimly extracting their pounds of flesh.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Jordan McMahon<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
-The Life We Love-<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Bleary eyed yet so alive we?re on the road again.<br />
<br />
Cursing, screaming, drunk we?re dreaming,<br />
<br />
The clock shows 10am.<br />
<br />
The familiar haze of excessive days<br />
<br />
Subsides and gives way.<br />
<br />
Look around, the sights and sounds<br />
<br />
They?re ours just for today.<br />
<br />
But we have no future, we have no time<br />
<br />
No hope or destiny.<br />
<br />
Let us wallow in such pleasures,<br />
<br />
Let us create some history.<br />
<br />
I am Icarus, you see these snow covered wings?<br />
<br />
See me choking and drowning on whole manners of things?<br />
<br />
Coughing, laughing and crying inside,<br />
<br />
Lamenting the child inside which died.<br />
<br />
Four to three, three to two and now remains just one.<br />
<br />
A delusional world is where this soul has gone.<br />
<br />
A place of opportunity, wonder and awe,<br />
<br />
A world where the soul is left screaming for more.<br />
<br />
More and more, feed it in, I have quite an appetite.<br />
<br />
Malcontented and indecisive, its always may or might.<br />
<br />
Never planned yet here I stand, living for another day.<br />
<br />
Living to wander, living to explore, see whose to meet on the way.<br />
<br />
There?s love in the sky today, faces in the clouds,<br />
<br />
Embracing as the sun intoxicates those dreaming crowds.<br />
<br />
This is the life, the life we do love,<br />
<br />
In a field on our backs watching the spectacle above.<br />
<br />
Stay here forever, let the earth drag us all down,<br />
<br />
Yet before us awaits the neon glow of our dear town.<br />
<br />
As the night descends on our beloved friends we?ll take to the city streets,<br />
<br />
Burn away time with beer and wine tapping feet to the box fresh beats.<br />
<br />
A sense of unity, a sense of belonging, the town is ours tonight.<br />
<br />
Rub your eyes look to the skies and beam with ecstatic delight.<br />
<br />
Remember laughs and jokes, drinks and smokes, girls left behind,<br />
<br />
One things clear, when you were near, I should have kissed you by the waterside.<br />
<br />
Oh how suddenly you did change, it hit me like a freight train.<br />
<br />
Blood on the dance floor, blood on my sleeve, blood on everything I perceive.<br />
<br />
Smoke in their face, tears in their souls, take their hands for they have lost control.<br />
<br />
Throw a bottle to show your pain,<br />
<br />
Live to wake up and do it over again.<br />
<br />
Again and again,<br />
<br />
Over and over,<br />
<br />
Its always the same,<br />
<br />
Swinging from freedom to restrain.<br />
<br />
Broken hearts and forgotten truths, such a shame about those hopeful youths.<br />
<br />
As the sun sets or rises or whatever you desire.<br />
<br />
You?ll find yourself teary eyed far from alive,<br />
<br />
For flying too close to the fire.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Simon Leake<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
up, rising<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
up, rising<br />
<br />
a quiet day<br />
<br />
discontent<br />
<br />
streets unused<br />
<br />
no bird calls<br />
<br />
not even the gulls<br />
<br />
gone away to sea to spawn<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
where small groups gather<br />
<br />
stories albeit fantasies<br />
<br />
with their bearings in reality<br />
<br />
are confided in disconsolate strangers<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
and friends exchange bitchyness<br />
<br />
others gone off to Japan,<br />
<br />
Canada, Timbuktu… <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Bristol, Spring 2008 <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Taking Breath<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sunday mornings<br />
<br />
Hertford street<br />
<br />
sat in the window<br />
<br />
smoking weed<br />
<br />
reading the paper<br />
<br />
drinking tea<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sunday mornings<br />
<br />
Hertford street<br />
<br />
quiet, slow, <br />
<br />
easy, changing<br />
<br />
new deeper feelings<br />
<br />
undercurrents, felt beats<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sunday mornings<br />
<br />
Hertford street<br />
<br />
watching the Sun fall behind<br />
<br />
the opposite side of the street<br />
<br />
one year out of thirty<br />
<br />
never to repeat<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Henry Blake<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
SHE’S PERFECTION<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It hangs in my skull.....<br />
<br />
A Gustav Klimt in the Louvre.<br />
<br />
Priceless.<br />
<br />
Untouchable<br />
<br />
My depression is dedicated to me<br />
<br />
She comes completely free.<br />
<br />
She drives me everywhere I wish to go....<br />
<br />
One day she will drive me straight to the <br />
<br />
Cemetary without turning left at the lights.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
THE DEATH OF MY LIFE DOES NOT INTEREST ME<br />
<br />
ANYMORE<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I am a very dull man....<br />
<br />
I do not speak much and when I do it is not worth repeating.<br />
<br />
I hide behind my self imposed exile.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I cry with incomprehension of self.<br />
<br />
I am a zero man....<br />
<br />
You people are my superiors<br />
<br />
You breath, smile converse with great ease!<br />
<br />
I could never be like you.<br />
<br />
Give me love and I will turn it into ugliness<br />
<br />
Give me hope I will turn it into despair<br />
<br />
I expect nothing,<br />
<br />
That is what I receive<br />
<br />
Ah,<br />
<br />
Ah,<br />
<br />
Ah,<br />
<br />
I walk into darkness with my atonality.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
SATURDAY NIGHT IN THE CROWN<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A gang of girls sat in the corner of the pub<br />
<br />
With lager tops and dreams of passion, love.<br />
<br />
Bobby, Darren, Steve and Gary laughing at the bar.<br />
<br />
Bouncer approaches:<br />
<br />
“keep the noise down, lads”<br />
<br />
“piss off cannon ball head”<br />
<br />
A punch straight to the jaw, broken teeth,<br />
<br />
Flying glass, a fractured cheek bone,<br />
<br />
A kick to the spleen.<br />
<br />
Flashing lights, cops arrive to instigate law and order,<br />
<br />
Bust a few skulls.<br />
<br />
Darren, Steve, Gary are thrown into the back of a van....<br />
<br />
Taken to station for photographs, bed and breakfast.<br />
<br />
Poor Bobby was taken to A.N.E with severe lacerations to the<br />
<br />
face.<br />
<br />
The girls left the pub, walked up through the town centre.<br />
<br />
No sexual intercourse tonight.<br />
<br />
Chicken and chips will have to suffice.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ivor C Treby<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A cut-glass English accent<br />
<br />
I heard this day relate<br />
<br />
how she and a companion<br />
<br />
had walked down to the Tate,<br />
<br />
and there they saw a canvas<br />
<br />
in sapphire blue and rose<br />
<br />
(the artist is not famous,<br />
<br />
a name that no one knows).<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
This painting with some others<br />
<br />
had chanced to catch her eye,<br />
<br />
it was, she said, so charming<br />
<br />
it made her want to cry;<br />
<br />
I could not help but listen,<br />
<br />
so cold her voice, so loud,<br />
<br />
there in a racking Tube train<br />
<br />
it reached me through the crowd.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I marvelled that the artist<br />
<br />
in hunger, cold and pain,<br />
<br />
should spark this sudden insight,<br />
<br />
had laboured not in vain:<br />
<br />
no other person heard her<br />
<br />
alone with their desires<br />
<br />
their heads yet bowed and nodded,<br />
<br />
their ears all filled with wires.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ivor C Treby<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Shearing<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
That day we all went down to<br />
<br />
Derrington. The air once filled<br />
<br />
with morning birdsong,calling<br />
<br />
waterbirds and finches, now<br />
<br />
quite silent, in the unstarred<br />
<br />
sky a wide wan opal sun.<br />
<br />
Our breath hung iced in fog so<br />
<br />
cold it was, crossing the fields<br />
<br />
along the old Roman road.<br />
<br />
And slowly as the trees broke<br />
<br />
up in silver, all those things<br />
<br />
the young men thought<br />
<br />
they knew, those things<br />
<br />
the old men dared not know,<br />
<br />
were instant and apparent<br />
<br />
We stood upon the fracture<br />
<br />
looking out into that great<br />
<br />
circumference, treading the <br />
<br />
gold and blue diameters<br />
<br />
dropping beneath our feet.<br />
<br />
About us glowed the envelope<br />
<br />
of bright pencilled lines, far<br />
<br />
in the frosted sky, long firefly<br />
<br />
shoals of starships. And suddenly<br />
<br />
we all were running, shouting,<br />
<br />
laughing like madmen, climbing<br />
<br />
the gliding plates, the tipped<br />
<br />
receding planes, the gleaming<br />
<br />
comices, the rocking cliffs and<br />
<br />
shifting floors. Blinded by flickering<br />
<br />
light, the wreathing mist, most<br />
<br />
of us soon slipped and plunged<br />
<br />
headlong, while others cried out,<br />
<br />
wildly jumped and fell. Some raved,<br />
<br />
dropped to their knees in prayer.<br />
<br />
But none of us that I could see<br />
<br />
rejoiced, though several wept.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Polydeoxyribonucleotides rule ok<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Aggressive . . . . . all elbows from the starT<br />
<br />
This molecule presaged trouble . . . . . . . A<br />
<br />
Gorgon tendril . . . . twin-coiled and maniC<br />
<br />
Geared for harm . . . beyond the solar disC<br />
<br />
Cosmic rays . . . . . . sparked an awakeninG<br />
<br />
That triggered . . . . . . . . . a terrible cobrA<br />
<br />
Chaos held no hurt . . . . . . . this orderinG<br />
<br />
Could only lead to disaster . . . . . . . . lonG<br />
<br />
Attaining (slime cell mollusc man) . . . buT<br />
<br />
Certain . . . so at once it was war . . . biG<br />
<br />
Guns. . . knives. . . axes . . . fusions nucleiC<br />
<br />
And all without soul . . . no chance of thaT <br />
<br />
Ghost in the machine . . . . blind dynastiC<br />
<br />
Greed set species against species . . . . . siC<br />
<br />
Transit all flesh . . . . . . . . ape or amoebA <br />
<br />
As for good, evil . . . who’d have thoughT<br />
<br />
There was no choice? . . through milleniA<br />
<br />
Conquest . . . by shortfall and winnowinG<br />
<br />
This snake’s more original sin . . . . . . seA <br />
<br />
To land to air to space . . . . . . . . . gangliA<br />
<br />
Conjured a mind to dream right and wronG<br />
<br />
All things . . . . . . . . wavicle to astronauT<br />
<br />
Amoral . . . . . . callous . . . . . . indifferenT <br />
<br />
God is not . . . . was never . . . . just havoC<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Phil Knight<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
THE WORKMAN<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I am an ordinary man<br />
<br />
a family man in fact.<br />
<br />
You would not look at me<br />
<br />
twice if you saw me in<br />
<br />
the market or on the bus.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I work regular hours,<br />
<br />
my Supervisor says I am <br />
<br />
A Information Facilitator<br />
<br />
I like that, it much better<br />
<br />
then somethings I have been<br />
<br />
called.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I work with three other men<br />
<br />
they are great guys<br />
<br />
you would like them if<br />
<br />
you met them outside of work.<br />
<br />
We have breakfast together<br />
<br />
every morning and we chat about<br />
<br />
our wives or last night’s telly,<br />
<br />
that’s the real highlight of my day.<br />
<br />
Then it’s back to the grindstone.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
We go to the Supervisor’s<br />
<br />
office and he assigns us<br />
<br />
a subject for the day.<br />
<br />
First we get the room straight,<br />
<br />
I set out the equipment on<br />
<br />
a little table. Sometimes<br />
<br />
all the subject needs is a<br />
<br />
glimpse of that little table<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
and they melt like butter<br />
<br />
that’s a good day.<br />
<br />
They always feel better<br />
<br />
after talking, yes they do<br />
<br />
even if we have to go a bit<br />
<br />
further or even a lot further<br />
<br />
in the end they always feel<br />
<br />
better because people are<br />
<br />
basically good and they don’t<br />
<br />
want bad things to happen.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But there are hard days when<br />
<br />
a subject will just not talk.<br />
<br />
So I have to go to the little<br />
<br />
table and chose something<br />
<br />
a pliers, a belt, a scalper or<br />
<br />
the box of electrodes.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But for my money a bucket of water<br />
<br />
works best, it’s so simple<br />
<br />
people have a natural fear of<br />
<br />
drowning and I like to think<br />
<br />
the cleaners are grateful<br />
<br />
when it is only water they mop up.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I can hear my colleagues coming<br />
<br />
so is there anything I can get you<br />
<br />
the choice is yours.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
WHITEOUT<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
THE DAY WAS A WHITEOUT<br />
<br />
OF WINTERING SNOW<br />
<br />
A ONCE IN A BLUE MOON<br />
<br />
EVENT IN A GLOBAL WARM ERA.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
GUTTERS ARE HANG WITH ICE<br />
<br />
AND SNOW IS ON EVERY ROOF.<br />
<br />
PERFECT TABLECLOTH LAWNS<br />
<br />
ARE MARKED ONLY BY CAT PRINTS.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
THE SKY IS AS BLUE AS THE SEA<br />
<br />
AND THE VALLEY IS WHITE LIKE<br />
<br />
A SKY FULL OF CLOUDS ON A DAY<br />
<br />
OF CUMULUS NIMBUS DREAMS.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
THE FROST GLAZE IS EVERYWHERE<br />
<br />
AND THE AIR TASTES YOUNG AGAIN<br />
<br />
AND THE SUN IS BRIGHT WITH LIFE<br />
<br />
AND OUR WORLD SOMEWHOW SEEMS GOOD.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Austin Mc Carron<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Divine Cities<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Divine cities obliterate the silence<br />
<br />
grey words sing.<br />
<br />
Filled<br />
<br />
with a chronic grief the stars meddle.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Foolish fingers count the notes left by<br />
<br />
singers in a mechanical store.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Streets of music offer to carry the burden <br />
<br />
of sound.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Tormented orchestras with stolen scores<br />
<br />
play to a deserted crowd<br />
<br />
with instruments of sun and lights of blood.<br />
<br />
Fundamental Gods smell out the lyrics with<br />
<br />
Impassioned glances and grave unlit smiles.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Metronet<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Through streets of gold affliction<br />
<br />
we march on fire.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Holding our torches high we write<br />
<br />
on the walls<br />
<br />
of truth our life of burning secrets.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
We smell innocence and ash.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Primitive shadows<br />
<br />
follow<br />
<br />
us like trickles of forbidden water.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Springing from nowhere,<br />
<br />
newly discovered<br />
<br />
flames resist our anguished warnings.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Numinous black tongues lash our burnt<br />
<br />
faces with the smell of retreating forces,<br />
<br />
the diseased<br />
<br />
breath of all our smouldering languages. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sourland<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
On green streets, blue light,<br />
<br />
with swollen voices, aching<br />
<br />
to speak. Fugitive plants hide<br />
<br />
out in torn gardens until the <br />
<br />
colours see. Deaf music plays<br />
<br />
to a group of strangers with<br />
<br />
broken tongues and concrete feet.<br />
<br />
Famous languages fall silent with<br />
<br />
murderous sounds and dark potions<br />
<br />
in cold rooms. Exhausted windows<br />
<br />
reflect all that is sunny and lost.<br />
<br />
Great territories, filled with sand,<br />
<br />
Speak with pictures of fallen eyes.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Dip into this selection of interesting new poetry books and publications.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Publications<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
C.L.Dallat<br />
<br />
‘The Year of Not Dancing’<br />
<br />
Blackstaff Press, Belfast.<br />
<br />
www.blackstaffpress.com<br />
<br />
Isbn:978-0-85640-840-3<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Review<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Review<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Year of Not Dancing by C.L. Dallat is a vivid journey into the past. Events unfold to reveal a fascinating story, the viewpoint sometimes taken from that of a child’s, leading the reader back to once familiar territory; the child’s world versus that of the adult world.<br />
<br />
The poems read quickly, images and rhythms clipping the tongue and memory, like an old film flickering on the screen. In the poem ‘Lives of the Composers’ the words are beautifully crafted:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Partly the Doric flourish soda- bar chrome<br />
<br />
of the Rock-Ola in Joe’s Carousel pavilion –<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Dallat uses a musical and unaffected language. <br />
<br />
A fascinating read.Thoroughly enjoyed this collection.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Jane Marsh<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
___________________________________________________________________<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
William Bedford<br />
<br />
‘Collecting Bottle Tops’<br />
<br />
Selected Poems 1960-2008<br />
<br />
Poetry Salzburg<br />
<br />
ISBN: 978-3-901993-27-5<br />
<br />
orders@poetrysalsburg.com.<br />
<br />
www.poetrysalzburg.com<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Entirely New<br />
<br />
Writing produced under<br />
<br />
The Canterbury Laureate<br />
<br />
Programme 2007-2009<br />
<br />
Edited by Patrica Debney<br />
<br />
Published 2008: Canterbury City Council.<br />
<br />
www.write-here.net or www.creativecanterbury.com<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Purpose of Your Visit<br />
<br />
River Wolton<br />
<br />
Smith/Doorstop Books<br />
<br />
The Poetry Business, Bank St Arts, 32-40 Bank St. Sheffield. S1 2DS<br />
<br />
ISBN: 978-1-906613-05-1<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Second Fifty<br />
<br />
Poems<br />
<br />
Jenefer Ann Murray<br />
<br />
Palores Publications’ 21st Century Writers<br />
<br />
ISBN 978-0-9556682-7-2<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
ORB Editions<br />
<br />
Avant-garde poetry<br />
<br />
PO Box 35 Bangor, Gwynedd LL57 3ZF<br />
<br />
Email: luminouspress@yahoo.com<br />
<br />
www.okok.org.uk<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Steve Sneyd<br />
<br />
Mistaking the Nature of Posthuman<br />
<br />
Hilltop Press<br />
<br />
4 Nowell Place<br />
<br />
Almondbury<br />
<br />
Huddersfield, HD5 8PB, England<br />
<br />
ISBN 978-0-905262-42-0<br />
<br />
Hilltop press titles are distributed overseas by BBR/NSFA<br />
<br />
www.bbr-online.com/catalogue<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The McLellan Poetry Award 2009<br />
<br />
For poems in Scots and English.<br />
<br />
Enter online: www.mclellanawards.co.uk<br />
<br />
Closing date: 31st July 2009<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
________________________________________ <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
http://www.geocities.com/poetshideout/Neon.html<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Neon Highway, the magazine for innovative poetry.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Submissions to be sent to the editor:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz: 37, Grinshill Close, Liverpool, L8 8LD<br />
<br />
Email submissions can be sent to: neonhighwaypoetry@yahoo.co.uk<br />
<br />
Or send via snailmail to address above. Please always supply a sae for any returned material.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Neon Highway is available bi-annually, with 2 issues costing £5.50, or a single<br />
<br />
Issue available at £3.00. Order your next issue by sending a cheque (made out to) to Alice Lenkiewicz.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Please be patient on replies.<br />
<br />
If you do not hear about your work within eight weeks, do please contact the editor. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
If you would like to write a review for this magazine or if you would be interested in being interviewed by assistant editor, Jane Marsh, please contact us on the email above.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Neon Highway is a non-profit making magazine.<br />
<br />
We do encourage you to subscribe. <br />
<br />
We are grateful to all the subscribers who have kept ‘Neon Highway’ in print over the years.</div>
Alice Lenkiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04020676166907047838noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4359728548211384456.post-23555771526661513372011-01-03T08:50:00.000-08:002015-02-21T08:40:03.451-08:00ISSUE: 17<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Neon Highway ISSN: 1476-9867<br />
<br />
<br />
Issue 17<br />
<br />
(In process of editing this for webpage)<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
Contents<br />
<br />
Introduction by Jane Marsh. P. 3<br />
<br />
The First Collection. (New addition) P. 4<br />
<br />
Clare Saponia. P. 5-6<br />
<br />
Andrew Smith. P 6-7<br />
<br />
Mark Pritchard. P 7- 9<br />
<br />
Marc Carver. P 9-11<br />
<br />
Colin Roberts. P 12-13<br />
<br />
Ashley Bovan. P 13-14<br />
<br />
Colin Beck. P 14<br />
<br />
Henry Blake. P 15-16<br />
<br />
A Catterall. P 16-19 Chris Hardy. P 19-21 David Hudson. P 22-23 Andrew Nightingale. P 23- 25 Kevin Meeham. P 25-28 Mel Quetzcoatl. P 28-29<br />
<br />
Cristogianni Borsella. P 29-30<br />
<br />
Simon Turner. P 30-31<br />
<br />
Jonathan Doherty. P31-32<br />
<br />
Mary Ocher. P 32-33<br />
<br />
Simon Hambrook. P 33<br />
<br />
Sarah Woolsey.P 34-35<br />
<br />
Tom George. P 35- 37<br />
<br />
Subscription. P. 38<br />
<br />
3<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Dear readers, welcome to Neon Highway issue seventeen. We have some fabulous poets<br />
<br />
in this issue. I have been well, thank you very much but I will tell you a little story.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, I walked up to a stranger in the street and I said, “Will you marry me?” I know this was very naughty of me but something just made me want to do it. I can‟t explain why.<br />
<br />
Society can sometimes be so mundane. Thank god we live in our heads. I can‟t think of anything worse than „newspeak‟. You can despise certain things around you but at least you can enjoy the fact that you still have your own thoughts and ideas. Anyway, as I was saying, I walked up to this man. He was carrying a briefcase to work and wearing one of those smart suits and a bowler hat. I haven‟t seen a bowler hat in a long time.<br />
<br />
I saw him walking across the bridge towards the embankment along the River Thames..<br />
<br />
I kind of followed him. I know that is terrible. I don‟t usually do that sort of thing but you see, he reminded me of someone I used to like years ago and I thought, wouldn‟t it be strange if it really was him but obviously it could not have been, after-all this man I had liked had lived in Prague. We had met on the other side of Charles Bridge for coffee. It isn‟t that often that you bump into someone from Prague from the past as you are walking out of the tube station from Superdrug, after buying some shampoo and conditioner.<br />
<br />
So there I was following him along the embankment in my new nineteen twenties outfit bought from my secret retro store on Brick Lane when all of a sudden he turns around and stares at me. We just stood there gazing at each other like we are in some kind of surreal trance and you know what? I could not believe it. If seeing and hearing is believing, he said “Jane, what are you doing here?” It was just so amazing. His name I remember is Antonio and we are meeting for a drink tomorrow night to catch up on all our adventures.<br />
<br />
Isn‟t life just such a wonderful blessing at times? X<br />
<br />
In the mean time, may the wondrous force of beauty and the exotic and demure mysterious imagination of nature be bestowed upon you all and don‟t forget I am now giving a spotlight to first collections of poetry and prose.<br />
<br />
Jane.<br />
<br />
X<br />
<br />
4<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>First Collection</em><br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Send me your first collection and I will showcase<br />
<br />
your book here and offer it some tender loving care.<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
<br />
'Men Hate Blondes'<br />
<br />
Debut collection of poems and drawings,<br />
<br />
£8.00 Original Plus books.<br />
<br />
http://thesamsmith.webs.com/originalpluscollections.htm<br />
<br />
ISBN 978-0-9562433-4-8<br />
<br />
Lisa Jones<br />
<br />
‘At 3 o’clock I think of Sex and Death’<br />
<br />
Debut collection by Liverpool poet and musician, Lisa Jones.<br />
<br />
Spike Press, 96 Bold Street, Liverpool, L1 4HY<br />
<br />
http://www.spikepublishing.wordpress.com<br />
<br />
ISBN 978 – 0 -946057-89-4<br />
<br />
Siobhan Logan<br />
<br />
'Firebridge to Skyshore'<br />
<br />
A Northern Lights Journey: £8.00<br />
<br />
Original plus books.<br />
<br />
http://thesamsmith.webs.com/originalpluscollections.htm<br />
<br />
ISBN: 978-0-9546801-7-6<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
5<br />
<br />
<strong>Clare Saponia</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
for searching<br />
<br />
<br />
Is it worth demystifying?<br />
When the proportions<br />
are right and the blanket<br />
warm and familiar?<br />
So that you don’t have to<br />
look in the mirror,<br />
because everything is a<br />
mirror. And nature still<br />
needs to explain itself.<br />
<br />
Why can’t you stop<br />
looking for oracles? Isn’t<br />
there a freedom in you<br />
own values beyond<br />
institution and era, where<br />
persistence is not<br />
dependent on reward?<br />
<br />
<strong>the next of everything</strong><br />
<br />
The next of everything and<br />
how it began; the<br />
contemplation of<br />
devils under pressure to<br />
select<br />
and move on,<br />
new fleeting choice<br />
and nothing<br />
finished. Just<br />
peeling and<br />
cracking in<br />
obtuse ascent, over<br />
and over,<br />
the toes to<br />
the heels and up<br />
with a light<br />
discretion of tone<br />
in generation.<br />
<br />
He took the<br />
alarm-clock out<br />
for a walk.<br />
There seem to<br />
be so many<br />
unopened letters.<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Andrew Smith</strong><br />
<br />
Chorus<br />
<br />
There is a green leaf outside<br />
That flatters itself by waving<br />
its thin breast against the window<br />
trying to grab my attention,<br />
it’s saying<br />
ME<br />
ME<br />
ME<br />
why not<br />
It only has one leaf fluttering<br />
In a dance<br />
and two<br />
skinny buds left without solace<br />
it only has one more<br />
hold in the wind,<br />
one last chance to be something<br />
while the green shines through<br />
the sun<br />
and the wind<br />
forgetting what it last did.<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Mark Pritchard</strong><br />
<br />
EPITHANY ON THE WHEEL<br />
<br />
Big bloody fairground attraction, in the centre of London town.<br />
<br />
Ridiculous wheel, that offers the prospect of a view.<br />
<br />
Tourist magnet, for Japanese and American suburbanites.<br />
<br />
Don’t forget to take your camera.<br />
<br />
Capture an inane grin, as you tower over Big Ben.<br />
<br />
First holiday in five years, and I find myself here.<br />
<br />
A lost man, with parents who pity him.<br />
<br />
I promised to never holiday again.<br />
<br />
Last time, I scared people with my solitary nature.<br />
<br />
A week at the seaside, drunk and getting thrown out of bars.<br />
<br />
But the parents pressured, and I agreed to go with them.<br />
<br />
8<br />
<br />
So, now I wait in line for our turn on the stupid bloody wheel.<br />
<br />
Been in London for four days, haven’t smiled once.<br />
<br />
The slow crawl of the wheel, and a smiling employee motions to us.<br />
<br />
Our turn, the ‘flight’ begins.<br />
<br />
Yes, they actually call it a ‘flight.’<br />
<br />
Five people in our shuttle.<br />
<br />
Mum, Dad, a young couple and Rorshach.<br />
<br />
The young couple are lost in their world of romance.<br />
<br />
Holding hands, their lives are just beginning.<br />
<br />
I sit on the bench, and look at the floor.<br />
<br />
“Stand up Rorsh, you’re missing the view.”<br />
<br />
“okay mum.”<br />
<br />
How to describe the view?<br />
<br />
Concrete and light blanket a million lost and lonely souls.<br />
<br />
That will do.<br />
<br />
“Isn’t it great?”<br />
<br />
“Yeah mum, it’s great”<br />
<br />
The young couple ask me to take a photograph of them.<br />
<br />
I am happy to do so.<br />
<br />
They smile.<br />
<br />
I point the camera and click<br />
<br />
They look so happy, beaming with radiance and life.<br />
<br />
Enjoying a love that I’ve never possessed.<br />
<br />
9<br />
<br />
The tears start to well, as I think of my own failure.<br />
<br />
I sit down on the bench, and a tear falls.<br />
<br />
Wiped away, before the parents can see.<br />
<br />
“Isn’t it a beautiful view?”<br />
<br />
“Yes mum it is.”<br />
<br />
“It sure is.”<br />
<br />
The ride slowly comes to an end.<br />
<br />
The young couple go out into the night.<br />
<br />
I go back to the hotel.<br />
<br />
With mum.<br />
<br />
And Dad.<br />
<br />
And spend the night, writing this poem.<br />
<br />
Marc Carver<br />
<br />
TO THE LIGHTHOUSE<br />
<br />
I want to live in a lighthouse and watch the sun rip itself from the sea everyday.<br />
<br />
Listen to the waves tangle with the rocks.<br />
<br />
Lay on the floor at the top of the lighthouse.<br />
<br />
Peel back the roof and watch the clouds go by, until it is dark.<br />
<br />
Remember laughter.<br />
<br />
Wait for night to come.<br />
<br />
Listen to the sea at night.<br />
<br />
Someone would come for me there though.<br />
<br />
Come to find me.<br />
<br />
Would I open the door.<br />
<br />
10<br />
<br />
Would I let them in.<br />
<br />
How long before they would smash the door down.<br />
<br />
How long would it take for them to make my life-theirs.<br />
<br />
I look out of the window and know that my life must change but I cannot see around<br />
<br />
the corner.<br />
<br />
The angle is too short, too obtuse.<br />
<br />
Perhaps it is better not to look but to live in darkness.<br />
<br />
I have love but do not have life.<br />
<br />
Life is lost to me. It is over there and I am firmly here.<br />
<br />
I don‟t want to be a better man just the man that I am.<br />
<br />
Whoever that is.<br />
<br />
A man that can laugh and cry at the same time.<br />
<br />
The lonely man, who gets as close to women as he can.<br />
<br />
To feel, the life that is the woman.<br />
<br />
When I look into a woman‟s eye, I could drop to the ground and hug and grip their<br />
<br />
waist.<br />
<br />
Please stroke my hair, like my mummy used to do.<br />
<br />
Let me curl up on their lap and breasts.<br />
<br />
Let me be a child again.<br />
<br />
Or maybe a dog.<br />
<br />
a dog with a rope for a chain.<br />
<br />
So look into my eyes and don‟t be scared what you see there.<br />
<br />
It is not sadness or pain it is just me?<br />
<br />
But do you really want to look. Why would you.<br />
<br />
So if you pass me in the street<br />
<br />
don‟t look into those blue eyes because I am not there.<br />
<br />
I AM<br />
<br />
IN- MY LIGHTHOUSE.<br />
<br />
11<br />
<br />
TITLE<br />
<br />
I try to think about something important to write about.<br />
<br />
Love, friendship, sex.<br />
<br />
The more I think about it, the less there is to write about.<br />
<br />
So, why do I write?<br />
<br />
Why does anybody write?<br />
<br />
Because they can say words on paper, that they cannot speak.<br />
<br />
Too frightened that nobody will listen, held to their words.<br />
<br />
All of these, and then some.<br />
<br />
Look what they did to Jesus.<br />
<br />
I lie in bed and fall asleep hoping and praying I can become the man that I need to be.<br />
<br />
When I wake up<br />
<br />
I am always in the same place.<br />
<br />
Only one thing has changed<br />
<br />
I can get up<br />
<br />
and search for those important words<br />
<br />
that will make a good poem.<br />
<br />
I know that they are inside of me<br />
<br />
I just need to drag them out.<br />
<br />
They will come.<br />
<br />
So, I will keep searching but I am unsure as to what will happen if I find them.<br />
<br />
I think that I will know before you<br />
<br />
But what happens then.<br />
<br />
I have stopped writing for pleasure or for me.<br />
<br />
I write for you.<br />
<br />
Whether you want them<br />
<br />
or not.<br />
<br />
12<br />
<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Colin Roberts</b><br />
<br />
5 In London - Rush Hour<br />
<br />
Why‟s the train so crowded, dangerous?<br />
<br />
Watch the bodies pushing, pulling.<br />
<br />
Watch the faces smiling, knowing, quizzing,<br />
<br />
Black reflections flying, passing,<br />
<br />
5 in London – rush hour<br />
<br />
Why‟s our safety ignored, worthless?<br />
<br />
Watch the children wondering, slipping.<br />
<br />
Watch their parents trying, failing.<br />
<br />
Hear their voices crying, moaning.<br />
<br />
Why on Earth do these things happen?<br />
<br />
5 in London – rush hour.<br />
<br />
Different people from different countries,<br />
<br />
Different thoughts in rolling tube.<br />
<br />
Different fashions, lying mirrors,<br />
<br />
No barriers, the world is one.<br />
<br />
How do trains knock down life‟s barriers?<br />
<br />
Watch the papers rising, falling.<br />
<br />
13<br />
<br />
See the headlines showing, hiding<br />
<br />
5 in London – rush hour.<br />
<br />
Ashley Bovan<br />
<br />
Whitewell-on-sea<br />
<br />
craggy spikes<br />
<br />
the ocean throws its smell up into the air<br />
<br />
Sploosh sploosh crush crush<br />
<br />
Going on and on<br />
<br />
Maybe it‟s the nature of timelessness<br />
<br />
that in the complete moment<br />
<br />
you have all the potential of the future<br />
<br />
Odourous time stuck in old cottages<br />
<br />
Front-rooms‟ musty<br />
<br />
upholstery clutches memories<br />
<br />
discards the chance to grow<br />
<br />
out of darkness<br />
<br />
a green shoot in the open sky<br />
<br />
The thuck thuck of your grandfather‟s clock<br />
<br />
Children of the White Islands<br />
<br />
Tonight, in furtherance,<br />
<br />
the star shapes are all wrong<br />
<br />
chilly moon<br />
<br />
Snow everywhere, conforms to my feet<br />
<br />
ice-ants nip<br />
<br />
14<br />
<br />
I steal fur from dead warriors<br />
<br />
In the future<br />
<br />
when this 12-year process is over<br />
<br />
I will have no need for dreams<br />
<br />
but, for now, I should practice an attitude<br />
<br />
that will avoid generating suspicion and hostility –<br />
<br />
a suitable vulnerability<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Colin Beck</b><br />
<br />
Blues<br />
<br />
When I look at you<br />
<br />
I don‟t know what day it is<br />
<br />
Im seeing stars<br />
<br />
I don‟t know whats going on<br />
<br />
Hold my hand<br />
<br />
You see I watch you watching me<br />
<br />
Im alive close your eyes<br />
<br />
I don‟t know what feelings are<br />
<br />
I seen your face in broken glass<br />
<br />
Scattered the way I feel<br />
<br />
15<br />
<br />
<b>Henry Blake</b><br />
<br />
IF YOU CAN AFFORD A DUCK POND AND<br />
<br />
PORNO FILMS WHY CAN‟T YOU BUY<br />
<br />
YOURSELF A PERSONALITY<br />
<br />
The glass screen in my bedroom<br />
<br />
Transmits insipid faces<br />
<br />
A man who purports to be Prime Minister<br />
<br />
Of England has a face like a wet weekend<br />
<br />
In Bradford….<br />
<br />
He talks out of the corner of his mouth,<br />
<br />
Smiles with a glass eye….<br />
<br />
Reads out a list of statistics….<br />
<br />
Expounds the economy is in great shape,<br />
<br />
Unemployment is negligible…. In real terms!<br />
<br />
A different man comes onto the screen,<br />
<br />
He‟s got a nice hairstyle,<br />
<br />
A slimy face….<br />
<br />
He states the economy is in melt-down,<br />
<br />
Unemployment has reached the highest rate<br />
<br />
Since 1990…<br />
<br />
This man has 30 million pounds in his<br />
<br />
Bank account….<br />
<br />
You don‟t acquire that amount of money by<br />
<br />
Propagating the virtues of Florence Nightingale.<br />
<br />
One of these law abiding individuals is lying….<br />
<br />
Probably both.<br />
<br />
I switch off the T.V. screen<br />
<br />
It‟s a pretend democracy with puppet people<br />
<br />
And it‟s bullshit<br />
<br />
16<br />
<br />
THE DEATH OF A COUNCIL TENANT<br />
<br />
He left this world two days ago.<br />
<br />
Some people from the refuse department had<br />
<br />
Come to collect his things:<br />
<br />
Broken furniture, old clothes, esoteric books….<br />
<br />
They threw the stuff outside in a skip<br />
<br />
With the rest of the rubbish.<br />
<br />
He led the life of a complete nobody,<br />
<br />
The ending was a quiet commonplace affair.<br />
<br />
He died in his sleepfrom a brain haemorrhage.<br />
<br />
He used to say to his one and only friend:<br />
<br />
“It makes no difference who you are, where you come<br />
<br />
from death will be your constant companion.”<br />
<br />
He died on Monday,<br />
<br />
They buried him on the Friday….<br />
<br />
Nobody attended the funeral….<br />
<br />
The keys to his council flat<br />
<br />
Were passed onto the next potential tenant<br />
<br />
A. Catterall<br />
<br />
Come Closer Honey<br />
<br />
As I left, she threw<br />
<br />
My books from the window<br />
<br />
Behind me<br />
<br />
17<br />
<br />
Then she started<br />
<br />
With the bottles<br />
<br />
After a while<br />
<br />
She stopped,<br />
<br />
And I stopped<br />
<br />
Shouting<br />
<br />
She came down<br />
<br />
And sat on the pavement<br />
<br />
Next to me<br />
<br />
And we sat amongst<br />
<br />
The books and wine<br />
<br />
I rolled a cigarette<br />
<br />
And offered her one<br />
<br />
She shook her head<br />
<br />
And I have nothing else,<br />
<br />
To give anymore<br />
<br />
I never asked for you,<br />
<br />
I never would<br />
<br />
There has always<br />
<br />
Been this between us<br />
<br />
In my drink<br />
<br />
I can forget, the sound of you<br />
<br />
And it is wonderful,<br />
<br />
Wonderful.<br />
<br />
18<br />
<br />
Why We Wait<br />
<br />
We sat playing cards<br />
<br />
Because there was<br />
<br />
Nothing else to do<br />
<br />
And as the power<br />
<br />
Ran out, we waited<br />
<br />
For dawn<br />
<br />
All night I wanted<br />
<br />
To touch you,<br />
<br />
But didn‟t<br />
<br />
You wanted to leave,<br />
<br />
But you didn‟t<br />
<br />
Neither of us,<br />
<br />
Had anywhere to<br />
<br />
Go<br />
<br />
I‟m just old<br />
<br />
And drunk<br />
<br />
And you,<br />
<br />
You are young<br />
<br />
And new<br />
<br />
There would be,<br />
<br />
No point<br />
<br />
There is, no point<br />
<br />
Just count the cards<br />
<br />
At dawn<br />
<br />
19<br />
<br />
Then you can leave<br />
<br />
And I, will be able,<br />
<br />
To sleep<br />
<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Chris Hardy</b><br />
<br />
THE HOUSE OF MIRRORS<br />
<br />
Before me lies the past<br />
<br />
a dark pool<br />
<br />
the colour of regret,<br />
<br />
which I must cross<br />
<br />
to where chance<br />
<br />
fate and choice<br />
<br />
which makes regret<br />
<br />
await<br />
<br />
concealed in mirrors<br />
<br />
on the wall<br />
<br />
of a house.<br />
<br />
I have to cross over<br />
<br />
the pool<br />
<br />
carrying the present<br />
<br />
in my pocket,<br />
<br />
go through the door<br />
<br />
look in the mirrors<br />
<br />
20<br />
<br />
watch the roof<br />
<br />
fade<br />
<br />
take my hand<br />
<br />
from my pocket<br />
<br />
and open it.<br />
<br />
IRIS<br />
<br />
In the dark<br />
<br />
she comes up close.<br />
<br />
She builds a scaffold<br />
<br />
and locks it to my face.<br />
<br />
I see her comet<br />
<br />
piloting in<br />
<br />
she sees the doorway<br />
<br />
where the world trades<br />
<br />
and scans the shedding<br />
<br />
tapestry<br />
<br />
that makes a graveyard<br />
<br />
souvenir,<br />
<br />
lights upon motes<br />
<br />
refines the shadows,<br />
<br />
says if the litter<br />
<br />
rises like a wall<br />
<br />
or falls like a curtain<br />
<br />
that I must call.<br />
<br />
When she watches<br />
<br />
I go blind.<br />
<br />
21<br />
<br />
THE BOOK OF GHOSTS<br />
<br />
In the corner of the book-case<br />
<br />
against the wall<br />
<br />
is the book of ghosts<br />
<br />
Open the book<br />
<br />
and the dead wake up,<br />
<br />
certain they‟re alive,<br />
<br />
and apparitions appear<br />
<br />
of those who I still meet,<br />
<br />
who walk into my house<br />
<br />
like people though<br />
<br />
they leave themselves<br />
<br />
in footfalls down the street.<br />
<br />
And in the book<br />
<br />
are my ghosts too,<br />
<br />
ghosts of me.<br />
<br />
When the book is open<br />
<br />
we all return<br />
<br />
like shadows in the hall<br />
<br />
and when the book is shut<br />
<br />
we turn our faces once more<br />
<br />
to the wall<br />
<br />
22<br />
<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>David Hudson</b><br />
<br />
ORIGAMI<br />
<br />
Snowflake events<br />
<br />
The Paper Men. Yellowing, carious. All vicious angles, impossible geometry. Cut and<br />
<br />
pasted from a thousand headlines screaming rape and murder. House security<br />
<br />
butchered. Old man Murdock taken to the Printers. Blocks of text hammered into raw<br />
<br />
flesh. All the latest news.<br />
<br />
Shocking what they‟ll print nowadays.<br />
<br />
The CCTV coverage tops the ratings.<br />
<br />
Feral media storming the TV studios. A code V situation. Aggressive interviewing.<br />
<br />
Paxman stuffed live on Newsnight.<br />
<br />
Bonehead and Gobshite, a couple of Irish troubadours, made their fortune fleecing the<br />
<br />
punters on the “charity” circuit, forcibly sodomised on stage by a junkyard<br />
<br />
synthesizer.<br />
<br />
Talk about a critical shafting.<br />
<br />
Bad ideoplasms. Egrigor mugshots. The police have taken to using silver bullets. Not<br />
<br />
that it does any good.<br />
<br />
One umwelt after another.<br />
<br />
Mass UFO sightings over rubbish dumps and scrap yards. Pilots attempting intercept<br />
<br />
find themselves flying over illusory landscapes. Fading transmissions.<br />
<br />
23<br />
<br />
Bodies as icons. Built from junk and bad dreams.<br />
<br />
A pack of slavering Jabberwocks attack the House Of Commons. Blood and guts<br />
<br />
everywhere. It‟s a horrible sight. All those politicians.<br />
<br />
A giant octopoid reported surfacing at Greenwich. Strange chants fill the air.<br />
<br />
England‟s Dreaming.<br />
<br />
Andrew Nightingale<br />
<br />
Coming into Canary Wharf on the DLR<br />
<br />
Rather than being formal to the point of violence:<br />
<br />
fucked up by its mantichoneymoon with dead water,<br />
<br />
the rectilinear slurry graves and their brightly coloured boats.<br />
<br />
Something homely in the smeared dusk: the yellow lights,<br />
<br />
the slackened compulsion after six that eases<br />
<br />
the slant rhyme of smart casual, the violence of crowds<br />
<br />
cleverly dissipated by clever architectural design.<br />
<br />
The sense of companionship it leaves is wrong,<br />
<br />
As if a body, disinterred, were found wearing a novelty tie.<br />
<br />
Curving in, over cold grey panels of meniscus,<br />
<br />
the cathedral‟s candlelight and murmur is nodal,<br />
<br />
wedding the purity of financial violence to chic cellular<br />
<br />
home lives, echoes of the yellow light, mortgaged<br />
<br />
mash-ups in hinterlands of children and pets.<br />
<br />
An empty barge, bloated like a corpse: a lost soul, laid up,<br />
<br />
going nowhere, floating where the taped voices miss,<br />
<br />
the daylight bulbs are blind and there‟s no screen, no login,<br />
<br />
only the formalities that follow self-harm,<br />
<br />
cubes of stopped river bedding the dead bride‟s dream.<br />
<br />
24<br />
<br />
Division<br />
<br />
1. interphase<br />
<br />
Between population growth<br />
<br />
and the notion of vermin<br />
<br />
among the animals<br />
<br />
Between cancer<br />
<br />
and treatments for mange<br />
<br />
among the falling shadows<br />
<br />
Between a live pig’s heart<br />
<br />
and unsorted chickens’ eggs<br />
<br />
among the undead<br />
<br />
2. Prophase<br />
<br />
Before the illusion of this-means-that<br />
<br />
fire and flint<br />
<br />
the logic of forward<br />
<br />
Before eating becomes consumption<br />
<br />
the village GP in antlers<br />
<br />
ceremony pushing forward<br />
<br />
Before the shape of a plate as aspiration<br />
<br />
bacon and burger<br />
<br />
the alien races forward<br />
<br />
3. Metaphase<br />
<br />
Over hills beyond the inhabited world<br />
<br />
worlds inhabited still<br />
<br />
something stuck that can’t change<br />
<br />
Over the laboratory a studied evasion<br />
<br />
beyond the ken of skin or pump of blood<br />
<br />
where living material harbours change<br />
<br />
25<br />
<br />
Over vast self-healing systems of finance<br />
<br />
beyond mythic technologies<br />
<br />
markets change<br />
<br />
4. Anaphase<br />
<br />
The right to rape and murder and eat<br />
<br />
what reconstructed instincts believe in eating<br />
<br />
brings memory back to the hands again<br />
<br />
On a straightened back internal organs<br />
<br />
no longer hang naturally<br />
<br />
next to the same explanation again<br />
<br />
Timelessness comes back<br />
<br />
to creatures waiting to die<br />
<br />
the pre-death that life be lived again<br />
<br />
5. Telophase<br />
<br />
In the end their end is smothered by difference<br />
<br />
dissection of autopsy concludes<br />
<br />
there’s no ghost<br />
<br />
An end in itself is born outside the species<br />
<br />
ending in the fragmentation of species<br />
<br />
into a million speckled eggshells<br />
<br />
The relationship ends with cytokinesis<br />
<br />
so separation exonerates<br />
<br />
atrocities of difference Kevin Meehan<br />
<br />
Stravisio Beach<br />
<br />
Black olive<br />
<br />
skinned vendor<br />
<br />
you tread daily<br />
<br />
lean and barefoot<br />
<br />
26<br />
<br />
upon the fresh combed<br />
<br />
searing sand<br />
<br />
into a desert with two oceans<br />
<br />
Up and down the mediterranean‟s edge<br />
<br />
in a shimmering mirage<br />
<br />
persistent as the sun<br />
<br />
your sure sole<br />
<br />
prints the surface<br />
<br />
of a sea of opportunity<br />
<br />
slim pack muel<br />
<br />
you carry your weight<br />
<br />
without complaint<br />
<br />
in a variety of hats, hairclips<br />
<br />
watches,sunglasses and jewelry<br />
<br />
tempter of the tan and naked<br />
<br />
sun worshippers<br />
<br />
on their backs and bellies<br />
<br />
in deck chairs and recliners<br />
<br />
your fake designer goods<br />
<br />
glint and sparkle<br />
<br />
for a purchase<br />
<br />
with your carved lizard mirrors, watches, rings<br />
<br />
and colourful necklaces<br />
<br />
made from teeth and shells<br />
<br />
luring the lazing<br />
<br />
to sit up and part with some euros.<br />
<br />
along the scorched<br />
<br />
Sicilian shoreline.<br />
<br />
27<br />
<br />
Reflections of a Banksman It is summer here in Dublin. We pull on steel and stone in an international effort to raise apartments from a wounded and weeded acre of urban dereliction for the client. Poland, Romania, Russia, Czech Republic, Slovakia and the rest of Eastern Europe arrive half asleep to rise perfectly formed concrete columns on a military scale from the wasteground. Hard hatted, hiving, migrant workers graft another marathon of tasks to realize the drawings of an architect‟s plan before the sun sets on the last few hours they own. All are laboured and sore from steel and stone, glass and timber and the daily tread of tired feet upon a changing landscape. Nation by nation join together in The global language of effort. In their midst a tower crane rises<br />
<br />
28<br />
<br />
one of many that stand like still silent storks in the docklands with outstretched necks of angle iron dangling their chains and hooks to catch the Banksman's straps.<br />
<br />
A noisy entanglement of metal and men All are friendly smiling and worn And dream of home<br />
<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Mel Quetzcoatl</b><br />
<br />
IRAQ<br />
<br />
Shrapnel that splinters in one's body The woman crying Soldiers doing their ghost-dancing through Baghdad, the image of The young male, hooded, his crime? Unspecified, the 'enemy combatant' that lurks in the haze of the soldiers' imagination, everywhere but no-where, the Sun parchyed poster of Saddam, crisp, rustling its own demise in the Racous noise of gunshots and the Danger of hospitals, to loive or die? Is there an option? The 'enemy combatant' moves through his dance, in the imagination of the soldiers, the Flowing robes of Bin Laden everywhere but no-where, a two minute hate to justify...what? The eyes of the child movinbg through each ghost-moment, wondering where her father is, the soldier, spitting out his gum and calling in a Foreign language, the Death of a father and two sons at a checkpoint: they couldn't understand English, he Ran a small shop once, but that was the objective of a 'precision strike', the 'enemy combatant' was lurking amongst the cans of beans and stuff, existing through the imagination of the soldiers, the enemy combatant, like some form of Hollywood creation, a matter of culture, a matter of Dancing with the ghosts that stalk Abu gharib, moving through into some Intoxicating swirl, the 'enemy combatant' in each dark corner, existing through some Dream that didn't exist but ws forced into existence, the Imagination of the soldiers and the cry of a thousand orphans....<br />
<br />
29<br />
<br />
WATER<br />
<br />
The sand flow of life And sparkle of dew-wet leaves on the brow of memory... The bird Rising with its song to that blue azure nothingness through which the dreams began to flow... River-like, from their beginnings, the shimmer of blue-moon silver on the waters that Flowed through my dreaming like a song I forgot and then remembered, the Ghost that touched my fiongers, and the elixir of some form of sense that Crept theif-like through my dreams and sung to the Flight we began as children when we held the world in our hands, our world, its heart beating to its history like the Jungle-drumming of some forgotten civilization, its echoes moving stealthily through the Distant horizon where I caught my dream in my hand and danced with her, spiralling through the uNiverse like some Quasar of foretting, each moment, caught within itself and the history that defined it, weaving silk with its movements, existing through the Urban hymn and the roar of cars, the quiet of the forest, intersecting, the motions through which Silently we dance through the hall of dreams, each one beckoning, each one singing its own song and Twirling through history, the dance on the water, droplets between our toes...<br />
<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Cristogianni Borsella</b><br />
<br />
The Night Breeze<br />
<br />
The night breeze<br />
<br />
rattles the sound of angry stilettos,<br />
<br />
sharp twisted iron coffins<br />
<br />
in blue diamond shrouded graveyards.<br />
<br />
Have I been here before?<br />
<br />
A familiar tone excites me<br />
<br />
howling in the wind, ever evasive,<br />
<br />
30<br />
<br />
just beyond the reach of the living.<br />
<br />
Material dust settles in the<br />
<br />
corner of my eye<br />
<br />
like an abstraction of reality,<br />
<br />
twice the size of my ear wax,<br />
<br />
but night air is good<br />
<br />
heightening my sense of dearth.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Simon Turner</b><br />
<br />
<br />
Love is known<br />
<br />
There is no qualm invented<br />
<br />
that can resist the torrent that builds behind the log-jam of branches and corrugated iron<br />
<br />
the plastic roofs and ripped-out fences tangled in weed and filth<br />
<br />
all blasted down the gullies once stately<br />
<br />
to jam the arched thoroughfare<br />
<br />
of bridge to sea<br />
<br />
the water rises and courses wider<br />
<br />
screaming<br />
<br />
you bastards will not stop me<br />
<br />
I live in the sea<br />
<br />
I will belong in salt and nothing will find me<br />
<br />
you will not seek me out and hold ransom<br />
<br />
my destruction and doom<br />
<br />
I am love-like in my power and mirage<br />
<br />
real but aching to be gone<br />
<br />
there high to your stone buttresses<br />
<br />
then gone to your gull-swooped masses<br />
<br />
where I’ll carve my love-names in shore-rock and sand-grain<br />
<br />
where I’ll shape pebble and cove<br />
<br />
centuries of me you’ll not see<br />
<br />
love taught me how<br />
<br />
the force can sweep unstopped<br />
<br />
how none deny the sight and all must bow to the sight<br />
<br />
of how I decide to flow to the loss and the new vaster me<br />
<br />
<br />
31<br />
<br />
will you come too?<br />
<br />
or do you hesitate on the parapet<br />
<br />
your face lashed by drowning’s lure<br />
<br />
aghast at why<br />
<br />
devoid of reasoned abandon<br />
<br />
and crushed against the absence of the witness<br />
<br />
who walked away?<br />
<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Jonathan Doherty</b><br />
<br />
<br />
The Manchester Renaissance<br />
<br />
Proper Mancs say: "Shut your North and south!"<br />
<br />
divided only by shirt colour<br />
<br />
come derby day.<br />
<br />
My Manchester ,<br />
<br />
built by buildings as big as its heart;<br />
<br />
today we’re changing for the better.<br />
<br />
We’re not so soft as the cotton made here,<br />
<br />
cos we’ve had it mint and we’ve had it hard.<br />
<br />
We’ve stood back and watched our mills fall quiet -<br />
<br />
that was a revolution in ruin.<br />
<br />
A government got its turn with Thatcher.<br />
<br />
Eighties’ kids laboured on to gleefully<br />
<br />
stick two fingers up at her in the Hac<br />
<br />
while they were ‘avin it on pure acid<br />
<br />
and mesmerised by ‘A guy called Gerald.’<br />
<br />
Lots of cash and drugs have been injected<br />
<br />
into Manchester - that’s the way we do it,<br />
<br />
and today we are changing for the best.<br />
<br />
On our Pennine throne, we are king<br />
<br />
and over the northern realm may we reign<br />
<br />
til’ those fibreglass cows come home. May we be top, sweet, sorted, sound<br />
<br />
til’ that endless rain stops falling, when Leeds is bigger, Liverpool louder,<br />
<br />
32<br />
<br />
when London finally stops calling. Shout out to Oasis, the Smiths,<br />
<br />
Edwards, Bell , Lowry and Turing. Anyone who's who, north or south,<br />
<br />
red or the blue, the born and bred and diehards, to the through and through,<br />
<br />
and don't forget the adopted few.<br />
<br />
To the city that just dozes<br />
<br />
in the dense concrete jungle.<br />
<br />
A pulsating throb of vibrancy<br />
<br />
pounding the labyrinth street.<br />
<br />
All resounds and all is colour,<br />
<br />
as I view the kaliedescope<br />
<br />
of cultures, the fusion of creeds<br />
<br />
in the simmering crucible<br />
<br />
always toiling, always bubbling.<br />
<br />
Pigeons and gothic gargoyles,<br />
<br />
and me watch the sun run away,<br />
<br />
and my Manchester , yours and ours,<br />
<br />
settles under the brewing sky.<br />
<br />
And, like applause, the rain slowly<br />
<br />
falls down as a crescendo,<br />
<br />
harder, faster, as to encore<br />
<br />
such a symbol, such a gift.<br />
<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Mary Ocher</b><br />
<br />
"Proper adjustments' Big blue veins I wish they‟d be any other color but blue But they don‟t care, see - Opposing your wishes they grow and spread and take hostage of the body as it opens, and the blue veins conquer: We have always been" the emperors,<br />
<br />
33<br />
<br />
We have always ruled this waste-place, and nobody else but us<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Simon Hambrook</b><br />
<br />
<br />
Snow landscape<br />
<br />
A landscape in the ever most airs<br />
<br />
brings me here .<br />
<br />
Desk of hearts . The hills<br />
<br />
white polar arms in the grass fields at my standing feet<br />
<br />
will to listen .<br />
<br />
But I am a chief of crayons , not nature ,<br />
<br />
thunder or these wetted flowers .<br />
<br />
I can only find the hearts of memories in my world ,<br />
<br />
and tunes which I lifted once can now play<br />
<br />
in streams as beautiful as suns .<br />
<br />
For I make that those waters<br />
<br />
multiply into the sublime<br />
<br />
until , Creator – full ,<br />
<br />
blushes with their spending radiance .<br />
<br />
34<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Sarah Woolsey</b><br />
<br />
<br />
Recycling<br />
<br />
1.House<br />
<br />
Domestic shadows<br />
<br />
clutter up bookcases,<br />
<br />
encased in gold gilt frames,<br />
<br />
staining thread-less carpets.<br />
<br />
A musty vapour<br />
<br />
of damp and paper<br />
<br />
unwelcomes<br />
<br />
new tenants.<br />
<br />
2. Street<br />
<br />
Flattened tarmac<br />
<br />
fails to suffocate<br />
<br />
bursting tree roots. Cracks<br />
<br />
zig-zag the sticky surface,<br />
<br />
man-made molehills<br />
<br />
mount and multiply<br />
<br />
mocking that<br />
<br />
Nature will prevail.<br />
<br />
3. Body<br />
<br />
Silvery strands<br />
<br />
peep through an auburn bob,<br />
<br />
35<br />
<br />
tell-tale, glistening.<br />
<br />
Under dark camouflaged<br />
<br />
ammonia pigment.<br />
<br />
Uncoiling, rebellious,<br />
<br />
frizzing free<br />
<br />
from a backcombed jail.<br />
<br />
4. Skin<br />
<br />
A dewy ivory mask<br />
<br />
emulates a magazine cover.<br />
<br />
Poreless, airbrushed<br />
<br />
from a distance.<br />
<br />
Smiling reunites creases,<br />
<br />
creamy filler melting,<br />
<br />
flawless finish cracking<br />
<br />
like ceramic.<br />
<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tom George</b><br />
<br />
My Bohemia I celebrate the overhanging tree that leans out over the wall Of the old abandoned house on Croxteth Road I wonder at its twisted waist, boughs and blossoms hanging down In a drunken sprawl that almost touches the pavement And you have to walk round A shameless and defiant gesture The house behind, repossessed by nature<br />
<br />
36<br />
<br />
With feral fronds sprouting from the eaves And crumbling steps engulfed by infant jungle A forty-something man walks past With six inch turn ups on his jeans A strange bowling walk And the hat and jacket of some long lost youth cult That I can’t identify Off he strides out of sight To somewhere I cannot possibly imagine In L17… On winding roads under maples and oaks I venture out to find Baby castles with turrets and green copper Collared doves on chimney pots And echoes of the chapters I have lived On idle afternoons under milky skies I celebrate the nine doorbells, The creaky floor and the shared bath Skinning up to Syd Barrett Walking round to somewhere With a hat and scarf Dusky gloom and the smell of a bonfire In our idyll I celebrate a draughty letterbox An echoey hallway cluttered with bikes Tattoed sheets at the window The intrigue of attics A mirror from a skip Brompton Avenue glade-like In the dappled day Ghostly and still by night With somewhere, the sound of a party I wonder at the countless lives and times Daydreams and desires That gave this scene its soul<br />
<br />
37<br />
<br />
The unspoken community that meets by chance Walking the shore of Sefton park’s green ocean And rat race refugees like you With hairline cracks Where a light shines through Seeking out the shade of trees The tranquil breeze We understand The mossy walls and magpie calls The mystery of sweet decay I celebrate these things today ‘Cos just last week I saw men looking at the empty house With clip boards, hard hats and plans To tear out the twisted tree that understands To knock through walls And lay Ikea pine floors For boring people To live (if that’s what they call it)... with huge TVs That don’t belong And live it wrong With sci-fi monster vehicles parked outside And security lights on the drive I celebrate the little old man who pushes A home made cart around the streets looking for wire and this and that A radiator or radio Over wet leaves on Ivanhoe A distant figure walking Fading into mist<br />
<br />
38<br />
<br />
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Neon Highway<br />
<br />
Submissions to be sent to the editor:<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz: 37, Grinshill Close, Liverpool, L8 8LD<br />
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39</div>
Alice Lenkiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04020676166907047838noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4359728548211384456.post-101291500438086762011-01-03T06:35:00.000-08:002013-05-28T00:48:54.559-07:00ISSUE: 18<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Neon Highway Issn:1476-9867<br />
<br />
<strong></strong><br />
Issue 18<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSHbpcDmAtI/AAAAAAAAAzY/A_PV0cxtI7s/s1600/issue18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" n4="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSHbpcDmAtI/AAAAAAAAAzY/A_PV0cxtI7s/s400/issue18.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Contents<br />
<br />
Note from Jane: 3-4<br />
<br />
Michael Lee Rattigan: 4-5<br />
<br />
E. Seymour: 5-6<br />
<br />
A.D. Hitchin: 6-7<br />
<br />
Laura Montauti: 7-8<br />
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Patrick Green: 8-9<br />
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Charlie Millar: 10-11<br />
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Anthony Ward: 11-12<br />
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Jennifer Lane: 12-13<br />
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John Feakins: 14-15<br />
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Alexandra Lister A.: 15<br />
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Tim Stiles:16<br />
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Kate Edwards: 16<br />
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Kavita Prajapati: 17<br />
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David Mac: 18-19<br />
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Tendai Mwanaka: 20-21<br />
<br />
Terry Buchanan: 21-22<br />
<br />
James C Smyth: 23-24<br />
<br />
Joseph Farley: 23 - 24<br />
<br />
David Sealey:24-25<br />
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SJ Fowler: 25-26<br />
<br />
Anne Rees: 26-27<br />
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<br />
Submission and Subscription guidlines. 28-29<br />
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<br />
<br />
Front cover and images by photographer, Tony Knox<br />
<br />
http://www.flickr.com/photos/tonyknox/<br />
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Catching up with friends!<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSHclppxz2I/AAAAAAAAAzc/gHO_bT3HoOA/s1600/Jane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" n4="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSHclppxz2I/AAAAAAAAAzc/gHO_bT3HoOA/s200/Jane.jpg" width="153" /></a></div>
I have just arrived back from Paris after a crazy weekend of luxury and sleeping rough, experiencing beauty with my two artist friends, Dolores, and Myrtle. We had the most amazing time. First of all we took the tube to the Tour Eiffel, climbed all the way to the top.<br />
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Myrtle was crazy and got herself on the outside of the safety area, clinging on for dear life to scare us. She likes to do that now and again. . . We then lost Dolores but found her eventually kissing some strange man further down the tower. Later, we secretly slept under the tower after a crazy night out at Opéra Bastille where we saw a fabulous opera of Faust, music by PHILIPPE FÉNELON, made our way to 15 Place Vendôme, Paris, France, to the Hôtel Ritz, where Dolores had a good friend who worked as an assistant manager and booked us in to a suite, free for one night. It was the most luxurious night of my life!<br />
<br />
And now here I am sitting and drinking tea in Liverpool watching the bin men taking take the early morning rubbish to tip. An old woman smokes her cigarette on her doorstep in her dressing gown. Enjoy this issue. Summer’s on the way!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Jane<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Michael Lee Rattigan<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Right Now<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
There's wind in the dark. A still night, with the sea beyond:<br />
<br />
breakers white-hidden and flared by a light-house's sweep-<br />
<br />
back-water rush, crowding foam in a hiss. . .<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Deep, deep as cold.<br />
<br />
Barely a car through the trees: lightless,<br />
<br />
as a plane engine groans in descent.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Clocks compete with each other; sunday sameness<br />
<br />
as the fridge cracks, a flame throws light:<br />
<br />
gold-blue warmth, warm to the cheekbone.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Three candles scarred with bloody wax.<br />
<br />
Pares are weightless this time of night;<br />
<br />
dreamcatchers hardly stir a feather.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Life seen and felt now, freed to what's real in the moment-<br />
<br />
as a clock blurs, melts, folds into itself-<br />
<br />
catch me if you can, calls the clock.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
On standby the radio, all its voices behind.<br />
<br />
The lamp's shadow in love with the wall-<br />
<br />
now, as ever shall be.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Air smells like nothing so much as nothing-<br />
<br />
like that one for kids:<br />
<br />
a room without walls, ceiling, windows, a floor. . .<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A mushroom, of course!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
E. Seymour<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Because You're Worthless<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I exist in a state of constant terror<br />
<br />
Of unseen enemies<br />
<br />
These spectres of<br />
<br />
A hideous past<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
No forgiveness<br />
<br />
They are self-damned<br />
<br />
And I curse them all<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
They haunt my dreams<br />
<br />
Slowly squeezing<br />
<br />
A dying soul<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I must crush them<br />
<br />
Their accursed spirits<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A.D. Hitchin<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Beyond<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Psychoastronomy beyond earthy mechanics<br />
<br />
secret structures of future alien realms<br />
<br />
sun dog eye-opener of Saturn musical outlaw – beat scene – he travels the spaceways radio on.<br />
<br />
nebulas music drifting constellations, radar-like continents four hydra melodies, unorthodox bold<br />
<br />
multimedia sample looped Saracen jigsaw<br />
<br />
utopian space-race - techno past – passive - contact special of space, inner/outer<br />
<br />
unhindered by structural angles, formula changes the punisher armoured warrior programme.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Cult of Exultation: Initiation video (Initial Notes)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
DVD focuses on mysterious woman of light -<br />
<br />
her eyes inducing vertigo, glace lips dissolving all sense of distance in the empty room,<br />
<br />
translucent, her curious iridescence filtered in fresco canopies- a kimono-style dressing gown cloaks<br />
<br />
her meridian sunlight, encrusted hydra clusters presenting a cathartic, agitated vision, half melted snow<br />
<br />
guru staining hotel linen. Egyptian cotton, glittering untouched conviction, silver chain gems snaking<br />
<br />
her index- a compass of gilded pines transfiguring a wet forest dusk-these sheathed ferns of<br />
<br />
collective history, crystal shells of presents, she straddles<br />
<br />
the thick, mottled leviathan head of my unconscious-these scarlet curtains; imaginary handcuffs,<br />
<br />
her subterranean cavern cult of exultation dedicated to bearers of light, the shepherds all blinded,<br />
<br />
cataracts milky-white.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Laura Montauti<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
My magazine had a picture of you<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Your anorexic mind needs a new thought,<br />
<br />
No more bulimia for the soul.<br />
<br />
You're an abomination of control.<br />
<br />
All the voices were cruel<br />
<br />
So the sickness took hold<br />
<br />
And the disgust<br />
<br />
In your stomach,<br />
<br />
Is a sign that salvation<br />
<br />
Was lost when you left your forest<br />
<br />
In search of stars.<br />
<br />
This view doesn't suit you,<br />
<br />
Smoke yourself thin<br />
<br />
Till all that's left,<br />
<br />
Is your skull and bones<br />
<br />
Wrapped in your summer clothes<br />
<br />
You started hanging round with<br />
<br />
The wrong type of clown,<br />
<br />
Their insults became papercut's<br />
<br />
That exposed your light<br />
<br />
Across the headlines,<br />
<br />
You're no front cover of glory.<br />
<br />
You're this issue's tragic story.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Patrick Green<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Who was the first doctor<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Twisting and agitated, shuffling, mumbling<br />
<br />
the doors await a new heaven to face.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A floral dress, a smile<br />
<br />
shimmers and disappears.<br />
<br />
All confusion dream state,<br />
<br />
dead or alive now who's to know?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sterile, clinical room adult conversation.<br />
<br />
Ignored for awhile then 'hello friend!'<br />
<br />
Have a drink,<br />
<br />
onto your suit.<br />
<br />
The walls are creepers without moving.<br />
<br />
Want to reach for the corners and<br />
<br />
escape, this block has no exits.<br />
<br />
Talk, talk, blank fill, blank fill,<br />
<br />
off and on, hot cold, here now, gone then.<br />
<br />
Lie down, stay still, pinch skin,<br />
<br />
mum, dad, blurred.<br />
<br />
In god's league?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
They've come to pack for the next life.<br />
<br />
Floating wish suspended, see the situation<br />
<br />
from a diamond perspective.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Reality zero, reality what.<br />
<br />
Pull the threads and rip the curtain.<br />
<br />
Under and out.<br />
<br />
Please help you're hurting me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Future use the power people in those fists.<br />
<br />
For the walls are melting, feet bleeding.<br />
<br />
The grass trying to run, slowing down.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Past rage illuminating bedroom,<br />
<br />
spectacles leaning over the morning after.<br />
<br />
A rare entrance of embrace.<br />
<br />
Stones thrown as hard as possible<br />
<br />
across an empty farmer's field.<br />
<br />
Start of making sense of all the pills.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Charlie Millar<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
UNTITLED<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So I rang Bernard this morning and I said<br />
<br />
Bern, this is really important.<br />
<br />
We have to be clear on what we agreed last time Bern.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
and he says:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The chick peas<br />
<br />
are done.<br />
<br />
Shall<br />
<br />
I boil an egg?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Coventry<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Big Bombs<br />
<br />
Newly Commissioned Art<br />
<br />
And The Specials<br />
<br />
all in one.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Anthony Ward<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Apparition<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I remember that afternoon<br />
<br />
Whence I passed her in the street<br />
<br />
Still I ran after her<br />
<br />
Attempting to appertain an apparition<br />
<br />
That I found agreeable<br />
<br />
Yet she disappeared<br />
<br />
As if she had not been there<br />
<br />
And I had lost her once more<br />
<br />
Standing alone amongst a crowd<br />
<br />
Along the cobbled pavement<br />
<br />
Of absent abandonment<br />
<br />
I didn't even recognise her<br />
<br />
I only recognised the memory<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Jennifer Lane<br />
<br />
Oltremare<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Doll felt alive<br />
<br />
As star-tears fell from the moon<br />
<br />
That maybe one day<br />
<br />
Would gush back<br />
<br />
Back to the hands of the worthy.<br />
<br />
And the doll was glossy,<br />
<br />
Wet face shone,<br />
<br />
Shone like the Aryan moon;<br />
<br />
Pearls encrusted on her brow<br />
<br />
Of purest space-silk.<br />
<br />
As the living stopped<br />
<br />
The stones moved<br />
<br />
In perfect unison<br />
<br />
To the beat of her feet.<br />
<br />
Doll smiled in minor keys.<br />
<br />
The music taught her<br />
<br />
As it went: Cadences falling rapidly<br />
<br />
Like pebbles singing<br />
<br />
In cold water,<br />
<br />
The melodies lapping<br />
<br />
In her ocean mind,<br />
<br />
Expanding and shrinking<br />
<br />
As a ripple.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Doll danced,<br />
<br />
A shudder and a flick<br />
<br />
That tore cream linen from her shoulders<br />
<br />
Bare, bare as the night,<br />
<br />
Convulsing in moonlight.<br />
<br />
And the moon wept on<br />
<br />
As on the body of a sailor<br />
<br />
Lost at dawn.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Doll praised<br />
<br />
Exalted Pearl.<br />
<br />
And Pearl.<br />
<br />
Wept.<br />
<br />
And the sky was forever set with tears.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSHeYa-WKwI/AAAAAAAAAzs/D-4gM5uRX4w/s1600/knox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="396" n4="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/TSHeYa-WKwI/AAAAAAAAAzs/D-4gM5uRX4w/s400/knox.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
John Feakins<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Conjuror<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He introduced himself<br />
<br />
as an artiste, a red silky<br />
<br />
handkerchief in the pocket<br />
<br />
of his well-cut blazer<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
she was impressed<br />
<br />
with the dark mystery<br />
<br />
of his glinting eyes<br />
<br />
and at once noticed<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
his well-manicured<br />
<br />
nails, pale slim, fingers,<br />
<br />
his neat moustache,<br />
<br />
his confident gestures<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the way he smiled<br />
<br />
lifted his head<br />
<br />
and knowingly<br />
<br />
nodded at her,<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
giving her his full<br />
<br />
attention and gaze,<br />
<br />
his soft voice<br />
<br />
and gentle manner.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
You see, this is cunning<br />
<br />
art, it requires an instinct<br />
<br />
for deliberate deceit,<br />
<br />
an ability to divert<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the watchers’ eyes<br />
<br />
from our essential<br />
<br />
and important tasks<br />
<br />
of dramatic revelation.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A cigarette appeared<br />
<br />
from nowhere, a match<br />
<br />
ignited, smoke drifted<br />
<br />
and then vanished.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Alexandra Lister A.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
How Often<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
How often have I sought you, when the lapwings skydive<br />
<br />
and cry, and the earth is shattered by winter? Or when <br />
<br />
the wind comes so cold on me from the bright<br />
<br />
mauve peppered sky, and I, speaking your name<br />
<br />
have stopped, wrists unbraceleted, the same<br />
<br />
as before, yet different, separate? Why would<br />
<br />
rain not be the same without you, or the grass, springy<br />
<br />
underfoot not forget the tread of where you were, my love?<br />
<br />
As often as I sought meaning in the corners of a silent hour,<br />
<br />
in the loveliness of a single evenings English sky, in the<br />
<br />
quick step along the cobbles where you and I have watched<br />
<br />
the people go by, in every hour that I have known. And my <br />
<br />
lips know too, when they kiss you goodbye, every bone<br />
<br />
of the hand that has held mine in the heather and over<br />
<br />
oceans, I know by sight or blinded, in the light or sunken<br />
<br />
shadow of a dry open shell. You were there to find<br />
<br />
when I said how often, how often I had sought you,<br />
<br />
you who know not the fear of mine that days<br />
<br />
are taken from us in hours. I’m in a sweet, strange<br />
<br />
place now that the seasons have changed and I walk the<br />
<br />
meandering lanes in mists and woodsmoke, alone,<br />
<br />
rearranged, not quite without you, until the slow<br />
<br />
choking start of morning breaks over the city, departing<br />
<br />
so that I sometimes think perhaps I could forget you,<br />
<br />
that we could be apart. I think it, but my heart, my heart.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Tim Stiles<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
‘sup G, you alright?<br />
<br />
Aright? I’m alllllll night alright.<br />
<br />
Yeah, I know. I know.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Kate Edwards<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Back Where he Belongs<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(After looking at a Jack Vettriano painting.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I hope he’s back where he belongs,<br />
<br />
I can’t be sure because I don’t know where that is.<br />
<br />
Is where he belongs at home? Or with a lover?<br />
<br />
Perhaps if the artist had called the picture<br />
<br />
‘Back home where he belongs,’<br />
<br />
I would be more certain the woman<br />
<br />
he lifts and kisses so passionately<br />
<br />
is his wife and not a mistress.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The flowers deceive, because men soon forget<br />
<br />
to bring flowers into a domestic situation,<br />
<br />
more often they’re an inducement to illicit love.<br />
<br />
Something about the way the woman’s dressed,<br />
<br />
doesn’t look like much like slaving at a hot stove<br />
<br />
over a welcome home meal has gone on there!<br />
<br />
Still, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt,<br />
<br />
he’s probably phoned to say they’ll eat out,<br />
<br />
perhaps he’s never stopped bringing her flowers.<br />
<br />
Even that leads to further speculation,<br />
<br />
are the roses a guilt offering? And if he is<br />
<br />
back where he belongs and that is with his wife,<br />
<br />
where has he been while he was away?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Kavita Prajapati<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
SPARK<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
If I could strip her essence down to its essentials, I would find an ore<br />
<br />
a cluster of sapphire with a pulse of its own. Within it, intricate arteries<br />
<br />
of thought coursing through at universal speed. In her pit, there is a certain<br />
<br />
respect that reaches its cool attention to every porous life. And there is a <br />
<br />
definite immediacy in the way she registers and aligns with chaos. An<br />
<br />
organised soul, there she is as her own entity. The balm in her mouth is evidence<br />
<br />
of loyalty, a partial stance no-one could match, imitate or contain for very long.<br />
<br />
Elusive, keen – it belonged to her, she owned it like a centre of gravity.<br />
<br />
Keeping a more finely tuned moral compass, an immaculate radar.<br />
<br />
She would never come undone or become overwhelmed. Her side of the<br />
<br />
equation always checks out without deviation – like elastic, her final verdict<br />
<br />
resorts to the natural way. It has its own manual of laws, internal ones that<br />
<br />
operate like a distilled stringent. She is the base of the flame, stiller than the blue<br />
<br />
it inhabits. Sliced by her very line of vision, I can only watch, astonished along the way.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
David Mac<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Actress<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I am not in the mood for embarrassing situations<br />
<br />
or sincere moments<br />
<br />
today or forever<br />
<br />
No slow-mo action sequences please<br />
<br />
No soundtrack in the sky<br />
<br />
No tender faces or heartfelt death scenes<br />
<br />
I’ve no time for the movie you put on<br />
<br />
just bad hassle, time wasting, soul <br />
<br />
slicing, cut through, empty<br />
<br />
me out, you<br />
<br />
pout on the screen in your shit blockbuster<br />
<br />
Ah, this pallid landscape<br />
<br />
corny dialogue and awful CGI<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Hey, darling, most things are fake<br />
<br />
most things are made up<br />
<br />
for big crowds, maniacs and madmen<br />
<br />
fools who only wish to believe<br />
<br />
something actually happened<br />
<br />
something actually went down<br />
<br />
fools like us, or<br />
<br />
how we used to be…<br />
<br />
Now the words have us and<br />
<br />
tell us something about who we are now<br />
<br />
who we’re supposed to become<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And what I really want to do is<br />
<br />
go out and get plastered, hammered<br />
<br />
fucked up<br />
<br />
with the actress Keira Knightley<br />
<br />
and maybe<br />
<br />
tell her how great she is<br />
<br />
how beautiful she is<br />
<br />
and that I’m in love with her<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
If you see her, will you tell her for me?<br />
<br />
I would say it myself<br />
<br />
but only when <br />
<br />
we’re both on our way<br />
<br />
########################<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
If Keira Knightley was here now<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Love this life? Yeah, <br />
<br />
well,<br />
<br />
I’m still trying.<br />
<br />
Life’s what you make it<br />
<br />
but<br />
<br />
I’m looking for the exit.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Don’t you get it?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Don’t let them take you in,<br />
<br />
you little maniac!<br />
<br />
Why can’t you resemble<br />
<br />
Keira Knightley<br />
<br />
smoking a fag?<br />
<br />
Why can’t you be more like<br />
<br />
that perfect creature?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
If she was here now…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And you haven’t made me laugh yet.<br />
<br />
You haven’t broken the ice.<br />
<br />
You haven’t even managed <br />
<br />
to crack <br />
<br />
a smile.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
There’s got to be more than this.<br />
<br />
Surely there’s got to be!<br />
<br />
(and don’t call me Shirley)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But for Christ’s sake,<br />
<br />
take a look<br />
<br />
between the sunbeams,<br />
<br />
through the little rays of light<br />
<br />
and tell me,<br />
<br />
tell me,<br />
<br />
tell me!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
that you <br />
<br />
see it too.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
TENDAI R MWANAKA <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
LEADERSHIP <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Everlasting leadership <br />
<br />
of a born leader. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The leader in control <br />
<br />
the led in responsiveness. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
They think <br />
<br />
and reflect together. <br />
<br />
Like sunset on the windows. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
LICKING WOUNDS <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
like excess baggage to lands beyond <br />
<br />
vital young men shipped daily to <br />
<br />
worlds-wild, of which they knew not <br />
<br />
like wild beasts lived, like Lazarus, they <br />
<br />
worked all day long, eating out of view <br />
<br />
rich man's little crumbs. lumps and left-over’s <br />
<br />
with contempt and aversion they were viewed <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
troops on troops, cattle, horses, carriages <br />
<br />
across our vast abundant homelands <br />
<br />
scrambling started, so did demarcation <br />
<br />
bequeathing unto themselves rich lands <br />
<br />
stretching beyond the reach of eyes <br />
<br />
in bulk; gold, oil, silver, ivory looted <br />
<br />
to enrich a people belonging not to us <br />
<br />
leaving a honeycomb, nectar less, depleted <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
lowly tribal trust lands paired to dark ones <br />
<br />
in townships, farm compounds, in prisons <br />
<br />
in our own birth-right by a people foreign <br />
<br />
and cool fertile highlands paired to light ones <br />
<br />
and as oceans-apart, divided we stood <br />
<br />
like prisoners in chains, dark toiled for food <br />
<br />
and light harvesting milk: dark- tears and sweat <br />
<br />
and light took all of dark's tears and sweat <br />
<br />
which they feasted on to enrich themselves <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
dark in backward nameless enlightenment <br />
<br />
light enjoying the best in enlightenement <br />
<br />
dark to an enlightenement to slave for light <br />
<br />
light to an enlightenment to master dark <br />
<br />
in unlit, dirt, potholed streets, dark <br />
<br />
loitered, leisured, shopped and slaved <br />
<br />
but in streets like paradise's beautiful lands <br />
<br />
light worked, ate, shopped and leisured <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
at war, dark against light for freedom <br />
<br />
were sacrifices both sides of the divide <br />
<br />
cripples, orphans and casualties <br />
<br />
resulting in beautiful sweet freedom <br />
<br />
but in-came another colour, light unlike <br />
<br />
yet dark it remained and lied to dark <br />
<br />
like a mosquito it cared little but sapped <br />
<br />
continuously scrambling on a scale so shameless <br />
<br />
taking all, eating all, sharing in nothing <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
in light the other people happily lives <br />
<br />
in darkness, not of our own doing <br />
<br />
we live and lick wounds still painful <br />
<br />
why we had to suffer from all these wrongs <br />
<br />
what wrong had we done, why us? <br />
<br />
to deserve this disgusting dehumanisation <br />
<br />
and how are we ever gonna heal these lames <br />
<br />
who should really take the blame? <br />
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Terry Buchanan<br />
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James C Smyth<br />
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Stars Talk Down To Me Of Death<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
"We are weeping down in rains of stale<br />
<br />
to birth to you our stories past and spent<br />
<br />
of men like you and her<br />
<br />
and loves in tearing flesh intent.<br />
<br />
Loves in coffins wormed and beetle-dead.<br />
<br />
Deaths like loves of Byrons flame.<br />
<br />
Deaths like bangs of gunners,<br />
<br />
oaks and reds.<br />
<br />
Loves and deaths and loves around again.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And time will pass and leave<br />
<br />
and death will die.<br />
<br />
Immortal as we are<br />
<br />
the winds are more<br />
<br />
and as we see Omegas of your kind<br />
<br />
we wait in kind to see the starless shore<br />
<br />
and nought but black and windlessness shall grieve."<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Joseph Farley<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Salvation Of The Absurd<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
my whole life seems ridiculous,<br />
<br />
a mad rush to the funeral home.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I feel the need to please<br />
<br />
a non existent audience.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
vacant stares come<br />
<br />
from empty chairs.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
if I had an athletic bone,<br />
<br />
I would jump clear across the universe<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
and outrun both life and death.<br />
<br />
once beyond puerile thoughts<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
of being and non-existence<br />
<br />
I would meditate on<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the gravitas of grapefruit<br />
<br />
and other non sequiturs <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
that fill the space time continuum<br />
<br />
with irrational exuberance.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
for the rational <br />
<br />
there is alpha and omega,<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
for the foolhardy, well,<br />
<br />
there's heaven<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
or hell if you prefer<br />
<br />
to think about it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
that's why not thinking<br />
<br />
is the best course,<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
and idiocy is<br />
<br />
the wisest wisdom.<br />
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David Sealey<br />
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<br />
<br />
the slow burn<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The ember burns bright<br />
<br />
buried beside pebbles,<br />
<br />
flickers, flutters, dissipates<br />
<br />
so close to wooden surround.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The birth and death of stars;<br />
<br />
brilliant flaming balls<br />
<br />
without air, breathe<br />
<br />
anaerobically and die explosively,<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
extinguished,<br />
<br />
casting finite light<br />
<br />
recalling life.<br />
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SJ Fowler<br />
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<br />
<br />
(drowning in the Bosphorus)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The rivers of Turkey , I say<br />
<br />
March twenty-fourth at five on the threshold of morning<br />
<br />
The water hums in the teakettle<br />
<br />
Ozdemir Ince<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
on the banks of Bosphorus <br />
<br />
brawnly; the water lies panting <br />
<br />
with silt thin on the surface like cigarette ash <br />
<br />
it smells, the river, this close <br />
<br />
the shingle broken from the beach <br />
<br />
given sparse separation on the water save<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
it is unlike any river I have seen <br />
<br />
before the mouth of Montevideo <br />
<br />
I sit upon an island rock<br />
<br />
broken from the land given; so wide is the river<br />
<br />
the dirt in the water<br />
<br />
flows into my nose and mouth<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
hacking and choking me <br />
<br />
as I strain to swallow more<br />
<br />
and then - a bellyful<br />
<br />
I float like a gorged baby<br />
<br />
sick and plump with tepid liquid <br />
<br />
saltine and brine filled<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
weaving the enamel of my teeth <br />
<br />
clogging my throat against my tonsils <br />
<br />
it burns my eyes <br />
<br />
I am adrift on a river of effluence <br />
<br />
but I shan’t drown<br />
<br />
flapping my arms like a seabird <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
a secret I shall relate<br />
<br />
underwater they worship panic<br />
<br />
they condition the body<br />
<br />
so I have in the Bosphorus but not by rising<br />
<br />
I am made of this water<br />
<br />
I am not under this canopy any longer<br />
<br />
for my body is full of the river<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Anne Rees<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
THREE FATES, THREE FURIES!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A dark night, sleet stinging eyelids and lips,<br />
<br />
Needling through the orange tents of sodium streetlights,<br />
<br />
the broadest, most expensive lurid orange can’t keep out the sleet.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
There is space, between granite kerb and shivering privet<br />
<br />
for three to walk abreast, three sisters fill it<br />
<br />
marching in belted macks, deliberately noisy<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
to define themselves against thrillingly imagined<br />
<br />
prudes dark closed curtains as they pass,<br />
<br />
self conscious in their bad manners, devil may care in one another’s eyes.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
They are unhappy, hate their mother so they come out here<br />
<br />
to fight the stinging wind in public, out in a black glamorous night,<br />
<br />
ready to shout banter if anyone else has dared this sleet.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Mutually jealous, they cheer each other on, two link arms and shove, with jeers<br />
<br />
the third who wields their shared lit cigarette, into the main road,<br />
<br />
she swears and protests, they giggle at themselves, and, staggering, reunite.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Assyrian in their contempt for “hypocritical” decencies<br />
<br />
they come down in violence on the chip shop out of darkness,<br />
<br />
to serve the whole village right for never noticing their unhappiness:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
they don’t complain. Bright-eyed, they wolf their chips<br />
<br />
and cheek the chip shop lady. She wonders at their behaviour, because:<br />
<br />
“Their Mam’s a magistrate and they’re such bonny, clever lasses!”<br />
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Neon Highway Poetry Magazine is edited by Jane Marsh and Alice Lenkiewicz. Neon Highway was set up in 2002 as a non profit making little poetry/arts magazine<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Neon Highway (ISSN: 1476-9867)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Avant-garde<br />
<br />
Literary journal<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
PUBLISHES:<br />
<br />
POETRY and ART<br />
<br />
Neon Highway is available bi-annually, with 2 issues costing £5.50, or a single Issue available at £3.00. Order your next issue by sending a cheque made out to Alice Lenkiewicz at 37, Grinshill Close, Liverpool, L8 8LD<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Submissions<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
We prefer to receive work by snail-mail. Sometimes email is useful if your work format is 'experimental' or you have images and of course if you are abroad. For these reasons, email submissions will be accepted. On a general level, email submissions will only be read if we have time to, as we prefer to receive your works in the post. Please do not forget to enclose a sae for returns and replies.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
37, Grinshill Close, Liverpool, UK, L8 8LD<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Email: neonhighwaypoetry@yahoo.co.uk<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Contributors copies<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
All writers and artists published in the magazine will receive a free contributors copy.<br />
<br />
However, this is not the case if postage abroad runs outside the price for UK postage.<br />
<br />
If postage exceeds our budget this becomes far too expensive for a non profit making magazine. We are happy to send you a free copy of the magazine, however, if you are abroad please do send us cover for the price of postage.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Waiting for a response.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
Please be patient. We receive a high number of submissions. We are not funded or paid for this work. Neon Highway is proud of its voluntary contribution to publishing poetry of a high standard for no profit.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
If you feel that you have waited long enough for a reply or you have not heard from us, please do not hesitate to email us at the link above.<br />
<br />
We are quite happy to deal with your enquiry.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
http://neonhighwaypoetry.WebStarts.com/index.html</div>
Alice Lenkiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04020676166907047838noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4359728548211384456.post-87221354251645210092010-01-03T04:06:00.001-08:002011-01-09T09:14:57.800-08:00Neon Highway Poetry MagazineISSN: 1476-9867<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/SytmPC0dPuI/AAAAAAAAACk/NNOuUsxUbSs/s1600-h/neonlogo.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416535385484115682" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_vae48fD0APE/SytmPC0dPuI/AAAAAAAAACk/NNOuUsxUbSs/s320/neonlogo.jpg" style="height: 197px; width: 267px;" /></a><br />
<br />
Description:<br />
Neon Highway is edited by Jane Marsh and Alice Lenkiewicz. Neon Highway was set up in 2002 as a non profit making little poetry/arts magazine<br />
<br />
Neon Highway<br />
Avant-garde<br />
Literary journal<br />
<br />
PUBLISHES:<br />
POETRY and ART<br />
Neon Highway is available bi-annually, with 2 issues costing £5.50, or a single Issue available at £3.00. Order your next issue by sending a cheque made out to Alice Lenkiewicz at 37, Grinshill Close, Liverpool, L8 8LD<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Jane Marsh Chronicles<br />
<br />
<br />
Issue 17<br />
<br />
Dear readers, welcome to Neon Highway issue seventeen. We have some fabulous poets<br />
in this issue. I have been well, thank you very much but I will tell you a little story.<br />
Yesterday, I walked up to a stranger in the street and I said, “Will you marry me?” I know this was very naughty of me but something just made me want to do it. I can’t explain why.<br />
Society can sometimes be so mundane. Thank god we live in our heads. I can’t think of anything worse than ‘newspeak’. You can despise certain things around you but at least you can enjoy the fact that you still have your own thoughts and ideas. Anyway, as I was saying, I walked up to this man. He was carrying a briefcase to work and wearing one of those smart suits and a bowler hat. I haven’t seen a bowler hat in a long time.<br />
<br />
I saw him walking across the bridge towards the embankment along the River Thames..<br />
I kind of followed him. I know that is terrible. I don’t usually do that sort of thing but you see, he reminded me of someone I used to like years ago and I thought, wouldn’t it be strange if it really was him but obviously it could not have been, after-all this man I had liked had lived in Prague. We had met on the other side of Charles Bridge for coffee. It isn’t that often that you bump into someone from Prague from the past as you are walking out of the tube station from Superdrug, after buying some shampoo and conditioner.<br />
<br />
So there I was following him along the embankment in my new nineteen twenties outfit bought from my secret retro store on Brick Lane when all of a sudden he turns around and stares at me. We just stood there gazing at each other like we are in some kind of surreal trance and you know what? I could not believe it. If seeing and hearing is believing, he said “Jane, what are you doing here?” It was just so amazing. His name I remember is Antonio and we are meeting for a drink tomorrow night to catch up on all our adventures.<br />
Isn’t life just such a wonderful blessing at times? X<br />
In the mean time, may the wondrous force of beauty and the exotic and demure mysterious imagination of nature be bestowed upon you all and don’t forget I am now giving a spotlight to first collections of poetry and prose.<br />
<br />
Jane.<br />
<br />
X<br />
<br />
<br />
Readings have involved people published in and outside Neon Highway Magazine. The aim being to bring together local as well as guest writers from further afield.<br />
Readings have taken place throughout a variety of venues around Liverpool such as Central Library in the Hornby Room, 33-45 Club, Bluecoat, The Planetarium and The Walker Art Gallery. Details listed below.<br />
<br />
Neon Highway poetry readings<br />
<br />
2004<br />
Thursday July 8th <br />
Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll<br />
<br />
Matt Fallaize: Featured poet<br />
Dave Ward<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
Carole Baldock<br />
Dam Robinson<br />
Bruno Darcy<br />
Eugenie Kelly<br />
<br />
August Thursday 19th<br />
Postmodernism and Urban Life<br />
<br />
Bill Griffiths: Featured poet<br />
Eleanor Reese<br />
Robert Sheppard<br />
Scott Thurston<br />
Andrew Taylor<br />
Angela Keaton<br />
Dave Ward<br />
<br />
September Friday 17th<br />
Dreams Myth and Magic<br />
<br />
David Greygoose: featured poet<br />
Eugenie Kelly<br />
Eleanor Reese<br />
Ursula Hurley<br />
Jane Darcy-Lewis<br />
Geraldine Green<br />
Chas Johnson,<br />
Joan Poulson<br />
Stazia Lenkiewicz<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
<br />
Thursday October 14th<br />
Secrets and Diaries<br />
<br />
John Hall: featured poet<br />
Robert Sheppard<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
Jane Darcy Lewis<br />
Cath Nicols<br />
Janine Pinion<br />
<br />
Sudley House<br />
A Text Performance by Robert Sheppard.<br />
<br />
An alternative guide to the art collection at Sudley House, Liverpool.<br />
To be performed in Sudley house itself by the author.<br />
<br />
6th and 12th November 2004<br />
2pm and 3pm<br />
<br />
Robert will be reading his text performance as a guided tour.<br />
<br />
Supported by the Learning Department of National Museums: Hosted by Neon Highway.<br />
<br />
<br />
November Friday 19th<br />
Journeys Near and Far/Health and identity<br />
<br />
Sam Smith: featured poet<br />
George Wallace: featured poet<br />
Eugenie Kelly<br />
Ursula Hurley<br />
Alice Lenkiewicz<br />
Carole Baldock<br />
Carol Thislethwait<br />
Dee Mcmahon<br />
<br />
<br />
Poetry in the City<br />
Capital of Culture.<br />
April 10th, 2005<br />
<br />
Allen Fisher<br />
Guest Poet<br />
<br />
The Walker Art Gallery<br />
William Brown Street<br />
Liverpool<br />
Room 12<br />
<br />
Poets from the Edge Hill Poetics Research Group will also be reading their work.<br />
<br />
Robert Sheppard, Scott Thurston, Angela Keaton, Cliff Yates, Andrew Taylor, Alice Lenkiewicz and Matt Fallaize.<br />
<br />
<br />
Steve Sneyd<br />
The Planetarium<br />
World Museum Liverpool<br />
Saturday 29th April 2006<br />
12-2pm<br />
<br />
Philip Davenport with Tony Trehy and Ben Gwilliam:<br />
performances and versions<br />
A poetry event<br />
at the Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool<br />
Saturday 13th May<br />
2.30pm - 4.30pm<br />
<br />
Neon Highway Poetry Magazine presents CRUNCH<br />
Readings from The Fifth Floor<br />
Sunday 25 January 2009, 16.30–17.50<br />
<br />
Performance and reading. Jane Marsh (Editor of Neon Highway) and The Public Service Announcer played by Alice Lenkiewicz and Nigel Harrison, read poems influenced by text and thoughts concerning The Wall Street Crash of 1929. Their poems will be a response to artists and their work throughout The Fifth Floor project concerning the credit crunch and present day Liverpool. Listen to poets and writers reading their poems and prose in response to this theme, and musician Duncan Stuart will be performing.<br />
<br />
Performance curated by Alice Lenkiewicz. Music composed by Duncan Stuart.<br />
<br />
Performance will take place on the fourth floor as part of International Festival.<br />
<br />
Tate Liverpool Fourth floor galleries<br />
Free, no bookings taken<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
This event is related to the The Fifth Floor: Ideas Taking Space exhibition <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Journeys: 2010<br />
Blackburne House<br />
<br />
Time <br />
02 September · 18:30 - 21:00<br />
Location Blackburne House. MAIN HALL<br />
Blackburne House Blackburne Place Off Hope Street Liverpool L8 7PE<br />
Liverpool, United Kingdom<br />
<br />
JOURNEYS is a poetry reading and art preview.<br />
Guest Poets: Andrew Taylor, Cath Nichols, Janine Pinion, Robert Sheppard, Patricia Farrell, Tom George, Ursula Hurley and further poets will be reading their works.<br />
Artwork on display by Alice Lenkiewicz.<br />
Books and pamphlets will be for sale.<br />
<br />
...Come and join in our evening, listen to some poetry and enjoy a glass of wine.<br />
<br />
<br />
Cath’s poetry collection My Glamorous Assistant (Headland Press) came out at the end of 2007, after the pamphlet Tales of Boy Nancy, in 2005. She has undertaken commissions for Lancaster litfest and had work broadcast on BBC radio. Cath is currently completing a poetry PhD supervised by Paul Farley. Her first (short) play, The Price of Legs, was produced in Nottingham for the Trilteral Stage Play Festival this year.<br />
<br />
'Patricia Farrell is a poet and visual artist who has had work published<br />
in a number of magazines over the years and is featured in the Reality<br />
Street 4-Pack collection "New Tonal Language"'.<br />
<br />
Robert Sheppard's recent poetry publications include Warrant Error<br />
(Shearsman), an extended response to the War on Terror and The Given<br />
(Knives Forks and Spoons), a fractured autobiography. He is Professor of<br />
Poetry and Poetics at Edge Hill University and edits a blogzine at<br />
www.robertsheppard.blogspot.com.<br />
<br />
Janine Pinion is based in Wirral, Merseyside. She moved to Liverpool from Belfast in the late 1970s to study at Liverpool College of Art, and has been involved in the arts since then, both as a poet and artist. She has exhibited in the North West and in Ireland and founded the Acorn Gallery (now The Egg) in Liverpool in 1984. She has been published in magazines and anthologies, involved in collaborative projects, and broadcast on radio. Her first pamphlet was published in 2003.<br />
<br />
Ursula Hurley is a nature poet whose work appears internationally in journals and anthologies. Her first chapbook, Tree, was recently published by Erbacce Press, and was described by Heather Leach, author of Everything You Need to Know About Creative Writing (Continuum, 2007) as ‘celebrating both the elemental and modern: water, trees, earth, sky, interact beautifully, cleverly with wheelie bins, mobile phones and traffic.’<br />
<br />
Andrew Taylor<br />
Liverpool based poet and co-editor of erbacce and erbacce-press.<br />
Author of eight collections of poetry, the latest 'The Sound of Light Aircraft' is published by Knives, Forks and Spoons Press.<br />
Founder member of the Edge Hill University Poetry and Poetics Research Group. PhD in Poetry and Poetics.<br />
<br />
Tom George has built up a reputation for innovative live shows that often incorporate music and visuals alongside his witty, rhythmic and impassioned poetry.<br />
Winner of the Dead Good Poets’ Society slam in 2008, the subject matter of Tom’s poems ranges from the secret lives of insects to biting satires on contemporary culture.<br />
<br />
“Tom is a gifted performer, and his poems - so good on the printed page - really come to life when performed; witty, amusing and melancholy by turns, or simultaneously.”<br />
- Black and White magazine<br />
<br />
Tom is a prolific event organiser, staging open mike poetry and music gigs as well as more ambitious multi-disciplinary events. A series of one-man shows at Liverpool’s Unity Theatre, saw the artist’s poetry and songs combined with drama, monologue and the skills of multi-media artist TV Lux.<br />
<br />
“He never fails to uplift and enrich the listener, a more charismatic and engaging performer you are unlikely to encounter…” – Wirral Ode Show<br />
<br />
Tom has performed throughout the UK, in Europe and Africa, while his work has featured in several collections and websites.<br />
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His self-published poetry collection, How Now is available at gigs and from FACT bookshop in Liverpool (£2)<br />
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Alice Lenkiewicz, artist and editor of Neon Highway poetry magazine has had two collections of poetry published. She will be exhibitng her images and text in the main hall as a story exhibition, 'Journey of the Bride' until the end of September.<br />
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<a href="http://www.artinliverpool.com/index.php/other-galleries/blackburne-house/3855-bhouse-journey-of-the-bride"></a><br />
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<br />
<b>Jane Marsh interviews the poet, Robert Sheppard.</b><br />
<br />
Robert Sheppard has published many books, including The Lores (Reality<br />
Street, 2003) and Tin Pan Arcadia (Salt, 2004), both parts of the<br />
Twentieth Century Blues project. He has two critical books forthcoming,<br />
and was the editor of Pages poetry magazine.<br />
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<br />
1. Could you describe the kind of poetry that interests you and why this is? Where do you situate yourself in terms of contemporary poetry?<br />
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If you mean ‘kinds’ of poetry, not kind, then let’s say that I am interested in all kinds of poetry. Poetry’s delight is its variety across space and through time, rather than its supposed universality. Its particularity: Ovid to Ulli Freer, Basho to Pope, Petrach to Klebnikov, Herbert to Celan. (Which is why I am so antagonistic towards the Movement Orthodoxy in Britain, and its narrow notions of what poetry might be.) One is adrift in the imaginary museum as a reader, while one is still positioned in terms of the current field of literary production as a writer, to borrow the terminology of Bourdieu. For example, I appear in the Tuma Anthology of Twentieth Century British and Irish Poetry as a representative of British ‘linguistically innovative poetry’, which I suppose will suffice, although I’ve been as much responsible (as a commentator and publisher) for that cumbersome term’s currency as I have been its passive recipient. But then in certain moods, I feel I don’t fit this or that label, or that there are qualities in the work that are simply not recognised or recognisable by the act of being situated in such a field. Is that another way of saying that it is not entirely in the writer’s control where he or she is pigeonholed? Don’t my Empty Diaries have more in common with Tom Paulin’s The Invasion Handbook than with many books in ‘our’ corner of the field?<br />
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2. Why do you think it is that innovative poetry has not caught on with the education system? Why do some children study Simon Armitage and not Allen Fisher for instance?<br />
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That children – or adults, for that matter – are allowed to study poetry (or literature) at all in an increasingly instrumentalist education system is semi-miraculous. Though perhaps it is best not to enquire too deeply about what good it is supposed to do. Why some poets are taught, while others aren’t, has to do with the inherent ‘teachability’ of certain writing practices, and I suspect that some writers actively produce work in collusion with the way it is consumed in the classroom and examination hall. Other writing practices (those you dub ‘innovative’) do not fit so well in this paradigm, indeed actively counter commonly taught reading practices. As such they do not appeal to over-worked teachers who are often themselves not readers of poetry in any sense other than the classroom. That some of us who teach take on those writers is a different issue, of course. And the teaching of writing adds another dimension, one where I think innovative practice needs defining and defending.<br />
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3. What are your views on the contemporary education of poetry? How would you define the difference between experimental and non experimental poetry?<br />
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Teachers are scared of poetry and they all too often pass this fear on to their students. I can’t answer your unrelated question about the difference you perceive, because your terms are partly not ones I would use. I would counter a poetry of saying, which attempts to avoid thematisation and stasis, and achieve something like ethical openness, with a poetry of the said, which risks inertia and immediate naturalisation (which is the demand of every exam question, of course). At most, it is an ethical issue about making a text maximally open to the reader, while recognising the impossibility of the act, because the saying as an ethical gesture must always be concretised in an actual fixed text. Raworth’s Eternal Sections seem about as near as we’ll get to it. It is also to recognise, with Vološinov and Bakhtin, that language use, even in heavily distanciated and defamiliarised forms, remains dialogic. But that’s a book length argument in a couple of sentences: bits of Levinas rubbing shoulders with Veronica Forrest-Thomson.<br />
The techniques that one uses to achieve this aim may vary. It certainly isn’t a question of pursuing stylistic brinkpersonship (‘experiment’, if you like) for its own sake. Some ‘experimental’ work can be bogged down in the said.<br />
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4. How do you think these differences are portrayed to and perceived by the public?<br />
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Since I partly refute your premise, this is difficult to answer. What the public perceives at all about poetry I couldn’t say. The ‘Romantic’ paradigm of self-expression prevails, it seems to me. While a small minority will recognise Armitage from their schooldays, nearly nobody would recognise Allen Fisher as a name, or even necessarily recognise what Fisher produces as poetry. Which is, to come back to an earlier question from a different angle, why education is crucial here. And I do my bit as a poet, academic, teacher and big-mouth.<br />
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5. What would you say to someone who said, “I can’t understand ‘experimental’ poetry. It doesn’t seem to make any sense.”<br />
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‘Sign up for private tutorials at £38 an hour!?’ You would then get that person to analyse every noun and verb in his or her statement (especially ‘experimental’). If he or she did say ‘seem’, by the way, you’d be in with a chance, wouldn’t you? You are more likely to hear something completely dismissive, i.e., ‘It doesn’t make sense’. So: what does ‘making sense’ mean? And who makes sense in the aesthetic relations between text and reader? All these questions open up the issues. Then you can go back to particular poems.<br />
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6. How would you describe your own process of writing poetry?<br />
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I don’t think I have a single process. I have used various techniques of accelerated collage, which I call ‘creative linkage’, at certain times. More recently I’ve been writing kinds of shadow ‘texts or commentaries’ based on other texts, in an act of intertextual critique. I have written strictly neo-formalist works (using word count) as well as writing a kind of free prose, or lineated prose. I’m playing a lot with sentence boundaries at the moment, stretching or collapsing syntax. I seem to swing from one extreme to the other, but the common factor is to generate works that are different. That was almost a working principle of ‘Twentieth Century Blues’, but is less so now. There is no separation of acts of writing and editing for me.<br />
It’s probably not for me to decide whether I achieve a poetry of saying, but that’s the aim.<br />
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7. What would you say to the budding writer/poet to encourage and inspire them<br />
with their work? What books would you recommend them to read?<br />
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Read. A writer is a reader who writes. Reflect. Develop a poetics.<br />
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8. Can you list five poets before the 20th century that you admire?<br />
Can you list five poets during the 20th and 21st century that you admire?<br />
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Milton Marvell Rochester Byron Blake. George Oppen, Roy Fisher, William Carlos Williams, Bob Cobbing, Robert Creeley. Whoops, I’ve run out of names.<br />
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9. How would you define ‘good’ poetry versus ‘bad’ poetry.<br />
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These are morally inflected terms, aren’t they? Better to think in terms of adequacy to the perceived necessary poetics of the time. So Williams was adequate to his age, whilst WE Henley wasn’t, we could say (or not, depending on our standards of adequacy).<br />
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10. You are well known for your interest in writings on poetics. Why do you feel poetics are important? How would you define poetics in your own words?<br />
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Whether or not I’m well-known for this interest or not, I define poetics, quite precisely, as: the products of the process of reflection upon writings, and upon the act of writing, gathering from the past and from others, speculatively casting into the future. Poetics is a discipline, though a flexible one, but more importantly it is a discourse, though an intermittent mercurial one. (The unwritten history of the discourse suggests this.) In the pedagogic sense, poetics is a writer-centred, student-centred, self-organising activity. It is a way of letting writers question what they think they know, a way of allowing creative writing dialogue with itself, beyond the monologic of commentary or reflection. Poetics exists for oneself and for others, to produce, to quote Rachel Blau DuPlessis, in the best definition: “a permission to continue”.<br />
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11. Do you have any forthcoming publications?<br />
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Yes: Tin Pan Arcadia from Salt, a large collection from my long time-based project ‘Twentieth Century Blues’, which spans the years of its composition from December 1989 to 2000, from its ‘Preface’, ‘Melting Borders’, through various other strands – some ‘Empty Diaries’, some ‘Killing Boxes’ – through to the final ‘The Push Up Combat Bikini’, which is also the last ‘Empty Diary’. Creative work produced since then, the ‘texts or commentaries’ that take on a set of deliberately distant materials – Anne Sexton’s drafts, Bernhard Schlink’s novel, Charlotte Saloman’s visual opera, Jiri Kolar, Marvell, Sephardic songs, none of these particularly associated with ‘me’ – will appear from Stride as Hymns to the God in which my Typewriter Believes. That book also contains a writing through of my own journals written in the aftermath of September 11, the September 12 we are all living through. That suggests another collection, unwritten as yet, just a few poems that follow on from the ‘Killing Boxes’ strand of ‘Twentieth Century Blues’, and a free prose essay that answers Adrian Clarke’s reading of my poetics, ‘Rattling the Bones’. I teeter on the precipice of launching into a pre-determined sequence of 96 poems to accompany them, the sort of mad formalism I’ve avoided since completing ‘Twentieth Century Blues’.<br />
Recently I’ve been doing some writing as visiting researcher to Sudley House in Liverpool, and that should see the light of day as both performance and text. Then there’s a short story about the Esperanto writer F Tropp. I’d like to write something connected with jazz. I’m fascinated by the close connection between poetry and jazz. Weird things: like Charlie Parker carrying a copy of the Rubáiyát around with him! I had plans to write a critical work on this relation but I’m not sure I’ve got the musicological knowledge to pursue it as an academic study, but I’ve amassed all this material and perhaps will extend the ‘text or commentary’ technique of Hymns to these materials: texts, recordings, anecdotes.<br />
Critical works forthcoming include The Poetry of Saying: British Poetry and its Discontents 1950-2000 – its title is self-explanatory, and its thesis I’ve outlined above. Indeed, your oppositional pair, Armitage and Fisher, are both treated in that work, Armitage appearing as a soft version of the persistence of the Movement Orthodoxy, and Fisher being one of the discontents, who approximates the poetry of saying in his work Gravity as a Consequence of Shape. And at the moment I’m working on a short monograph on the poetry, fiction, and non-fiction of Iain Sinclair. Articles on Sinclair and Maggie O’Sullivan. I need to write something extended on poetics. And probably publish or make available a rather different kind of creative writing manual, working with Scott Thurston.<br />
But my primary focus is on the creative work.<br />
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12. Finally, Are there any questions you feel I should have asked you and didn’t?<br />
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Yes.<br />
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<br />
Jane Marsh speaks to A. C. Evans<br />
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1.<br />
<br />
I would imagine you would appreciate this room, A.C. On the wall there are paintings by Klimt and Duchamp. My gramophone over there plays music by Liszt and Wagner.<br />
The CD player plays music such as The Stones and The Velvet underground.<br />
The weather is just wonderful. We are now in Mid winter so it is cold and icy outside. The trees are bare and there is some frost and ice on the ground. On the bookshelf you may find some collections by Plath, Byron, Baudelaire and Swinburne. There are also two recent reviews of yours on Lee Harwood’s Chanson Dada. Selected Poems by Tristan Tzara and Symbolism by Rodolphe Rapetti. Now if you just seat yourself down I would like to ask you a few questions to someone whose writing style it seems has been described as ‘macabre, hermetic minimalism’.<br />
Your work has been around for a long time and first published in the British alternative press in 1977. However it has been said that your work was more driven towards “ modern occultism” rather than the conventional ‘literary’ small press. Could you explain what it was that pulled you in this direction?<br />
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Gosh, Jane! You are looking very vampish this afternoon…. And you have gone to so much trouble. It is very much appreciated and very nice to talk… But, to answer your questions: My first ‘publication’ was, in fact, 1968 when I was lucky to land a tiny contract for greetings cards. A few designs were distributed through high street shops at the height of the ‘Beardsley craze’ during the Art Nouveau Revival… Also, under the umbrella of the Convulsionists, I managed to issue some mass-produced prints and get things into the school magazine. This was all in the late nineteen sixties. After a break I started submitting material to little magazines in the mid nineteen seventies, hence the reference to ‘alternative press….’. The first magazine to take some pictures was called Sothis. I soon found acceptance with other editors in the ‘occult’ scene. There were mags with titles like The Daath Papers, Illuminatus Monthly and Nox: A Magazine of The Abyss. I was instinctively drawn to this kind of subculture: it seemed more attuned to the disruptive, paraxial fantasy I was trying to achieve than the rather staid literary scene. In any case – despite my Aestheticism – I didn’t really see my work as a narrowly ‘artistic’ enterprise – like the Surrealists I was aiming at some kind of transformational paradigm outside mainstream definitions of art/poetry. There were clear affinities between Surrealism and ‘occultism’ (a vague, dodgy term I should say) and, at the time, one felt ‘occultists’ to be more ‘alternative’ than most exponents of the counter-culture who played at being hippies at weekends. The Surrealist ‘angle’ on the occult was, of course, non-mystical – unlike the Crowleyites, or the Alexandrians, for instance, I did not view the occult as an alternative religion. It was more to do with ‘reclaiming the imagination for anarchy and nihilism,’ formulating tactics to disconnect creativity from the hegemony of ‘the establishment’. Gothic Romanticism, Baudelaire’s ‘Satanism’ and Rimbaud’s use of alchemy provided historical parallels, while Jung’s psychology pointed to an ‘interior model’ for the ‘occult image’.<br />
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2.<br />
Could you tell me a little about your work?<br />
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The work develops on two fronts: the written and the visual. Within these two spheres I operate on a narrow spectrum of formats. The written works fall into non-fiction and ‘literary’, the visual works are black and white line drawings in either pen or pencil, collages (mainly photomontages) and, more recently digital-photo images of various kinds. Regarding the literary work I would subdivide it into poetry/experimental prose, fiction (short stories) and poetry translations from the French. In both literary and visual work I often rely on automatism and chance elements. Automatism means a kind of immersion in the unconscious process, guided intuitively. I have often regarded ‘automatic’ line work as rather like calligraphy, hovering on the borderline between pictorial representation and writing. All artistic activity is supported by the non-fiction work ranging from short review notices to extensive feature-length articles/essays like Angels Of Rancid Glamour (1998). Baudelaire said artists should also be critics – it is vital to maintain a sense of focus and context, and to engage with the history of ideas.<br />
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3.<br />
Who were the first presses to support you?<br />
<br />
Well, apart from the occult ‘zines mentioned the first art-poetry press to support my work was Stride edited by Rupert Loydell. Throughout the nineteen eighties Stride maintained a policy of openness to diverse approaches that was – and still is – exemplary. Stride published my first small collection Exosphere in 1984 and I contributed reviews, artwork and poetry to the magazine. Today Stride is one of the best independent presses on the UK scene. I should also mention Phlebas and Tabor who published the mini collections Chimaera Obscura and Dream Vortex.<br />
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4.<br />
Can you tell me a little about your poem Space Opera?<br />
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Space Opera was short sequence of prose-poems first published in Stride’s Serendipity Caper anthology. It was subsequently re-issued as an illustrated booklet with an intro by Steve Sneyd. Written in a kind of techno-reportage style the sequence evoked a universe where there is no distinction between inner and outer space and all communication is subject to widespread disruption from indeterminate forces. The general setting was onboard a clapped-out star-ship on a mission to investigate the mysterious planet NeoGaea, a kind of parallel Earth, but millions of light years from home. It was an attempt to fuse lowbrow and highbrow by taking a simple space adventure scenario and filtering through a mannered poetic style – the cognoscenti define this sort of thing as ‘speculative poetry’…<br />
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5.<br />
Your work has been described as ‘artistic’ meeting ‘magical’. What would you say is your driving influence?<br />
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That’s quite a ‘deep’ question, depending on what you mean by ‘influence’ – influences should be points of departure not destinations, I think. In the nineteenth century from the time of the French Revolution to the First World War one can see a progression of ‘movements’, often referred to as avant-garde – we learn from many figures and themes of those movements and define ‘influences’ that way. That’s a very big subject and the cultural history, from Baudelaire to Beauvoir, is very important. Formative influences (i.e. contemporary, not historical) included Dada/Surrealism, Op and Pop Art, Psychedelia and Nouveau Realisme (e.g. Tinguely) – that’s on the visual side. Contemporary literary influences included Burroughs, Borges, Nabokov, Pynchon, Angela Carter and J G Ballard. As I say this it is clear that none of these were poets in the strict sense, actually they are all prose writers. I had had heard about the 1965 Albert Hall event but we didn’t really take much notice of the poetry scene – the era was defined by Mary Quant not the Children of Albion. My inspirational figures were Aubrey Beardsley, Antonin Artaud and Marcel Duchamp. I think we can return to this a bit later on when we talk about the Convulsionists because, amid this welter of references, I’m thinking about your phrase ‘driving influence’…. And Paul Meunier’s observation (quoted in Rapetti’s Symbolism) that ‘artistic concerns were originally alien to the production of art.’<br />
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6.<br />
What kind of poetry or movements in poetry do you particularly dislike and why?<br />
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I have always been against any kind of literary theory that downplays or ignores the visceral basis of creativity. The creative imagination is driven by non-verbal, obsessive compulsions that, in the final analysis, are rooted in biological/genetic phenomena. It is obvious that creativity is value-neutral and independent of any particular form of expression, visual, literary or musical. Therefore, I have no positive interest in the kind of fashionable Post Modernism that locates the main theoretical focus of poetry in the domain of ‘language’. I see this trend and similar academic fashions (Social Constructionism or Reader Response Theory) as part of the regrettable inheritance of Wittgenstein – it is clearly reactionary. For example, the current oxymoronic notion of ‘linguistically innovative’ poetry is based, according to its luminaries, on doctrines of Ethical Criticism, specifically the writings of Levinas and Bakhtin. To begin with this is contradictory in that a truly ‘language-centred’ poetry cannot be based on an ethical framework of any kind. In the second place it is intrinsically reactionary as the writings of Levinas, Bakhtin, and the other gurus, are mainly propaganda for orthodoxy dressed-up in the ‘technical’ Newspeak of academia: ‘defamiliarisation’, ‘plurivocity’, ‘dialogism’ ‘sociolect’. The doublethink is the objectionable aspect – projecting a ‘progressive’ and ‘advanced’ image but working to a regressive, conservative agenda. It’s a question of cultural politics, not literary standards, because any art that is neither entertainment nor therapy is spin and propaganda – welcome to IngSoc! The Language Poets of the 1970s de-valued, even denied, the individual voice in the name of anti-Romanticism and in so doing allied themselves, knowingly or not, with the worst kind of literary Puritanism. I don’t really care if a given example of Language Poetry conforms to someone’s idea of ‘good’ poetry, in the end its only radical chic. I would say the same about the British Poetry Revival in its earlier phases: it was an amateur way of latching on to worthless American trends – Black Mountain, Objectivism, Projective Verse and all that frightful stuff. Actually, it was a publicity stunt to promote a generational revolt against the Georgians and – wassisname? – Larkin. They want to write Modern Epics – they take themselves far too seriously – give me Fiona Pitt-Kethley any day!<br />
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7.<br />
To what extent has alchemy influenced your work?<br />
<br />
The function of art is the transformation of substance into style.<br />
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8.<br />
Tell me a little about your creative process.<br />
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The ‘creative process’ is a primitive, bio-psychic phenomenon characterised by the interaction of external stimuli, unconscious drives and the neural-endocrine levels of the biological system (physis). These interactions generate the ‘altered states’ intrinsic to creativity. Cultural factors determine how various features or facets of creativity are defined as ‘artistic’. The main impulse for any creative act takes the form of an obsessive compulsion or drive-demand, often referred to as ‘inspiration’: the production of a given work of art, and its dreamlike characteristics, can be explained from the psychoanalytic perspective. Composer Toru Takemitsu said his work Quotations of a Dream (1991) was ‘fragmental’ and episodic, reflecting the ‘shapes of dreams’. He observed that a work can be vivid in detail but may describe ‘an extremely ambiguous structure when viewed as a whole’. Following both Freud and Takemitsu, I would say that poetic form should resemble that of a dream where, for instance, details may be clearly defined while their disposition is determined by the ‘fortuities’ of a ‘self-propelling narrative’. For me the attraction of collage – and other modes of juxtaposition – derive from conformity with the Freudian ‘dream-work’ and the laws of the unconscious – the two main properties of dream-work being compression and displacement. The law of compression determines the fragmental and condensed format of all my work in any medium. The law of displacement encourages an allusive approach to ‘mood’ or ‘atmosphere’ akin to Mallarme’s adage ‘paint not the thing but the effect it produces’. Displacement of psychic intensities ensures that the least important features of the work are given more prominence than the most significant, leading (with luck) to a somewhat ‘hermetic’ or enigmatic effect…. I must add that chance plays a key role in everything…<br />
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9.<br />
If you could go anywhere in reality that somehow was created from your imagination where would it be and what would it be like?<br />
<br />
It might be like a neglected pleasure pier on the North Sea coast. During the day there would be howling gales and isolated rainstorms, at night the sea would be like purple glass – the moon would look huge. From the shore would float the distant, scratchy sound of an old 1940s Benny Goodman/Peggy Lee recording of ‘Blues in The Night’.<br />
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10.<br />
You have said that Surrealism has been a strong influence in your work.<br />
If you were to exhibit your work in a gallery these days what kind of show do you think you would focus on?<br />
<br />
Dark Energy – Dark Energy comprises seventy percent of the universe and provides the repulsive force necessary to power the ever-accelerating expansion of the galaxies. Just as the existence of the unconscious can be inferred from Freudian Slips, so Dark Energy can be detected indirectly from the effects of virtual particles on the orbits of electrons. I like the idea that seventy percent of the universe is ‘dark’, just as seventy percent of the mind is ‘dark’ and seventy percent of human prehistory is ‘dark’. So my exhibition would be based around Three Zones Of Darkness. To the side there might be shrines dedicated to some modern goddesses: Veronica Lake, Caterina Valente, Julie London, Donyale Luna and P J Harvey. I think the décor would look rather like Martin Hibbert’s Burnt Out Hotel. Oh, I might exhibit some collages and drawings as well! At lunchtimes there would be tasteful piano recitals and in the evenings there would be poetry readings – in the dark, obviously…<br />
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11.<br />
You say you enjoy the work of Louise Nevelson. I do also. I read a book about her work a while back and I was fascinated by her assemblages made from found objects and painted gold. I just thought I would mention that to you.<br />
<br />
Yes! The Tate Gallery has a couple of her things. There was one called Black Wall (1959) and another called An American Tribute To The British People (1960-1964). I thought the Black Wall was fantastically sinister… There are Sky Cathedrals, Royal Games, Rain Gardens and Night Scapes, all very intricate and painted uniformly in either white, black or gold… there are echoes of Nevelson in some of my drawings…<br />
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12.<br />
Can we build an assemblage together? I’ll collect a few objects and you put them together how you want. Here we are, some old boxes, feathers, a doll, picture frames, books, string, a glass case, medicine bottles, paper, broken mirror, pieces of rusty engine, glossy magazines, shoes, a mannequin, lots of old china plates and a few cans of spray paint. What do you reckon? I’ll come back in an hour and see what you produced.<br />
<br />
OK, I have added an empty window frame and a battered wig-maker’s white polystyrene artificial head called ‘Ultima’ to this assemblage. ‘Ultima’ is an important totem. In the glass case will be several old sepia photos and the diary of a bibliomaniac. The broken mirror must be at the centre of the installation. You can just take a photo and add it here if you wish?<br />
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13.<br />
Now I just want to show you the chamber. This is the deepest room in the house way below the ground and the steps are a little creaky. Hope you’re not too tired, it’s quite a way down.<br />
Hope you like my spiral staircase. Here we are at last.<br />
Please step inside. Okay please do sit down. You can use that old gravestone if you wish?<br />
<br />
Jane, this is such a friendly way to conduct an interview – thank you, this gravestone is quite comfortable – what does the inscription say? I can’t quite make it out as it is covered in yellow and black lichen. What a gloriously spooky wrought iron spiral staircase that was – I can almost taste the rust.<br />
Could you tell me about the group you formed called The Neo-Surrealist Convulsionist Group?<br />
I<br />
t is tempting to say we were just a group of alienated teenagers…! We formed the thing around 1968 and it only lasted until around 1971 or 1972. There were about five or six participants based in Chelmsford, Essex. Other places included Colchester, Ipswich and Witham… people used to meet in coffee bars after school – we were all sixth formers doing art or literature, mainly as a way of avoiding sport. The associations continued after everyone left school and tried to get jobs. Some poetry was written and experimental prose cut-up; atonal electronic music was composed and lots of paintings and collages produced. There were occasional expeditions or ‘pilgrimages’ to ‘displaced destinations’ such as the old Hungerford Bridge, the Victoria Embankment Gardens (for the Sullivan Memorial – very ‘convulsive’), The Atlantis Bookshop, or the Dashwood Mausoleum and Hell Fire Caves at West Wycombe. But mainly there was a lot of loafing around, drinking coffee and snogging – or going to see Hammer Horror films and German Expressionist movies at the NFT. There was one exhibition at Hylands House – the exhibition was for all the school leavers but we managed to commandeer a room – as the Convulsionists were the general organisers of the show it was quite easy to get the space! We came up with the term ‘Convulsionism’ after the phrase ‘Beauty will be convulsive…’ (from Breton’s Amour Fou). I felt it implied the ‘visceral’ idea - my ideal work of art was to be a meaningless allegory generated by a kind of neurological spasm or frisson that could be transmitted to the viewer – well, if it gave me a frisson it might give you one as well. One old policy document from my archive says: “CONVULSION IS CONCERNED WITH THE BEAUTY OF PURE IMAGINATION AND FANTASY AND IS VIOLENTLY OPPOSED TO CONTRAPTON IN ANY FORM” (Convulsively Produced Notes On Convulsion, 1968). Earlier, I mentioned some key influences… I should add the Lost Generation to the list – the Francophile ‘Yellow Nineties’ Decadent poets and artists (Arthur Symons, Ernest Dowson et al) and, also, the ultra-Symbolist absurdism (as we saw it) of Laforgue and Alfred Jarry – we were quite keen on ‘Pataphysics as I recall… There was some empathy with English Pop Art, so we rather revelled in the Mass Media – Pop Music (The Doors, Brian Auger), Jazz (Indo Jazz Fusions, Duke Ellington, Miles Davis), Science Fiction and ‘cult TV’. It was ironic that the real Surrealists had disbanded themselves in 1966 so we settled for being Neo-Surrealists!<br />
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14<br />
What are you working on at present?<br />
<br />
I am continually revising my ‘personal aesthetic’ (which is not a literary ‘poetic’) and have found this has absorbed much of my time in recent months. In our present situation when, for various reasons, free artistic expression is coming under threat as never before, I have been driven to ‘sharpen up’ my thoughts on such issues… On a more practical level I am revising and digitizing some non-fiction from the back-catalogue – various reviews and articles that I feel I have neglected and must revisit. I have an ongoing programme of computerisation that is quite time-consuming – some examples appear on the Tangents website. Publication-wise there are various poems accepted by magazines including Fire. Recent appearances have included ‘Vespula Vanishes’ a poem for Tori Amos (Inclement), ‘Danger (Midnight Street)’ (Pulsar), ‘Beautiful Chaos’ and ‘Dadar Radar’ (Fragments), and another piece called ‘Not The Cloudy Sky’ (Harlequin). Forthcoming, among other items, is a short story ‘Vikki Verso’ from Atlantean Publications who have taken a number of texts and drawings over the last couple of years. A recent collage, called ‘In the Beginning’ is on the cover (designed by Neil Annat) of a new Stride publication – Peter Redgrove’s A Speaker For The Silver Goddess (2006).<br />
<br />
Thank you for answering my questions A.C.<br />
<br />
And, thank you, Jane, for a fascinating conversation…<br />
<br />
I’ll go and get you a glass of wine from the cellar<br />
Be careful how you go – mind all those cobwebs!<br />
I wish you luck and fortune with your work, as Salomon Trismosin once said:<br />
<br />
Study what thou art<br />
Whereof thou art a part.<br />
What thou knowest of this Art,<br />
This is really what thou art,<br />
All that is without thee,<br />
Also is within<br />
<br />
All best for now.<br />
Jane<br />
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Interview with Bill Grifffiths by Jane Marsh.<br />
August 2004<br />
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Bill Griffiths - born London 1948, moved north to Seaham in 1990. Taking a first degree in History, he went on to undertake a PhD in Old English at King's College London in the 1980s. Published primarily as a poet, he also writes in the fields of Old English and local history, northern dialect and some fantasy/fiction. He helps edit 'Northern Review' at the University of Northumbria, Newcastle upon Tyne as well as writing and publishing poetry and devising websites. Recent books 'Spilt Cities' (Etruscan Books), 'Durham and other sequences' (Westhouse Books), 'Tyne Txts' (with Tom Pickard, Amra Imprint). Websites: billygriff.co.uk, story-of-seaham.com, pitmatic.co.uk, the-lollipop.co.uk (little press listing). Has campaigned, with Bruce Kent and others, for appeal hearing for long-serving Liverpool prisoner Ray Gilbert (the subject of several of his poems).<br />
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Hello Bill. Your poems were first published by Eric Mottram in the Poetry Review. Do you feel that Poetry Review has maintained the same perspective over the years in terms of the kind of poetry it promotes? I confess, I read it rarely due to so many little magazines coming my way but perhaps you could persuade me otherwise.<br />
<br />
Back in 1971 or so, Poetry Review was quite prestigious among the ‘properly’ printed and bound poetry quarterlies. The appointment of Mottram as editor was untypical of The Poetry Society (its publisher) but evinced a glimmer of interest in new types of poetry already appearing in print elsewhere (e.g. Fulcrum Press). Mottram set aside the conventional, worthy sort of contributor and gave prominence to younger poets in this country (plus Bunting and MacDiarmid!) and American poets like Duncan, Rukeyser, Zukofsky, Ginsberg, Snyder. As it became clear that not only Poetry Review but The Poetry Society (beginning to style itself The National Poetry Centre) was changing course, there was a growing resentment from the literary establishment, culminating in the Arts Council of Great Britain (which never interferes in its clients’ artistic policy, by the way) vowing to withold its grant unless the elected council of The Poetry Society unelected itself. That would be 1977 or 1978. Their threat worked, and Poetry Review sank back into its unremarkable old ways.<br />
On the relative merits of Poetry Review with Mottram and Poetry Review without Mottram, you can make up your own mind – copies of the 1970s issues should be available in a good library and are still well worth looking at. That the issue still rankles became clear when Sean O’Brien used Poetry Review to publish a review of Keith Tuma’s UK anthology of 2001 and made unkind references to out “Eric Jealous and E.K.Resentment” - widely assumed to mean Eric Mottram and E.K. Brathwaite. Was anyone seriously objecting to the ‘pollution’ of English poetry by American or Caribbean voices? My feeling is that this elite, exclusive version of ‘England’ is a mythical spot somewhere in the South only mentioned when it is necessary to have something to cudgel peasants and provincials with.<br />
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Could you tell me a little about Eric Mottram. What kind of a person was he? Did you ever read his poems? If so how did you respond to them? What kind of response did he have to your work? I notice also in your biography that you spent time cataloguing the Mottram archive bequeathed to Kings College. Could you tell me a little about this archive? If I were to go to Kings College and ask about this archive how would you advise me to start my initial research?<br />
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Eric was immensely wide-read and immensely industrious. He had not only all the facts (as it seemed) of the 20th century at his disposal, but made contact with every poet he could who showed a bean of inventiveness. His travels included most Far Eastern countries, with (later) India; Switzerland, Holland, Hungary, etc.; and of course the States. He was immensely generous and constructive with his time, and encouraged a great many poets in their writing, as well as helping on many an academic career. At his best, he went to Court to speak up for Bill Butler and Unicorn Bookshop in Brighton in the 1960s when modern poetry as not immune from prosecution, to be publicly branded unfit to teach at a university by the Magistrates who resented his guidance on literary merit.<br />
Mind, decades of campaigning for a more inclusive culture didn’t improve his temper, and I cannot say I felt comfortable in his presence the way I did with Bob Cobbing, exploring the mysteries of the Gestetner Duplicator. An hour or two with Eric was like having your brain pummelled by a master mind-boxer, though in a positive and usually kindly way.<br />
We did not see eye-to-eye on poetry: the essential regard for word-sound I have was just ‘craftmanship’ to him. His style was rather loose and free-line (“spoken words have sufficient rhythm in themselves” he averred), though he developed some interesting dislocations of syntax in later work. He never tried to get me to write like himself, however; there was a tolerance there as well as a lot of self-assuredness.<br />
I might claim to be one of the few people who have read all his poetry (while cataloguing his archive). You could too, but before turning up at King’s have a look at the online catalogue – it takes some reaching via www.kcl.ac.uk - via academic services…archives…personal papers…Mottram…then the little blue link to the catalogue itself. It’s a fascinating introduction to a great character.<br />
<br />
I recently spoke to Lawrence Upton and he said that he and Bob Cobbing had worked on a number of pieces together. What was your relationship with these poets and in what direction did you find your work developing while working with them?<br />
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Bob, with a blobby duplicator and a fizzy scanner, ran Writers Forum, a little press (and a workshop) with a definite emphasis on sound poetry, visual poetry and performance poetry. Early associates of Bob were Jeff Nuttall, Keith Musgrove, and ‘Group H’ (for Hendon, Middlesex). Lawrence and I met him at the time WF and The Poetry Society coincided in the 1970s. Most of my publishing in the 1970s (and a fair bit in the 1980s and ‘90s) was done in collaboration with WF – we shared the work, the costs and the final copies. These were poems of mine, but Bob contributed the machinery of printing which was still rare in those far-off days. In other words, he was willing to open his home and facilities to almost anyone with an interesting idea to translate into print. In particular I learnt the importance of unity of content with technique – a unity that extended to format, printing medium, booklet design and – ultimately – performance.<br />
Bob’s workshop was a great means of making new contacts and expanding verbal horizons – there was Lawrence of course, but also Clive Fencott, Sean O Huigin, cris cheek, Peter Mayer, Jeremy Adler, an occasional Dom Sylvester Houèdard ruffling the hair of a young Alaric Sumner, plus Betty Radin with her visual fables… Geraldine Monk and Maggie O’Sullivan were soon to feature as WF authors, but not quite that early on.<br />
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What instigated your ambition to study Old English at Kings College London?<br />
In what way did Old English influence your work?<br />
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After The Poetry Society debacle, I manage to survive for some time on a few prestigious performances with Bob Cobbing and Paula Claire (as Konkrete Canticle), but increasingly found myself needed to look after my aging parents – not an onerous task, but one that seemed ideal combined with part-time study. About 1974 I had been introduced to Old Welsh by Peter Finch; the side-step to the great literature of Old English was unavoidable. Part-time MA courses were then remarkably good bargains (late 1980s), and I did well enough at that to proceed to a PhD.<br />
Old English has an alliterative pattern to the line; it has certainly boosted my awareness of alliteration; but the rhythm of the line is relatively free (did G. M. Hopkins’ draw his ‘sprung-line’ rhythm from OE rather than Old Greek or Old Welsh?) I like that rhythmic indeterminacy; I think old literatures and languages are an important route to innovation in current culture – think of the impact of Jerry Rothenberg’s Technicians of the Sacred.<br />
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The idea of place and dialect I have noticed interests you. Could you expand a little on why this interests you?<br />
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Dialect is a descent of Middle English. Place is somewhere to live, an important consideration for every nomadic soul. In the 1980s I was able to secure a houseboat near Uxbridge on the Grand Union, but when the moorings went up from £200 p.a. to £1000 p.a., I retired with good grace to Seaham in Co.Durham (4 hours by train from Liverpool). Having always admired the North-East – its cities and coast, its sense of community, its dark humour (and its Anglo-Saxon speech). The community has taken a battering in the 1990s, but still compares well with the daily warfare of London.<br />
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I am fascinated by the fact that you can translate and write in old English.<br />
Could you tell me a little on how old English sounds compared to how it is written?<br />
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It sounds odd to the modern ear. ‘g’ was often ‘y’ (giese is our yes), c was often ch (cyrice is our church), sc was always sh (sceotan is our shoot), cg was always dg (brycg is our bridge). The vocabulary was both similar and contained many extra unfamiliar words that were jettisoned in the later Middle Ages in favour of French- and Latin-based introductions. Try my website www.billygriff.co.uk… go to Old English… to ‘Cuthbert and the seals’ for a text and a sound file.<br />
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What is your favourite old English text?<br />
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Beowulf.<br />
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Can you translate this?<br />
Jane Marsh is nothing but a figment of Alice’s imagination.<br />
Jane Mersc is nawuht ac swefn Alice modes.<br />
(Where swefn is ‘dream or invention’ and mod is the root of our word ‘mood’ but then meant the stronger qualities of the mind. Neither Jane nor Alice are OE names by the way, unlike Hilda or Edith.)<br />
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I have heard you were once a Hell’s Angel. Could you tell me a little about this episode in your life?<br />
Do you feel it affected your writing? If so, in what way?<br />
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A belting twinge in one shoulder muscle where I once catapulted over the handlebars of a bike is one lasting effect. It is strange, looking back, how big and grand outlaws in their early 20s seemed to me as a teenager; now I think of 20-year-olds as mere bairns, no more dangerous than a playground slide.<br />
Culturally speaking, it convinced me I was not cut out to be a hero; so that I paused and thought about what I could really hope to do well at or be useful in (which was poetry); it gave me an underlying sense of the nothing behind our society, which is a resource of a kind; and an enduring respect for relationships of equality.<br />
Of course a decent bike now costs over £10,000 (as against £30 for my Royal Enfield in 1966), so it isn’t really an option as a career any more.<br />
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You recently attended one of Alice’s poetry readings in Liverpool. In what way did you feel it was successful and what ways was it unsuccessful. What would you have done differently?<br />
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I would have given the reader his or her own bottle of wine approx. 50 minutes before they were due on. Before even that, shift the coffins to one side and put up a few balloons and some bunting. (I mean, the room is imposing, but you have to fight against it somewhat.)<br />
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You have been campaigning for a long time for the release of the Liverpool prisoner Ray Gilbert. Could you tell me a little as to what instigated your campaign? Are you and Ray still in touch?<br />
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I was wondering through Durham Market Place one morning with well-known poetry figure Nicholas Johnson when I came on a stall manned by the bright sparks of the North-East ABC. Not thinking my guest was likely to want to stop and chat with them, I took some leaflets instead, one of which was an appeal on behalf of Ray Gilbert, then in Durham Jail. I visited him twice there before he was moved away and was impressed by his resilience and commonsense in an environment a degree hotter than Hell. His claim to innocence is not easily summarised: there is a website<br />
www.ray-gilbert.co.uk, with notes on his case by Bruce Kent, if you want more.<br />
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Finally, could you tell me what you are presently working on in terms of your poetry and any forthcoming publications you have coming out.<br />
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Currently completing a book on the Northern Sinfonia (Newcastle’s orchestra) and a dictionary of North-East dialect past and present. Both due out from Northumbria University. A selected poems is being finalised with SALT (look out for this in 2005). There is a good batch of longer poems meriting reprinting. Online, www.opalcoast.co.uk has recently been completed, and work started on www.ochrecoast.co.uk (collaborative ventures of verse, prose, visual, sound). After that, some new poetic adventure will surely turn up…'The Mud Fort' from Salt Publishing, 2004: Basically it's shorter poems 1984-2004, selected and collected together.<br />
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Thank you very much for your time, Bill.<br />
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<div style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Neon Highway issue 19<br />
<em>(This will be published in January 2011, later than expected, prior to Spring issue.</em><br />
<em>Apologies for this late issue due to unforeseen circumstances)</em><br />
<em>However, just to update you, issue 19 will be published shortly.</em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<div style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></div>Alice Lenkiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04020676166907047838noreply@blogger.com