YGDRASIL: A Journal of the Poetic Arts

November 2005

VOL XIII Issue 11, Number 151

Editor: Klaus J. Gerken

Production Editor: Heather Ferguson;

European Editor: Moshe Benarroch;

Contributing Editors: Pedro Sena; Michael Collings; Jack R. Wesdorp; Oswald LeWinter

ISSN 1480-6401



   MK Ajay


   Heller Levinson
      the road to lost road
      99 CENT

   David Sparenberg
      SUN PATH

   Lynn Strongin
      What Keeps Me in the Wheelchair?
      Physicians in White (lab jacket cut out of clouds)

   Marie Rennard
      Fall up
      I'll sleep in a flower of sand
      Black Home 
      Imagine Morocco
      Picnic by the moon.


   Sean Howard


MK Ajay


Corona of guile
moving as restless feet,
drunk in caprice
and bleak alcohol.

Is that my fear
laid on the table
with roasted peanuts?
My other side
waiting to become?

Outside, the South China Sea
has struck the moonlight
on the white sands.
The crabs hear
the raucous whisper
of the waters,
a vulgar groan
rippling into the night.

A wound opens
in somebody's heart.
We see them dance in glee,
those festering wounds,
to loud beats 
dreaming aloud.

Why do men
retreat to this womb often?
Why does a tug in the chest
increase the air's heaviness
like a trauma's recall,
like a rank cigarette puff?

A waitress drops
her hint, and a few
inches of her neckline.
Outside, a dead jellyfish
is washed ashore
from its smug comfort
and sinister home.
An entire world
twirls under the strobe lights,
everything inches
towards instinct,
towards an island
of covetousness.

The hours move
through the smokescreen
and glint of earrings,
an irresolute advance
stumbling twice
before the girls
can say `yes' or carry
men on their frail shoulders.

"Its my life", the tune blares.
I see what poets 
can see and celebrate;
loneliness etched into
the worlds of smoke,
a distance from feeling,
an adamant clutch
on things precious to self,
a bridge we cannot cross
in this loudness, this heat;
a filth that makes
all virtue worthwhile for some - 
an addiction of the flesh.
I remember the jellyfish
and its clotted,
translucent tissue,
and a certain nausea
that accompanied the sight,
a visual epidemic.

Then, it rained, 
pelting the marigolds
on the resort's quadrangle;
the palm tree
dotting the swimming enclosure
where bare bodied tourists
made a pact with Narcissus.
We watched the rain dance
through the tinted glass,
hissing rains,
amid macho laughter,
and needy band girls.
The slug that clung to
the rock on the shore
was fat, shiny, silvery,
like an angel from
tinsel town.

"Are pubs in Bombay
like this?", they ask me,
reminded suddenly 
of Bollywood - 
all those trees, and songs,
and pretty heroines.
"Sure. Pubs around the world 
are the same for a teetotaler".

The sea's breeze
pulls a raw nerve;
when I walked yesterday
on high tide's slender corridor
I felt the same sting,
the same sadness
one feels when sentences
become defectors of the spirit.
We laugh, three skeletons
filled up by light,
floating on bar stools.

"Cheers"...clink of
soul's mirrors, beer glass...
the seashells are attractive....
let the rains cease....
we are sure to find
jellyfish stranded on the shore.
The peace missing
from our vocabulary
was silence, sitting sullen
in a corner, sane, reproachful.

"Do introverts die
the same way as others?
Them with their fantasies
of after-life, unending 
silences, enjoying every bit
of that drifting away from 
the crowd, like the palm
sprout we saw, drifting away
from the shore's onlookers".
Refill for the two of them 
as I watch self-consciously
at my orange juice receding away.

A sea urchin smeared with grime
is a witness to the sea's temptations.
Adjectives of the night -
gloom, isolation, longing -
are studded on a coral
lying on the sands;
they search for the right words,
careful not to breach
what their consciousness
would not permit.
Me, a curious observer
of their concealed motives.

Is that my fear
with roasted peanuts?
My other side

The South China Sea
has struck the moonlight
as the crabs discern
the raucous whisper
of the waters,
a vulgar groaning
into the night,
receding, receding.

Heller Levinson


                          (for David Ferguson

wound string digit applications explode
legatos & slurs    allegrias    lightning tremolos
striking gypsy minorpassaswingages
the strings to drive an enclosed volume of air
[D’Addario Phosphorous Bronze    La Bella 2001 Flamenco Hard Tension
Martin Marquis 80/20 Bronze   Galli Genius Classic Guitar GR 60 hard tension]
spirits buried in string sarcophagus -
Django   Son House   Segovia    Dimitri
Wes   Fergie   Sabicas - exhume licketysplit
harmonic scale cycling a junglegymboree of
color-travaganza slide and pounce the 
pentatonic minor
moan in the asylum of blues bend
the fretboard carnivorous,
... intelligent
melodic snowfalls chordally coat
the planet in acoustical luxor comp & 
vamp octave prance enharmonically renounce
mixolydian stupefactions romance dislocative
geographies mobilize sentiment
strangulate sham jam man burst
& ballad    reminiscence & myth
-- imagine music without fingers}]
champion fingers champion Sor & his estudios
Segovia & his Diatonic Major & Minor scales
with his admonition that the practice of scales
enables one to solve a greater number of technical 
problems in a shorter time than the study 
of any other exercise             scales as
mortar as connective tissue as foundational block
as plasmic hurly burly tendon amplifier
galactic dailies lunar fusings cretaceous echoes
larval munchings spasming inchoate virtuosity
crunches pump solar hyperfunctional
estuarial abutment musings ...

 ~ ~
Fingers ... Snakes of Fire
hurl from Sky Beak [Quetzalcoatl - Geronimo) plant
slitherfluttergroundspeedstutt-er the frets
(a nickel/tin alloy) foam the ebony fretboard  froth linguistic 
compositional magnesiums flower 
holy runic spreadsheets marinating time 
hymnals in mastodonic integer lucubrations
/capacious introspections            spur
solitary lopings to a voodoo culture


    chavonne             gavotte              cambiatta
pas de bourree              skate           swing           sultry
bebop-saltytango-roulade & rock n' roll
            nautical fantasias               mercury bells
technicolor rasguedos flash from El Cordobes
capote passes electrify hydrogen seizures
paradiddle parallelepiped hooves
             a no rent topography
bandits dressage in the lowlands
mesmeric 32nd note attacks reshape
constitutional misgivings
a last ditch atonement
earth throbs to percussive flamenco swipes
bathes in Soleares pathos
          25.5 inch scale, nut length 1 11/16, string spacing 
at the bridge 2 1/8 inches/650 millimeters scale length 52 millimeter nut length
the spirit defiant of measurement yet
constructed of measurement
                        compression casting
the harnessed tremor in Corot's "A Gust of Wind"

To Void The Interval                                                                

abandoned operettas leech to hot salsa nights
forests vibrate tonewoods
Spruce trees wail when bit by the saw
& locked in spectral pan-glottic dialogues
merciful transparencies 


Mahogany  ringing whale blubber

Alpine Spruce  larking medullary rays freighting canary lung

Maple  vivacity snowballs, solar nuclear explosions on the supermarket shelf
behind the Honey Graham Crackers

Brazilian Rosewood  chugging low
railroad pulmonations

Pear Wood   Imbuia    Spanish Cypress
Cocobola    Western Red Ceder
                 pitch & predilection
                 pith & purlieu

feral waves muffling the dark dresses

SOURING SUBURBAN CONTINGENCY FIELDS ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ For it is not in giving life but in risking life that man is raised above the animal; that is why superiority has been accorded humanity not to the sex that brings forth but to that which kills. - Simone de Beauvoir tagged to the unkempt corners uniformed marches of domestic drill repetitious bedbugs fabric vacuity pour cupboards of surrendered laundry log congressional laments anthems of yawn carpet remote bank accounts pillow the lawns of the dispossessed the pilloried the passion-drained flesh-puddles while fibers of contagious slumber plague the retinas of refusal balloon evaporant cerebrums to decorate banquets wobbling from rib bruise (stalls in the cardiac birthday arrest motor cars gown celebratory cakes log concatenous spin (soccer practice postponed marinating in this morbific absenteeism stale rhythms staple the dance floor is there a mantra: live-li-ness dead gold fish nest in the nutmeg scouring this land of no teeth armies of spear
DOWNLOADING THE AUTONOMOUS FALLACY ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ the lone ranger wore a black patch things come in pairs things not in pairs seek to pair pairing is not always beneficial, profitable, or even pleasurable pleasure can arise from splitting from pairdom, as can pain if pairing has this duplicitous character, can cause either pleasure or pain, willy nilly, what is the adhesive of pairing that is the subject for another poem Coupling's Adhesive Plumb-Works a treatise may emerge, or an eight volume exegesis complex negotiations with Knopf or Simon & Schuster will ensue time enough to diddle with commerce spots are spots and skill's needed to turn them to the point of practicality a recurring dream about a childhood friend I didn't like. Benjamin Winter now erupts as a contemptuous icon, as the shadow weasel dressed in hiss approaching our subject carefully, reverentially, -- stealthily (if you will), we consult ancient wisdom: in Plato's Symposium Aristophanes explains how originally man, woman, and hermaphrodite, were fused into one globular energetic arrogant shape aspiring to godhead. To dilute their ambitions and power Zeus split them in half, and, out of pity for their being unable to mate, he finally "moved their privates round to the front." So our "innate Love for one another can be traced back to trying to redintigrate our former nature, to make two into one, and to bridge the gulf between one human being and another." This jives with Ferenczi's theory that the copulative urge is based on an instinct to return to Thalassa, to a point of greater union. These great thinkers pose reconnection-integration as a primary explanation for the pairing urge. Now how does that account for those seeking multiplicitious pairing, lusting for the more-the merrier; are these more advanced souls seeking yet a higher integration? Or how to explain those desiring to dissolve the pairdom they have spent so much effort creating. There is much to conjure. Her name was Ruby and I had been lying naked for about five minutes before she entered. She wasn't much to look at. (Gina's Oriental Massage on Santa Monica generally had great lookers, quite remarkable in fact fo a walk-in Rub Factory. I had been coming to Gina's for years.) But as she set to work on me, all my critical faculties, all my judgemental mass, my reservations, my bile, my inhibitons, my defense mechanisms, my issues, soon vanished - well in advance of ejaculative activity - leaving nothing but pure love. As her finger circled my inner thigh, I did it. I couldn't help myself. "I love you," I said. Ruby stayed the night and over the weekend I introduced her to mom and dad. We planned to marry in the Fall. The pairing of socks is a custom and many people don't citing a more liberated fashion sense or acknowledging that pairing is an illusion just as isolation is an illusion. Bb7sus4 subsumed vegetative gamin tuck circumambulatory foreskins forerun the entrepeneurial matrimonial conjunctions conspire communicative elopements escutcheon epilepsies synapse nations of violet Alterity is essential to mutual [musical] progression; the monotone possesses limited compositional capacity analyze the properties ennabling compositions to thrive. endnotes in MLA format is complexity an advanced concept why does an accumulation of years permit me unalloyed enmity toward Benjamin Winter no bra this weightless has ever delivered so much weightless is an advanced concept gravity is incidental to cosmic behavior to be kept alive with teflon and diet Ruby came home wearing a cowboy hat. It was made of straw and sported a colored feather in the band. She was frisky and smiley and rightly or wrongly I held the cowboy hat responsible. That evening she cooked dinner wearing the cowboy hat along with a short red skirt. Later, I struggled to maintain my demeanor as she slapped my ass while chirping in a heavy Korean accent, "ride me cowboy, ride me."
the road to lost road ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ epoxy garlic the restraints uneasy no longer fabric sustenant billow a cut i n the canopy the passing lane squirting mongoose churlish with zoology the engines spit metering begins with equipment , a rough trade Vehicular inspections on a regular basis augment counterfeit identity speeds the chord finds its way
99 Cent ~~~~~~~ price privilege preemptive purgatorial miasmic banter vulvicular slide 99 cents less than a sub-posturing bottom fishing below the dollar icon live to Limbo-Rock-Shop Soft `n Gentle Eternal Spring Crystal Geyser suggestion & statement sincerity stapling Hatch Enchilada Sauce Cool Mint Listerine Tartar Control Listerine Natural Citrus Listerine Cinnamon LISTERINE POCKETPAKS Dying Breath Listerine a nation wobbly of axle singularly cupboarded Shasta DT COLA SPRITE WELCHS PEPSI TAMPICO CITRUS PUNCH freeways of product & Plato's REPUBLIC revealing the Just & Happy man the harmonious operation of the elements Protective Underwear Belted Undergarments Depend Underwear Disposable Underpads Serenity Night & Day Pads Serenity DriActive Plus Pads the Platonic Good mortars shelves of Butterfinger Snickers PayDay Junior Mints Huggy Bears Starburst Mounds Rolo Kitkat Krunch searching the aisles for humanitarian seasonings & mustard sauce for a complimentary shoe shine for a $2 off any car wash the ministries are crackling with longevity strategies Redbook's What Men Crave More Than Sex newscaster teeth reversible as winter coats are having a special white & gleamy smooth & smiley Summer is Here! Show off your skimpiest summer styles in your new body! a nation selling symmetricals 99 cents 99 thanks the news as neatly stacked edibles the Odyssey was an oral methodology for instruction Socrates & I stroll past the Orange Glo Orange Clean Ultra Palmolive Ultra Dish Ultra Dawn KABOOM COMET LYSOL discussing the Good & the idea of the Good while being offered FAST RELIEF from Pain Itching Inflammation we are closer to the Good & the idea of the Good we are below the radar of tyrannical dollars & drachmas currency the initial dentition the dentary bone of the lower jaw that defines us as mammals we glory in the bustle & leisure of this Agora wrapped in grave matters massaging truth into existence to be less than a dollar is to be worth more we debate this as we discuss the Phaedrus & the proposition that the soul is self-mobilising & it is the souls progress round the whole compass of the heavens that maintains the universal order of things Socrates halts & grabs a Quality Acne Treatment Cream & drops it in his cart to join the toilet paper the paper towels the toothpaste & the ketchup we round the aisle addressing Timaeus' claim that no rational "mean" can be inserted between two integers when each is the product of three prime factors and no more Socrates' knees buckle forward he has been pummeled from behind by a cart manned by an old bent lady with a zebra head with a rubber tipped telescopic cane poking out of the front of the cart that's jabbing Socrates in the back the "mean" recedes from our discussion Socrates shape-shifts into a rainbowed serpent & slithers off between a bank of Detergent boxes I am integer & atom I am the Sieve of Eratosthenes searching for prime I am Cowboy wrangling dustbins & brooms Crystal Geysers & boomboxes along with John Olson I want to know the anatomy of grocery carts where grocery carts are produced is there a city known for its production of grocery carts is there a Detroit of grocery carts is the grocery cart conversely considering me an evolutionary newcomer arguing that its elemental matter preceded my elemental matter & I am a mere designate to exercise them on daily strolls as if they were exquisitely expensive race horses is the 99 cent store a form of tectonic plate raising Himalayas of Mars Bars & Listerine an unstoppable recreation of landscape the earth at the mercy of bargain I am robust & stalwart in my quest committed to troweling these merchandise-troughs picking Truth after Truth off the shelf *Notes: `Socrates halts & grabs a Quality Acne Treatment Cream' is a characterization of Socrates that obviously employs poetic license as ancient scholarship informs us that Socrates' often slovenly appearance denoted a distinct disinterest in "well-grooming", that he was frequently non-punctual and in general, wore the manner of a man consumed by abstract thought. For a satiric view of Socrates in this mode see Aristophanes' The Frogs. `Sieve of Eratosthenes' = "a method of finding prime numbers. To find all the prime numbers less than a given number n, one first goes through all the numbers from 2 to n removing all those that are multiples of 2. Then all those after 3 are removed. One proceeds in this way with all the numbers less than or equal to the square root of n. Only prime numbers will remain." `John Olson...' For amplification on the mythos of grocery carts see John Olson's poem "The Mystery of Grocery Carts" from his book FREE STREAM VELOCITY (Black Square Editions, New York, 2003, p.25)
Editors note: CANTO FOR SIX STRING GUITAR first appeared in HUNGER MAGAZINE issue #12 of 2005. All other poems (including CANTO FOR SIX STRING GUITAR) except for SOURING THE SUBURBAN CONTINGENCY FIELDS and THE ROAD TO LOST ROAD are from the recently published ToxiCity: Poems of the Coconut Vulva from Howling Dog Press. Please see www.howlingdogpress.com/toxicity.htm for more information.
David Sparenberg SOUL GOING UNDER ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Cover your heads and mock not flesh and blood..."* Black death black waters black apocalyptic winds black night and the nightmare descending onto the stricken soul over this nocturnal land Black men, black women black youth and black elders black babies abandoned and awash in the sea of neglect Black history black truth black agony Black mud from flesh plague-stricken ooze, a pestilence of relentless slavery in the human soup, inhuman soup of drowning death And the tempest rising over the stricken soul of this third world country We will not forget nor can we escape generation by generation the shame of this cursed hypocrasy of race and poverty For we are here soaked to our bones our skins the same, storm-wrinkled naked and going down in the darkness of America "Cover your heads and mock not flesh and blood"* 14 September 2005
THE VELVET RAPTURE OF SEPTEMBER ROSES ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ In all of the canals of Venice Beside the Seine In the city of eternal Paris Where the Rhine flows Slow and quietly Along the misty banks Of River Boyne Or London's great lassitude of Thames Evening gathers and Life is late. Your face across The twilights smiling And my heart in kisses Flowing always Like the velvet rapture Of September roses; I let fall and float Forever away and forever toward The image of you. Moons will rise Above far distant waters; A shadow fade Into webs of shadows. And love's nature Will be revealed Through memories that Reach soft as dream-drops and Sometimes silent To touch the breathing Tapestry of ageless beauty Spindled-woven Out of earth and heaven. Because I am a solitary man I will not last As rivers do; but pass. Yet here, in this moment Tender and suffering As it is crushed I have all that I have. And release a prayer in praise To all. Mostly Pouring out to you. And now, my lady, my poem My garden flower Even as clouds blow beyond And the autumn leaves of Great cities rustle through The aching souls of Forlorn strangers I fashion lamentation As sorrow's song And give up the template of joy Into the blessed Vault of sky. Life is more than I am. Now and now My silken cat, my dove I gather blackness about me. The hour chimes. I shiver and The rivers turn and wander Far from the frost and velvet Of my reluctant touch. What words remain to whisper? Time. It is time, sweetheart, To say good-bye. 9 August 2005
SHAPE OF A SPANISH GUITAR ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ On the balcony of love where night is lounging a Spanish guitar pours out his heart to the summer moon Heels of flamenco fall like patterns of heavy rain; heat rises up from the boulevard In the little kiss of wind and darkness the black haired beauty of a gypsy smiles, seducing his soul Blood is hot then cool, then hot again And the Spanish guitar is losing his mind The moon sails away on a river perfumed by sky and roses And he cries, Woman the deep song and your eyes are drowning me in loneliness Give me your life- saving lips to kiss! The Spanish guitar now imagines himself naked before the wild bull of passion: love and death toss angels in the air Confounded by all this ecstasy a man plays until his labor bursts into flame Sweet Madonna daughter of God's erotic secrets is it true true that night was created to embrace the shape of a Spanish guitar? In the maelstrom of love the fiery black lace of womanhood dances the red fruit of her Eden And the Spanish guitar is weeping his blood Inevitably night turns toward midnight and his fingers like candles burn down the church of desire Is it true, true then that night was made for the sake of the shape of a Spanish guitar White dove of dawn could replace thorns of this passion But sleep is a stranger; madness is music, and haunting a shadow in the shape -- of a Spanish guitar. 5 September 2005
INDIAN SPIRIT ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ There was a time when the wind of the desert blew in my heart and my name then was in the form of a rainbow. My other shape was the red hawk. And my shadow had wings over the red rocks of whispering canyons; over grass and knotty pines. But evil came in the breath of men and the green smile deserted the land. Since that time the wind does not change the life of those who love it. And my other shape is an owl in the night when the moon is fallen. No one speaks of this loneliness: me least of all. But the feeling does not leave. The earth, even before Spring, is silent in my heart. Yes she shudders in the throes of unshed tears. Who can tell me why there is this sadness on the land of the sun?
CIRCLE OF CREATION ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 4 directions sacred wind speak with me speak out of your heart out of buffalo dreams 4 directions sacred wind speak from me speak out of my heart circle of a drum i yearn to walk the red path the way of beauty the way to becoming a full human being surrounded by sacredness in every direction mountain wind eagle wing move to where the sun is spreading the song of light that I may go in balance honoring all my relations hear me when i cry in the holy language of the Lakota people mitakuye oyasin for life in every direction even as tunkasila grandfather spirit made it to be 4 directions sacred wind welcome me into your breath i dance now facing the sun: circle of creation 30 June 2005
SUN PATH ~~~~~~~~ When the Great Spirit wanted to see me, Spirit looked with the eyes of the eagle. And there was no place to hide. When the Great Spirit wanted to call me by my name, Spirit spoke in the plaintive cry of the circling hawk. And deafness was driven from earth and from sky. When the Great Spirit wanted to test me, Spirit drummed in the wind through the hoop of my heart. And ignorance was no longer possible. Blood is a river. And dawn ponys over this pulse of bright water. When the Great Spirit wanted to feel me, Spirit wove the warm blanket that colors the land. And I walked with the Ancient in the path of the sun. 26 May 2005
Lynn Strongin WE CARRY OUR LOSS FORWARD ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ lyric narrative unwritten like cornhusk dolls from childhood when out of sheer bliss we traveled in circles the yard in the blue dress unsheathing of the wind beneath our bedroom with the white fourposter cryptic, carved, forbearing, before the desolate, the eloquent words were penned.
What Keeps Me in the Wheelchair? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Desire to become fire to climb the tree each polished rung: hedges to open my throat & heart as if by knives to the wind to survive arrive At the end, arrive at a petal black morning: ebony a wet noon rich followed my nightfall inkblack which drives one skyward thru storm clouds like a dream run backward from the burn: reversed zigzag lightning.
Apple-Bobbing ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Lo robber the core is white wood, I would be good but find An old woman who has been raped is selling lemons in the market. Old horse old dobbin silk spun on a bobbin fly away robin. Hope, starting from a railway platform waving back if not at a lover in black gloves & long coat-- at whom? They're baffled baffined in fire We don't know how to leave properly to say goodbye; Young girls, orgasm shimmering in thighs lips like cherrybloom in Russian spring. How can they be Core-calm? cored in this asylum paradise taunting at the end of the tunnel & outcast by disability apple-boning.
Physicians in White (lab jacket cut out of clouds) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Imagine: winters flat as Poland, Physicians rounding in blinding light: At diagnosis of leukemia turning red: blood-iron coats blown open at breast & throat handsome arm-in-arm in Europe where men still kiss. Imagine doctors in Cobalt coats blue for radiation. Imagine physician in black black like carbon embers. But in the main they are stark One turns to them up against death. A Capella voices of childhood floating in: Alone alein singing for one's life: Hundreds of kilometres East of Berlin in Lodz, Kracow anti-Semitic from the dawn of time. Yelka is tied at the stake screaming hear her voice but not recognizing it: Listening for temple bells which have all been melted into guns. Placed far from the fuel it will take her a long time to burn. Doll's Hair Catches Fire in First Morning fresh butter yellow Alice with bangs: copper knob Poille de carotte. Way to go hospitalized twelve-year-olds we took our color from the walls: We took our color from our fevers: that metal cart with thermometers. When we went bald, we wept like Mary: one by one, planes peeling off from a doll heaven lights rimming the body going on glowsticks, blue neon. our heads shone anointed like saints at the revelation. We took our color from death & threw it back to him.
Marie Rennard Fall up ~~~~~~~ The leaves were fainting And the wind was carrying them on his flows Painting the air orange-yellow, Smelling wet. I was heating my back To the warm cracky song of a red chimney fire. I could feel, all along my throat, The hoarse sugar of golden wine And the flames were playing on the curves of crystal Sensual, feminine. Smooth faraway voices were whispering a tale Of never ending stars sparkling in a cold sky I felt calm and allayed I could hear without fear to the clock Hidden in the shadow Strike a tic strike a tac, Telling me That days that were coming Would sing for us the song Of the times of sorrow.
I'll sleep in a flower of sand ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I'll sleep in a flower of sand Golden, came from the sun I'll hear the violin of the deep inner peace Continuous and sensual And caressing my skin without telling a lie I'll sleep in a whirl of water Damp, sweet and swarm deep blue I'll hear the song of words Singing nonsense so beautiful Irregular To dive I deep drowned To live I felt left To smile I heart hurt I'll sleep in a feather mattress So insidiously soft Smelling half a cent of sugar And ninety hell Pure scent. I'll sleep just in between the time In a fourth position Strictly ranking after the first three ones Standing, falling or lying on the ground Generally face down Or up There's no rule but of exception I'll sleep With all the weight on the pillow Of old and ancient dreams One thousand and one nights Coming out through ages Till it's time to wake up.
Black Home ~~~~~~~~~~ I'd like to spell one day On the curved lines of a rainbow Unsteady half vanishing words, Evanescent and coloured thoughts. Paint an idea of chaos The waves of hearts The stabs of souls Here staggering and here hollow, Melting stratums above, below. Try to draw in between the lines Complete forests of oaks and pines To hide behind the scents of leaves The foul smelling of death lurking Prowling creeping and arising In tight circles around the throats When rainbows slide back to chaos.
Imagine Morocco ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I'm too old now to fartravel I will never know Morocco. But the real things are in my mind I still ever can imagine. The melting pot of scents In the deep reds of dying sun The dark and white shadows of those men Who shelter the secrets of their eyes In the mighty sands of deserts. The small boy Fallen from his minor planet And the lines of asses Offered to the voices promising paradise.
Picnic by the moon. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ We'll need a knife And fresh bread still smelling the cook And a hammer To get rid of ants And we'll need golden wine Dancing in fragile round glasses To give an echo to the moon We'll need a snake Whistling in the bush nearby To remember of death creeping And enjoy each drop of the wine Rushing through our veins alive We'll need a tube of green toothpaste To paint out blue red tiny birds A tiny spoon and a spyglass To throw peas at daring Martians And wine again.


Sean Howard


exit 13, 
handcrafts'; ghosts 
in the window, 
cars pass-


DAWN & SUNRISE (WINTER WAKE, CAPE BRETON) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ slow snow, the white build- ing, light- ing up the sky *** village buried, day approach- ing, throw- ing roses on the snow
DOUBLE SETTING (WINDOW FLOWERS, FOR LAN) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ dy- ing tulips, sun melt- ing, pur- ple into gold *** light fail- ing, crimson glow, dried blood in the sky
YARDSALE (SPRING CLEARANCE) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ go- ing fast, crows sort- ing, ice dia- monds in the grass
MASS FOR SHUT-INS (SUNDAY READING) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ child- ren's voices, sun through cloud, stream- ing in the room
THE SEA (PRAYER FOR NANA) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ all the dead, mother- tongue, murmurs on the shore


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