YGDRASIL: A Journal of the Poetic Arts

March 1999

Editor: Klaus J. Gerken
Production Editor: Pedro Sena
European Editor: Moshe Benarroch
Contributing Editors: Martin Zurla; Rita Stilli; Milan Georges Djordjevitch; Michael Collings

ISSN 1480-6401




         Ode to Buah-Buah Sentul
         The Flower Carrier
	 Picture OF Natasha Gellman
	 Back of A Seated Nude
	 The House on Rohns
	 The Touch Of Vishnu
         The Raven of Winter
         The Autumn Shiver
         No Contact
         Practicing with fire
         The Cat in the Swing
         The Brush of Angel's Wings
         The Pact
         Love's Requiem
         A Life Well Lived
      DONALD (Miles) MEILI
         The Dead of Trees
         For Love and William Burroughs 
         LOL:Laughing Out Loud
         Striptease D'Orsay 2
         Listen To My Memories


         It Is


   ROBERT BROWNING (1812-1889)
   A Poem In Twelve Books
   Stop playing, poet! may a brother speak?
   'Tis you speak, that's your error.  Song's our art;
   Whereas you please to speak these naked thoughts
   Instead of draping them in sighs and sounds.
   --True thoughts, good thoughts, thoughts fit to treasure up!
   But why such long prolusion and display,
   Such turning and adjustment of the harp,
   And taking it upon your breast at length,
   Only to speak dry words across its strings?
   Stark-naked thought is in request enough--
   Speak prose and holloa it till Europe hears!
   The six-foot Swiss tube, braced about with bark,
   Which helps the hunter's voice from Alp to Alp--
   Exchange our harp for that,--who hinders you?
      But here's your fault; grown men want thought, you think;
   Thought's what they mean by verse, and seek in verse:
   Boys seek for images and melody,
   Men must have reason--so you aim at men.
   Quite otherwise!  Objects throng our youth, 'tis true,
   We see and hear and do not wonder much.
   If you could tell us what they mean, indeed!
   As Swedish Boehme never cared for plants
   Until it happed, a-walking in the fields,
   He noticed all at once that plants could speak,
   Nay, turned with loosened tongue to talk with him.
   That day the daisy had an eye indeed--
   Colloquised with the cowslip on such themes!
   We find them extant yet in Jacob's prose.
   But by the time youth slips a stage or two
   While reading prose in that tough book he wrote,
   (Collating, and emendating the same
   And settling on the sense most of our mind)
   We shut the clasps and find life's summer past.
   Then, who helps more, pray, to repair our loss--
   Another Boehme with a tougher book
   And subtler meanings of what roses say,--
   Or some stout Mage like him of Halderstadt,
   John, who made things Boehme wrote thoughts about?
   He with a "look you!" vents a brace of rhymes,
   And in there breaks the sudden rose herself,
   Over us, under, round us every side,
   Nay, in and out the tables and the chairs
   And musty volumes, Boehme's book and all,--
   Buries us with a glory, young once more,
   Pouring heaven into this shut house of life.
      So come, the harp back to your heart again!
   You are a poem, though your poem's naught.
   The best of all you did before, believe,
   Was your own boy's-face o'er the finer chords
   Bent, following the cherub at the top
   That points to God with his paired half-moon wings.

   Ode to Buah-Buah Sentul
   Buah-buah sayang lekar sentul on the lane
   Evergreens mushroom and leaves rustle on the plain
   Some leaves show pure plain grace and turn towards flying plane
   Otehr leaves display maple dress so as to look away from pain
   Buah-buah sayang hey sentul on the feast
   The gripping summer scotches road of round thick firm rind
   Leaves cast their drastic sheds in response to cool season
   Buah-buah sayang lekar sentul in northeast
   The gentle monsoon halts its hollowing rain and wind
   Let hearts silence, retrace clashes of pan pads and reason.
   Buah-buah sayang hey sentul sayang hey
   Strolling along plain of pan pads in sun rays
   Trying to find desired fruits of makanan hey
   When strawberry, buah salak and cranberry are not dismay
   The gentle summer almost in closet by clouds in a ring
   Protons pass by like me trying to glance at summer grace
   Looking to the harvest when sourness is turned into sweetness ole
   Different hues turn into different moods for sendu's sling
   Rustle in the wind are maple sheds of sleepiness' pace
   Buah-buah sayang hey sentul sayang ole.
   Note: The above poem is a classical ode rendered in Singapore English 
   dialect (a combination of words derived from various dialects and 
   languages). Buah-buah sentul (plural noun of buah sentul) are golden 
   yellow/ pinkish edible fruits originated from Malaysia. With sweet and 
   sour varieties, their flesh made into jam is  a popular choice among 
   Singapore Malay community shoppers at wet markets. Colourful trees of 
   Buah-buah sentul are located along 36 Jalan Lekar (meaning the Road of 
   the Pan Pad) at Sungei Tengah Agrotechnology Park, Singapore. Buah salak 
   is a scaly-brownish edible fruit from Indonesia. Both fruits are rich in 
   Vitamins A and C. Sendu is Hokkien for fridge. Makanan means food in 

DOUG TANOURY The Flower Carrier ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ In Rivera's painting of a flower carrier A man struggles with a burden of a Basket of blossoms and he seems small And unable to stand Under its weight A woman helping is large like the burden Tied to his back and accentuates his weakness As he crawls with knees and walks with hands In a pose that is Christ beneath His cross In the stark angles of a prone figure trying to rise Verticals Of arms balance the horizontals of legs And a tilted torso compliments the diagonal Of the blanket that binds the basket to his back
DOUG TANOURY Picture Of Natasha Gellman ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ In Rivera's portrait a woman in white Reclines on a sofa the slit in her dress Opens like a lily and her legs Extend like the pistil from a blossom Calla lilies in the background seem to Follow her form in flower and mirror The soft horizontal angle of legs The slight vertical attitude of torso And one who looks on her is left wondering if she is a mere reflection of the lilies Or if the stems and blossoms are just a sort of shadow that she alone can cast
DOUG TANOURY Back Of A Seated Nude ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ In Rivera's nude there is no trace of softness And no hint of the sensual but only a certain Hardness that is withdrawal and a coldness That is retreat in a pose completely closed And one who looks at her feels this must be The woman formed in clay before God's breath Or it is Eve repentant in shame after tasting Forbidden fruit and feeding it to man The sharp line of her spine curves upward Her head is bowed downward and She is a flower closed and unopened with Petals folded tightly and hidden in a bud
DOUG TANOURY The House on Rohns ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I return to the house on Rohns In my dreams and find that it Surrounds a garden courtyard that was Never there in waking but that somehow In my dream memories always was Looking southward on bright sunlight Shining on grass long and lush I stand At a window that was never there But exists only in the temporal soupiness Of a dreamer's homecoming She stands with me looking at it And on waking I tell her so She pulls the door to enter But only I know the idiosyncratic Push and pull movements that open dream doors And I lead holding her hand Into the sunlight bright on us and the Grass that whispers somewhere between Knee and ankle as we walk surrounded by the Weathered red brickwork of a dream
DOUG TANOURY The Touch Of Vishnu ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ At night we touch With a host of hands And hold with many arms Like Hindu deities Each kiss a metallic peel As a bronze striker Meets a brass bell And sound is reborn In the temple silence I venerate her Like a holy relic The tooth of Buddha A femur of St. John Enshrined in night Laying Naked like the Jain Twirling like two dervish Arms snaking From our torsos In celebration of Bodies enlightened Flesh reborn And miracles Performed by Simple touch
LLOYD MICHAEL LOHR The Raven of Winter ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Raven or crow did caw, In the wood I hear your mordant screech, You stand upon the fertile loam of earth that is my resting place, Raven or crow did caw, A cloak of sable feathers, the hues of midnight black and cobalt blue, Elusive, your movements stir, as if twilight and shadow were your own dominion, Perched upon a rowan, oak or hazel tree, As you slumber, the early morning dew settles upon your wings, Under a gentle cloak of mist, you sense the coming of the Winter shiver, Until the rising sun's warming rays begin to dance upon the water, All I ask is to rejoice upon the arrival of another Summer season, Could you not wait another day to call my name?
LLOYD MICHAEL LOHR The Autumn Shiver ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ On the eve of Winter's encroaching shadow, the sounds of weeping echo across the now barren fields and former verdant forests, tears fall like dying leaves, cascading through the air to the resonance of a decidedly different tranquillity. The ominous torrent of death's release is the promise foretold in winter's whispers, summer has perished in the cold wind of nightfall, and my eyes gaze a solemn stare of contentment, on the passing of yet another reckoning day. A certain knowledge has been passed downward since the days of remote antiquity, that one day the shadowed vale that is this life, shall fall, and the truth then will be revealed, yet can we bare the weight of knowing? The adumbration of this harbinger caresses the pale, gray skies of our inner dominion, and the Snow Shaman weaves the death robe tapestry, for like the summer season, our journey in this mortal realm is done. The frost on the trees of the mountain forest glistens with a radiant shimmer, as the snow falls softly to the ground. As Cailleach begins to caress the mountains with Her winter winds, and all that was grew silent in remembrance.
LYNETTE HALL Click ~~~~~ Click hi we're not home right now so leave a message and we'll ignore that too Beeeeep... slide the needle in the vein pop the downer in the mouth snort the candy up your nose toke the wild mild weed smoke the slow death plant push the button for the tube tilt back your head and take a swallow play the doctor for a fool put the coin in the plate wack the ball another score pump the abs just 10 more give yourself the perfect O dance with music on the floor lean back relax and take a wallow join the shrouded misty dream swim in rose petal comfort scented sweet as smoooth toffee reality slipping through you butter and a knife spread life thick let's drift south to sandy beaches on a springfed river bake our bodies brown and smooth and warm as hard toffee then enter the coolness of dixie's mouth and seamlessly dissolve. don't worry ... I'm sorry nobody's home I'm sorry nobody's home I'm sorry ....the machine will get it. July 22 98
LYNETTE HALL No Contact ~~~~~~~~~~ eight by ten four steps five steps four steps five steps circular motion in this room squared food comes soon Wish I had a chain to rattle a bar to beat on this sterile monkey's cage Another line on my arm two more lines and I will go for exercise i think twenty paces twenty paces twenty paces twenty paces look up for sky it's not there only more fluorescent I wonder how long I have lived here in this false light July 1998
LYNETTE HALL Practicing with fire ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The citronella candle has good flame for burning pine needles My young son testifies I like to burn stuff mommy I like to burn I like to burn... --I like the way it smells-- says my somewhat older daughter as the fire dies along a curved line turning the needle to incense sunglow of flame dance of fire down to cigarette glow becoming scent of deep forests in gathering dusk our eyes bright June 1997
WILL CLARK The Cat in the Swing ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Oh Sweet Discourse of Love's Reply Recklessly at times, she wrestles The demon inside, confounded By its Majesty Tapping toe and making-love Oh Gentle stirrings of the Swing Rhythm repeat rhythm repeat Joyous passions flow Released into the sky she sits While exploring labored breath, she Fogs his helmet's masque in time with The Conviction of her Joys.. And Passions My Palms derriered her bold moves Enfolding an invisibly sculpted figure In the making, Glazed with Saucy Sounds This Vertical Iris creature Moves to Left and Right. Its Horizontal Vigil reveals in surges The Certain Cat in her and Will only embrace direct engagement And skirt the vertical Ups and Downs Of the Swing in Gesticulation Oh Sweet Discourse of Love's Reply
WILL CLARK The Brush of Angel's Wings ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Space is important to angels So when two of them brush wings, it is very important The sound of the ruffling of my feathers is a Monument in the Canyon of my Seasons A rhapsody of flutters Sends-me-over-the-edge I am flying but my heart's rhythms have been interrupted And I realize my flight's decline by the growing proximity of the ground and my ascent is measured in your kind and lovely sharing From a distance.
TONY BARCA The Pact ~~~~~~~~ (To Nick) Caught by the soft green waves of the sea Color of gems glimmer within your black lashed eyes It is a lion I see, a large gentle head bent upon my lap Breathing in my female scent. You growl, your mouth plunders, to taste the pages of poems left scattered between my thighs. It is the frenzy of your feeding that arc's my back. It is your strong, square hands that hold me up creating columns. I see nothing but the wide expense of you shoulders, as you eclipse the sun. Cementing a pact with the joining of our limbs. It is you, my brother, once! Warriors we, that claims me as a woman now. I sink without fear into the vortex of forgetfulness. I see the sails of my passions billow to grab the wild winds of eternity. Your breath resuscitates me and I return. Your head upon my lap, inhaling the scent of my seafaring dreams.
TONY BARCA Live,Leave,Live ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Why can't I just leave Live Leave Live Go Leap Fuck! Just go... Ahhhh, to be male, to love men and to be one=85.What freedom I would cross deserts, smuggle Buddhist scrolls into Christian homes The Koran would cross Egypt to land in Rome. Bullets would be strung like rosary beads and sent to China. Let them meditate on what they have done. I would steal Tibet from them and land it in central Africa.. It could be safe there. Madness would become my muse, and wrapped within this cloak I would walk the dark forests of men's evil. I would step into the tent and sit within the womb To see all images as they unrolled the *Akashic records upon my feet. Insania would cradle me and hush my cries away. I would find firm footing upon the precipice I could leap into space and find firm footing. * Akashic: Sanskrit word to describe the records of Human beings from beginning to eternity. A library that holds every word, every thought and every act.
TONY BARCA Love's Requiem ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I stand beneath the golden showers of your malcontent My flame flickers in your arms. I disappear, hiding my tongue within the annals of your voracious indignence It is easy to step away, to watch you dissolve beneath the hot lamp of mediocrity. I lift away I find another lover I sink my teeth into the throat of promise. I drink their dreams I eat their sex, the fruit of knowledge You never could give me knowledge
TONY BARCA A Life Well Lived ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ But what makes life worth living? Could it be the ancient myths of purple passions that speak to us? Our bygone unconsciousness The memory of battles well fought Of death well done Of women and men well loved How can commuting The act to place myself upon slaves' door to toil For others, for causes that have no causes, create contentment? How can I be expected to read Olympian words from the great poets and then supplicate my freedom upon the guillotine? Where is the simplicity of wheat fields, of eating pears sitting on the fruit bearer? Of sleeping on the moss covered floor of a forest. My memories are full of what I was and what I can become.. I am feed by the promise of those veiled sunsets that once breathed fire into my lungs I cannot see the abyss ,a black hole that sinks into an eternity of what is. How can anyone know what a well-lived life is? Who has lived one? For him who has let him cast the first stone. Pummel me with the force of your victory. I wander the desert of uncertainty seeking the solace of an Oasis that may never be. Where is the one whose life has been well lived? I need to hear your voice. Speak for I am weary My mind wants to slip into the cement sidewalk to spill out into the sewer far out into the sea. Speak I need to hear your voice. Come to me, hold my heart in your hands it weeps from the knowing of what I can no longer do with a full conscience.
TONY BARCA Blasphemer ~~~~~~~~~~ You have blasphemed yourself Every time you bow your head to the subjugating desires of men You must let the howls of Arab women roam through your soul Let it erupt from your lips onto the world stage. Wings, angelic? Nay Angels don't bleed You are more than all can be contained in a universe and yet you kneel to the whim of a populace that knows only what it is told. The image of God ? Why, you soil the very creation of memory. War against the easy slip of your mind draining like a clock melting beneath the hot sun of time. The hawk is no more, the sphinx is sinking beneath the burning heat of a forgotten age.. Mystic soul come into your own--The battle is this-- No matter how good you are it all ends In the end you only have yourself to blame.. No one asked you to lay down your arms, no one told you to turn tail. You allowed your fear of exile to castrate your passions.
TONY BARCA Sacrilege ~~~~~~~~~ Sacrilege was all they said That I spoke as a woman with a man's heart That I admitted to the idea that God is both man and woman That even Sappho saw God through the eyes of many people represented as their own race. That I felt that sex is like breath And the breath of winds are lovers teasing my skin That God made the world in 6 days Fucked Eve on the 7th and then created Adam Because once you've had a woman you may want to taste a man That nudity is not sex That lies are those perpetrated by 1500 years of monasteries and abbeys where they balled each other and buried the fruits of their sin-- Fetus's strewned ,like crystal bones in the catacombs of Christ That Constantine was a son of a bitch when he censored Jesus' words to use the religion to subjugate the masses That great warriors of the Roman and Greek campaigns fought together and lived as lovers. That women have been men and men have been women. That souls cross all dimensions and that we will know only what we can digest That God is truth and fair and honorable and that they have bastardized his son's death. That I am a soul trapped in a body caught like a butterfly in a spider's web. That men are judged and ridiculed for the color of their skin and not by the content of their character Because Egyptians knew that one day racism would exist having spoken to the Greeks who stole their truths and claimed them as their own. Because Pushkin was proud, Because Hemingway knew Because Rimbaud danced Because the crucifix was used to pierce my maidenhead when I was but a babe They wear robes, the bloodstains are held by fibers of the million souls tortured under the benediction of the crusades and their church. I am a temple You are a temple. No one has a right to speak to God for us. God is the flame that holds us each and everyone. Sacrilege is what they have done with his teachings Thank god for Kahlil Gibran he was the only one who really heard the words.
DONALD (Miles) MEILI The Dead of Trees ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The hungry wind pursues the dead down Brock Street In thousands and tens of thousands they run They slow and surge again until cornered by curbs or cars or pumpkins The vibrant colours of their dying fellows have left their faces And their death rattles go unheeded by stern hydrants But a black and orange cat cries for them Or food She did not say which They cut themselves to pieces and fall to earth between blades of grass And wait for resurrection in vertical veins Or they will be gathered for their own funeral pyres And fill the cooling blue sky with clouds of heat
MICHAEL ROTHENBERG Horoscope ~~~~~~~~~ Yesterday Veteran's day, post office closed, school's out. Now back to business Suddenly wishes come true, people in high places contact me, seek my counsel and company What was rejected now enthusiastically accepted Scar on knuckle aches, gray skies headline Weather Channel Florida to California. What appeared to be confusion will actually serve my purposes. Let others think I'm striving to make sense. Then surprise with array of ideas, concepts Compositions. Sagittarius involved. Licking butter and jam from thumb, toasted sesame seed bagel breakfast Powerful person announces they will support my efforts, I'm worth it. Organize priorities arrange research program. Love relationship torrid I dreamed she wouldn't let me touch her arms sore with fresh flames of red tattoo Be up to date concerning world events, fashion Missing person is among high and mighty Alcoholic bruises, hog-tied, butchered kidnappings. Theater of rape Focus on real estate, decisions involving sale or purchase of property. Relationship that went off-track will be back Security walks through gate to sit behind closed circuit T. V, flickering & swiveling Focus on music, diplomacy, domestic adjustment Possible change of residence. Blend of Uranus- Venus adds up to unorthodox romance Maybe something she knew, now broken loose to somewhere beyond redundancy Break free from tradition, obligation not really my own. Record dreams, get thoughts on paper. I am going places, romantic involvement featured Hurricane gales goosestep Mexican Gulf, torture saw grass skies Land deal or real estate dominates-my business acumen is tested, not found wanting. Individual relates secret is sincere. Capricorn involved Is that December? Where am I? Coins roll across floor. "I'm here!" I shout in my head Some people accuse me of trying to horn in where I don't belong. Reply: "I belong everywhere because I am who I am" Towers climb. Helicopters twitch & fly. Medea calls on line 2, whispers, "Sell."
MICHAEL ROTHENBERG For Love and William Burroughs ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1. I refuse to fixate on your naked collarbone translucent eyes, seize your cool fine fingers in my mind Can't hold you now, ready to go to LA flight an hour late, thunderstorms in Cincinnati Can't take you into my mouth. Spray of orchids, purple then yellow, boxed for a friend They'll be asleep when I arrive. Just a face in a crowd, no high drama trails me as I trace your face, mouth back to mine this morning sipping coffee before work with you picking at the cap of a fresh baked pumpkin muffin I refuse to fixate while the man seated beside me absorbed in headphones anticipates. They're absorbed in conversation like the old days. I hear William Burroughs died, up to my neck in elegies Lately. Or rehearse another fragrance of your tiny spine. It's time now to go forward from this place Or graze upon western lands for your possession Rewrite a history, and how we met. Or mourn a heroes lifetime of addiction, cut or paste Ill-prepared to sustain a relationship. Or the buoyant brightness of your bearing. Ice melts in a cup while I wait for the plane. Or need to deceive myself with intelligent plans when love comes around. You've achieved my respect with instructions to land. Or make plans for falling back on plans Your breath. A bowl of dried persimmons. Or slow dance a scratchy tune underneath a bruised clock When I have to go you can't want me to stay It wouldn't be right. When I want to come you can't run away. William Burroughs hooks his cane on the back of a chair and growls prose. The flight delayed 2. Stone against the mirror breaks the better half of time Hour by faith escapes to complicate a slow decline Traffic down coast highway blows until there are no waves Then morning Sunday mowers come to peck at yesterdays Summer lawns, summer sands in sandals, blue jeans torn Look at the weather, it used to better, it's not home anymore 3. And every word that wants to give itself up Is a price and generosity, red peppers, cucumbers Cherries and mint, pinched to life between thin fingers, held under my breath, then half an inch of sugar dissolves at the hot bottom of smoking tea at the medina, there my brother raises a long stem of intoxication to his lips, hey later I board the same boat back to Spain, they wanted to cut my hair but I complained, instead headed up bouldered mountainside of that sad catholic country with a shapely Swedish freethinker who swore like a sailor as she slipped into an emotional French bikini Watermelon, beer in tow, I nearly died of passion carrying the pale weight and surprise of romance
MICHAEL ROTHENBERG LOL: Laughing Out Loud ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Cyberspace Home of the shy and the brave! Dancers, romancers... Tapping out mind in space Time, a jar of ashes Sign on... Enter Password... Dialing.... Connecting at 2400bps.... My heart races And what if she has a moustache? PERSONAL PROFILE Screen Name: BLUE Name: Michael Marital Status: Married Birth Date: 2/17/51 Computer: Toshiba laptop 4400SX Occupation: writer, artist consultant Hobbies: poetry, music, flowers Favorite Quote: I'm still writing it.... Go to People Connection Chat Room Over 40 Room is full, would you like to go to another room like this? Click Yes Over 40 Room 17 BLUE: Hi, everyone Cherub: Hi, Blue HanDrk: Hey, Blue Search Personal Profile: Cherub PERSONAL PROFILE: CHERUB Screen Name: Cherub Real Name: Linda Marital Status:Married Occupation: Registered Nurse Computer type: Who cares Hobbies: Snorkeling, Reading, Cooking, Flirting Favorite Quote: Don't ask, just do it RenMoore: Where are you taking us, Blue? BLUE: Cherub, bet I'm a bigger flirt than you HanDrk: If he knew, he would be there already Cherub: Blue, put on your gloves, you got yourself a match HanDrk:$25 on Blue Cherub: LOL BLUE: What is LOL? HandDrk: Laughing Out Loud BLUE: Laughing out loud at what? HandDrk: LOL: Lauging out loud RenMoore: Main event. Blue and Cherub. Round one.....Ding Cherub: He approaches shyly, falls helplessly at my knees BLUE: I love being at your knees, Cherub, what I can do for you here? Cherub: LOL RenMoore: Round one goes to Cherub BLUE: I don't think you're paying attention, Moore Cherub: How's that, Blue? Not paying attention? BLUE: I won. I got your attention first, I engaged you Cherub: NO WAY HanDrk: Round Two...Ding Cherub: I take off my wings BLUE: I take off my gloves, touch your face with my hand Cherub: I set my wings down on the bed BLUE: I caress your halo Cherub: Ohhhh, baaaby RenMoore: Blue won round two Cherub: Blue, would you fasten these wings on for me, dear? BLUE: I fasten the wings on Cherub, kiss her neck Instant Message from Cherub: You're doing pretty good Instant Message reply from BLUE: I won, you sent first Instant Message Instant Message reply from Cherub: I know, you don't have to rub it in RenMoore: What hapenned to Blue and Cherub? HanDrk: Must be having private talk Instant Message from BLUE: You were wonderful, Cherub Instant Message reply from Cherub: So were you, Blue HanDrk: So who won? RenMoore: Is it over? BLUE: Cherub won Cherub: Blue won We create Private Room CherubWings Exchange real names Wander between Hello and The prospects of The Ultimate Moment Then Disconnect No Carrier.... Age: None of my business. Weight: What difference does it make? Height: I didn't come here to date Blonde New Hampshire female Green eyes, 31, 5'5", 135 pounds Apple cheeks, married, three children Hair: color, fine, coarse, wavy, straight, long, short, bald Eyes: color, round, almond, close, set far apart Skin: color, smooth, rough, pitted, facial hair Kentucky Woman, 41 Shoulder length gray hair Battered, drinks Jack Daniels neat Sings blues, works for IRS Hands: pudgy, slender, strong, fragile, long, fingernails Legs: thin, long, short, fat, thick Nose: short, long, bumpy, turned up, beaked Hail stones bounce off roof Ice pebbles flood the gutter Chicago under three feet of snow Clear skies on Mississippi coast Feet: small, narrow, wide, toes long or stubby Body: pear shaped, hour glass, thin, fat, muscular, wiry Waist: thin, thick, high waisted Illustrator named after her father Likes male nudes who paint Red sunsets, spanish moss Snorts, slaps leg when tickled Neck: skinny, short, fat Chin: small, sharp, square, round, receding, double Face: narrow, round, drawn, oval Cheekbones: high, none Mouth: wide, narrow Lips: full, thin Ohio, Amyjean, drunk in afternoon Vodka, orange juice One way to stop drinking, stay sober Slow, wry, married, shy Breasts: large, flat, firm, perky, small Buttocks: flat, wide, narrow, round, firm, high, low, dimpled Teeth: straight, crooked, white, protruded, over-bite, under-bite, yellow, false She describes room she lives in Compares herself to Cindi Crawford But how much gas does she keep in her car? Then she touches herself Back: wide, bony, strong, weak, straight, narrow Shoulders: round, straight, narrow Bones: heavy, fragile 5'4" 120# Shoulder length red hair with spiral perm Green eyes Men think she's sexy They say she looks like Jean Butler Glasses: wire, tortoise, black, red, hip, square, intelligent, near or far-sighted Make-up: none, heavy, slight, natural, unnatural, lipstick, mascara, rouge Jewelry: none, flashy, gold, silver, rings, necklaces, anklets There is only one kind of love Just varying degrees of intimacy Shoe: spike, medium, low heels, sneakers Dress: casual, preppie, high fashion, business And how do you move? Do you walk like a duck or take long strides? Walk with graceful assurance or in awkward reticence? Back straight or bent at the waist leaning into a storm? Time stood still, we moved Finger keys calculating sensitivities And when she finally reaches Across Time to find me She kicks me in the soul! BLUE: Human Seeking Assistance Aubrey: What kind of assistance? BLUE: I'm unemployed Aubrey: What have you got in mind? BLUE: Sell love and get crucified Aubrey: It's been done Anticipation of rendezvous Photograph sent through mail Rush to capture eternal present Download relationships Anonymous Newscaster C &W radio Chicago "Kept woman", 34, flirts, hides Sign off Sign on Coasting..... Encounter pack of females on hunt Corral this little red rooster Hacking.... Lone Ranger in free zone Cocktail parties, hot tub parties Barefoot Rhumba through Plato's Dialogues Seeking.... Cure for communication need Disconnect.... Outside squinting in bright sunlight Memory gives voice to silence Insatiable hunger in the garden I go inside Search chat rooms for lost opportunities Whose on? No one I know!!!! Billionaire's Room, BriteNFoxy finds me Man or Woman? 5'3", 127# Ash blonde brown hair, blue to green-gray eyes Honest, trustworthy seeks solemn and sad Wants to walk me through tall grass, see my eternal soul BLUE: Hi, room! Endura: Why so blue, Blue? BLUE: Roses are red, violets are blue, I must be a violet Endura: Violet Blue BLUE:Violet blue, pumped up and passionate Endura: On a moonlit beach BLUE: waves crash against the rocks a violet blue spray Endura: The bloom is off the rose Lofting... Romance a sickness! To find someone who loves you Lofting... You'd best articulate your desires They will be easier to achieve Now there's nothing but laughing out loud in the dark Laughing Out Loud, surrender dances in bloodshot eyes Laughing Out Loud at a cyber rose, @-----<-----<----- a dozen cyber roses Laughing Out Loud at a code, cyber conditions Laughing Out Loud at inventions, omissions, fantasy Laughing Out Loud at salvation, bridges of need Connecting at 2400 bps, my heart races Ever crossing-over, ever-desiring... Still listening, and laughing out loud Alone in my room, way past midnight... My life is laughing out loud!! Married an alcoholic, afraid Father beat her as a child Everyone says she talks too much Now she's trapped in a carpool Tell me Blue, have you any advice? Next time someone says you talk too much Tell them to go fuck themselves!!!! Lone Ranger of Cyberchat, fused to emotion, curiosity, keys Monthly fees mount because of need How can I tear myself from myself? Cherub: Tell me Blue, are you comfortable, where you want to be in life? BLUE: There is no comfort, there is no place I know of! Cherub: Blue, you leave me speechless... Writer from New York hides between lines Seeks identity clinging to the blind Shops, then after late brunch logs on Kisses Cyberman Kisses the scar on a lonely young man who can't cry Offers advice, then hides behind the cyber device Lady Jean, Lady Jean, I confess to you, you are alone Laughing Out Loud at this kick in the soul! lol llllllllooollllllll lllllllllllllllllllllllllolllllllllllllllllllllll LOL Laughing Out Loud, tears fall through dark mirrors... Laughing Out Loud, tears fall through perception... Laughing Out Loud, tears fall through confession... Laughing Out Loud, tears fall through deception... Laughing Out Loud, tears fall through compression... "Laugh and the world laughs with you, cry and you cry alone" Laughing Out Loud, the only way I know how to cry Forgive me, I don't mean to discount your life with laughter Laughter, the only way I know out of pain For so many tears, money paved for years that drain Laughing Out Loud, you could be crying too I never meant to hurt anyone, I just didn't want to be alone
MICHAEL ROTHENBERG Striptease D'Orsay 2 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ for Nancy Bought a ticket to Musee D'Orsay And upon entering was humbled By stone white polar bear Wild angel of death Coaxing man to inevitable west While woman weeps clinging to Invisible flesh of his Trailing memory. Petite bronze Ballet dancer in linen skirt Bloody siege of Paris Lean young David with foot On gargantuan head of Goliath Big Balzac. Van Gogh in vertigo Naked embrace in jungle Among serpents. Mondrian, Renoir Women harvesting wheat Vuillard, Bonnard. Girl Holding urn of water Spilling by her head Walking, sitting, watching Women, men, "Whistler's Mother" Studying, commenting, coveting Vagina as origin of world Warrior with sword Standing over decapitated Head. Neurotic pointillist Circus, and a hundred little Clay heads. So what's this for If not to bring one to their Knees? Lovers or children Asleep in bed. Bullies stay out!
ANGELA CONTINO DONSHES Listen To My Memories ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The songs of my youth are with me still. Golden arias forever lost in the echoes of time. They fill my heart with unforgettable memories, sometimes happy, sometimes sad. Listen and you will hear... The soft whir of a brightly colored hummingbird's wings The murmuring leaves of a medlar tree in a high wind The angry roar of a stormy sea Nonna's fervent prayer to St. John the Baptist, as the fury of the tempest reaches a high crescendo A mother's sorrowful wail at her son's funeral The family children reciting a Novena in lyric, unsure voices The languid chant of the evening Rosary The majesty of the Gregorian Mass at Santa Rosalia A churchbells' plaintive ring, thin and far away The sing song dialect of vendors, hawking their wares in the market place Enchanted hours of play in the Greek Temple at Segesta The laughter and whispers of passionate vows between young lovers The clip of a peasant's sharp curved knife, as it cuts away a bunch of ripe grapes from the vine The squish of grapes crushed under heavy boots, and the gurgle of golden liquid as it pours into wooden casks A rooster's crow at dawn, heralding a new day The soft chirps of newly hatched yellow chicks The pitiful bleating of a lamb as it's being slaughtered The tinkle of bells signaling the goatherder's arrival with warm foamy milk for the morning coffee The melodious sound of mandolins at weddings and Feast Days The merry rhythm of an accordion playing the Tarantella The nostalgic folk songs sung at family gatherings A farmer, in his vineyard, singing an aria from Cavalleria Rusticana The lusty songs of fishermen as they haul in their nets The lonely bray of a donkey echoing through the still night air The rattle of cartwheels on the stony road to my grandparents farm The loud hum of bees gathering honey on a hot, sleepy summer day A brook, sparkling in the sun, racing its way to the gulf of Castellammare The sharp clip-clop of a mule's hooves on cobblestones The sweet voice of Sister Caterina as she recites the day's school lesson The animated stories old Don Nunzio told about his adventures at sea These are my memories of Sicily...the songs of my youth.


        (For  my cousin, and others who are missed.)
   It is 
   beyond resolution,
   focus or mathematics
   In the thrift store, I identify
   with mismatched cups and saucers,
   that overturned reveal by markings
   a distant past of belonging
   Trinkets, with their 
   blown glass bellybuttons
   evoke the umbilicus 
   I have chased with silver scissors
   fashioned from the moon
   No cut is final.
   The cord regenerates
   a constant lizard tail green
   I sing my love to empty air-
   this phone will not hang up


A New Age: The Centipede Network Of Artists, Poets, & Writers
An Informational Journey Into A Creative Echonet [9310]
(C) CopyRight "I Write, Therefore, I Develop" By Paul Lauda

       Come one, come all! Welcome to Newsgroup alt.centipede. Established 
       just for writers, poets, artists, and anyone who is creative. A 
       place for anyone to participate in, to share their poems, and 
       learn from all.  A place to share *your* dreams, and philosophies. 
       Even a chance to be published in a magazine.

       The original Centipede Network was created on May 16, 1993. 
       Created because there were no other networks dedicated to such 
       an audience, and with the help of Klaus Gerken, Centipede soon 
       started to grow, and become active on many world-wide Bulletin 
       Board Systems.

       We consider Centipede to be a Public Network; however, its a
       specialized network, dealing with any type of creative thinking.
       Therefore, that makes us something quite exotic, since most nets
       are very general and have various topics, not of interest to a
       writer--which is where Centipede steps in! No more fuss. A writer
       can now access, without phasing out any more conferences, since 
       the whole net pertains to the writer's interests. This means 
       that Centipede has all the active topics that any creative 
       user seeks. And if we don't, then one shall be created.

       Feel free to drop by and take a look at newsgroup alt.centipede

  Ygdrasil is committed to making literature available, and uses the
  Internet as the main distribution channel. On the Net you can find all
  of Ygdrasil including the magazines and collections. You can find
  Ygdrasil on the Internet at: 

    * WEB: http://users.synapse.net/~kgerken/ 

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         version.  These can be sent plaintext, uuencoded, or as a 


  . REMEMBERY: EPYLLION IN ANAMNESIS (1996), poems by Michael R. Collings

  . DYNASTY (1968), Poems by Klaus J. Gerken
  . THE WIZARD EXPLODED SONGBOOK (1969), songs by KJ Gerken
  . STREETS (1971), Poems by Klaus J. Gerken
  . BLOODLETTING (1972) poems by Klaus J. Gerken
  . ACTS (1972) a novel by Klaus J. Gerken
  . RITES (1974), a novel by Klaus J. Gerken
  . FULL BLACK Q (1975), a poem by KJ Gerken
  . ONE NEW FLASH OF LIGHT (1976), a play by KJ Gerken
  . THE BLACKED-OUT MIRROR (1979), a poem by Klaus J. Gerken
  . JOURNEY (1981), a poem by Klaus J. Gerken
  . LADIES (1983), a poem by Klaus J. Gerken
  . FRAGMENTS OF A BRIEF ENCOUNTER (1984), poems by KJ Gerken
  . THE BREAKING OF DESIRE (1986), poems by KJ Gerken
  . FURTHER SONGS (1986), songs by KJ Gerken
  . POEMS OF DESTRUCTION (1988), poems by KJ Gerken
  . THE AFFLICTED (1991), a poem by KJ Gerken
  . DIAMOND DOGS (1992), poems by KJ Gerken
  . KILLING FIELD (1992), a poem by KJ Gerken
  . BARDO (1994-1995), a poem by Klaus J. Gerken
  . FURTHER EVIDENCES (1995-1996) Poems by Klaus J. Gerken
  . CALIBAN'S ESCAPE AND OTHER POEMS (1996), by Klaus J. Gerken 
  . CALIBAN'S DREAM (1996-1997), a poem by Klaus J. Gerken
  . THE LAST OLD MAN (1997), a novel by Klaus J. Gerken
  . WILL I EVER REMEMBER YOU? (1997), poems by Klaus J. Gerken
  . SONGS FOR THE LEGION (1998), song-poems by Klaus J. Gerken
  . REALITY OR DREAM? (1998), poems by Klaus J. Gerken
  . APRIL VIOLATIONS (1998), poems by Klaus J. Gerken
  . THE VOICE OF HUNGER (1998), a poem by Klaus J. Gerken

  . SHACKLED TO THE STONE, by Albrecht Haushofer - translated by JR Wesdorp

  . MZ-DMZ (1988), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy
  . DARK SIDE (1991), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy
  . STEEL REIGNS & STILL RAINS (1993), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy
  . BLATANT VANITY (1993), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy
  . ALIENATION OF AFFECTION (1993), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy
  . LIVING LIFE AT FACE VALUE (1993), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy
  . HATRED BLURRED (1993), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy
  . CHOKING ON THE ASHES OF A RUNAWAY (1993), ramblings by I. Koshevoy
  . BORROWED FEELINGS BUYING TIME (1993), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy
  . HARD ACT TO SWALLOW (1994), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy
  . HALL OF MIRRORS (1994), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy
  . ARTIFICIAL BUOYANCY (1994), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy

  . THE POETRY OF PEDRO SENA, poems by Pedro Sena
  . THE FILM REVIEWS, by Pedro Sena
  . THE SHORT STORIES, by Pedro Sena
  . INCANTATIONS, by Pedro Sena

  . POEMS (1970), poems by Franz Zorn

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  All poems copyrighted by their respective authors. Any reproduction of
  these poems, without the express written permission of the authors, is

  YGDRASIL: A Journal of the Poetic Arts - Copyright (c) 1993, 1994, 1995,
  1996, 1997 & 1998 by Klaus J. Gerken.

  The official version of this magazine is available on Ygdrasil's 
  World-Wide Web site http://users.synapse.net/~kgerken.  No other 
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  Distribution is allowed and encouraged as long as the issue is unchanged.

  All checks should be made out to: YGDRASIL PRESS


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