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╔═════════ October 1993 ════════════════════════ volume 1, number 6 ═════════╗ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ █▀█ █▀█ █▀▀▀▀▀▀█ █▀▀▀▀▀▀█ █▀▀▀▀▀▀█ █▀▀▀▀▀▀█ █▀▀▀▀▀█ █▀▀▀█ █▀█ ║ ║ █ █ █ █ █ █▀▀▀▀▀ ▀█ █▀█ █ █ █▀▀█ █ █ █▀▀█ █ █ █▀▀▀▀ ▀█ █▀ █ █ ║ ║ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ ║ ║ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ ║ ║ █ ▀▀▀ █ █ █ █▀▀█ █ █ █ █ █ ▀▀▀▀ █ █ ▀▀▀▀ █ █ ▀▀▀▀█ █ █ █ █ ║ ║ ▀▀▀▀█ █ █ █ ▀█ █ █ █ █ █ █ █▀█ █▀ █ █▀▀█ █ ▀▀▀▀█ █ █ █ █ █ ║ ║ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ ║ ║ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ ║ ║ █▀▀▀▀ █ █ ▀▀▀▀ █ █▀ ▀▀▀ █ █ █ █ ▀█ █ █ █ █ █▀▀▀▀ █ █▀ ▀█ █ ▀▀▀▀█ ║ ║ ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ ▀▀▀ ▀▀▀▀ ▀▀▀ ▀▀▀ ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ ▀▀▀▀▀ ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ╓──┐ ─┬─ ╓──┐ ╥ ┬ ╥──┐ ╓─╖ ┬ ╓──┐ ╥─ ╓──┐ ╥──┐ ║ ║ ╟──┤ │ ║ │ ║ │ ╟─┬┘ ║ ║ │ ╟──┤ ║ ║ │ ╟─ ║ ║ ╨ ┴ ╙─┘ ╙──┘ ╙──┘ ╨ ┴─ ╨ ╙─┘ ╨ ┴ ╨──┘ ╙──┘ ╨ ║ ║ ║ ║ ╓─╥─┐ ╥ ┬ ╥──┐ ╥──┐ ╓──┐ ╥──┐ ╓─╥─┐ ─╥─ ╓──┐ ╓──┐ ╥──┐ ╓─╥─┐ ╓──┐ ║ ║ ║ ╟──┤ ╟─ ╟──┘ ║ │ ╟─ ║ ║ ║ ╟──┤ ╟─┬┘ ║ ╙──┐ ║ ║ ╨ ╨ ┴ ╨──┘ ╨ ╙──┘ ╨──┘ ╨ ─╨─ ╙──┘ ╨ ┴ ╨ ┴─ ╨ ╙──┘ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ Editor: Klaus J. Gerken ║ ║ Associate Editor: Paul Lauda ║ ║ Production Editor: Igal Koshevoy ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ╚════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝ ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ ╓─╥─╖ ╓─╖ ╥─╖ ╥ ╓── ╓─╖ ╓── ╓─╖ ╓─╖ ╓─╖ ╓─╥─╖ ╓── ╓─╖ ╓─╥─╖ ╓─╖ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ╟─╢ ╟─╢ ║ ╟─ ║ ║ ╟─ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ╟─ ║ ║ ║ ╙─╖ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ║ ╨ ╜ ╙ ╨─╜ ╙── ╙── ╙─╜ ╨ ╙─╜ ╙─╜ ╨ ╙ ╨ ╙── ╨ ╙ ╨ ╙─╜ ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ INTRODUCTION...................................Klaus J. Gerken not nor........................................Jari Winter AWAKE..........................................Gerald DeJong åk'trïs........................................Igal Koshevoy FADED PICTURES.................................Igal Koshevoy Happy Poem.....................................Joe Hope RAIN...........................................Joe Hope The Cubist Circle..............................Shawn Tribe Cubist Vision..................................Shawn Tribe No. 16.........................................Shawn Tribe home is Where the Hell is......................David Hickey Shadows........................................Heather James Reasons........................................Heather James Come Dance With Me.............................Heather James October 1990...................................Pedro Sena December 16, 1987..............................Pedro Sena January 4, 1988 .............................Pedro Sena "Tis Vain to expect"...........................Vince Otten Homecoming.....................................Vince Otten Regenerative...................................Andrew Blevins Common Rivers..................................Andrew Blevins IMAGE..........................................Franz Zorn "I love".......................................David Parton "I FEEL GOOD..."...............................David Parton "Were even the skies...".......................David Parton SO MANY DAYS...................................Klaus J. Gerken POST SCRIPTUM..................................David Parton ▀█▀ █▀█ █ ▀▀█▀▀ █▀▀█ █▀▀█ ▀█▀▀█ █ █ █▀▀▀ ▀▀█▀▀ ▀█▀ █▀▀█ █▀█ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █▀█▀ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ ▀▀▀ ▀ ▀▀▀ ▀ ▀ ▀▀ ▀▀▀▀ ▀▀▀▀▀ ▀▀▀▀ ▀▀▀▀ ▀ ▀▀▀ ▀▀▀▀ ▀ ▀▀▀ ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ Ok. This issue is late, mainly because of the editor's own inability to come down from from the attic and clean up his own basement. So now that the old papers have been discarded, the floor swept and the dust is slowly beginning to settle (mostly in the editor's dislocated Id), I think this edition can finally be brought forth from the shadows. And I think, like the previous editions, that it is a good one, with many of the poets this journal was meant to accommodate, reappearing, with new and more challenging works. I must say that the month of October has been rather difficult; although the poems were chosen quite a while ago, the editor could not cope with a valid full length Introduction to the issue - mainly because of other commitments, but also because what is commonly called a "writer's block". I believe anyone who is serious about writing can understand the devastation this can bring. Trying to write a simple sentence becomes a deep and angry chasm which, the longer it takes, becomes ever more wide. Finally one either sits there despairing or forces something out. I was jostled out of this by a poem which appeared on the Centipede PoetryForum, in French, all the way from France. It was a poem about war and the screaming that goes on within the mind wanting it to stop, and yet also the apathy felt while watching it on TV. I would have liked to include the poem in this issue, but have not yet finalized the translation, nor gotten the author's permission - hopefully it will appear next month ... but such is the power of poetry. One more thing I wanted to say: a few words about my Production Editor. In the beginning when Ygdrasil was just a jumble of mad pages without form or substance. Igal Koshevoy undertook the shaping of what was then just a long strung out roll of poems, it was he who made the logo, built the graphics, and made sure my fifty thousand spelling errors were corrected. The magazine that you see today, is his visual work, and without him would probably never gotten to where it is today. Thanks Igal, although you might not think so, this journal is as much your creation as mine. ╥ ╓─ ─╥─ ╓─── ╖ ── ╟─╨╖ ║ ║ ╓╖ ╓╖ ╓╖ ║/ ╓╖ ╓╖ ╨ ╨ ╙─╜ ╙──╜ ╙─ ╙ ╙╙ ╙─ ╙╙ not nor ~~~~~~~ I wish you were coming to save me from destruction's sweetest lure. Born a whore beg and plead for the air I breath that's what I'm for. Just as the sparrow crests the wind The eagle's claws gather and 'rind. Maybe like the Phoenix I'll burn then return like a thousand flickering candle wicks. No hero's gonna come and possess my space nor fill my heart, nor my play drum not nor take my name, not nor use my face. no, no hero's gonna come and take my place I'll fight my fights and I'll live my life and I'll live my life!!!! - Jari Winter ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ AWAKE ~~~~~ in the last part of the dream when the walls are dripping daylight through the seams your big black shadow disappears and you know every atom is an eye to see you here this is bright white awake when you link with the thought of a union that might break you better give energy to make it clear cos you know it's a matter of mind to create fear - Gerald DeJong March 1993 ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ åk'trïs n. (1) A female theatrical performer. (2) One who takes part: ~~~~~~~ participant. Slang: an undesirable person. An actress - that's what you are. Desperately trying to play the lead role, [...in a comedy of errors] [...in a drama] [...in a documentary] [...in a horror film] [...in a tragedy] but you can't get away from the faceless masses, can't break away to show your skill and talent to the world. You're trying so hard to show the world that you that you're so good (at the role you play). [That no one can even tell when you're acting.] [...or when you really are crying.] So lost, in your spinning dervish [...a tornado - tearing you apart] that not even you can tell when you're acting. To you * nothing is real. Not the audience, [...can't hear their cheers] not the other actors that surround you, [...can't hear their cries] not even the floor you stand on is real to you. [...fell through - no one could catch you] Nothing is real * to you but * the stage and the searing hot spotlight in your face. And the spotlight that you feed off of, has burned you away, [...like a tissue paper fairy in a furnace] and baked you dry, as the desert sands, dehydrated you of your feelings, boiled you, till the salt collected at the bottom of the glass. ["...the dregs remain, bitter as salt as pain."] maybe one day, the drunk director will come to his wits and give you the role that you deserved all this time. i wish he would, i wish you the best of luck. but he's too damned busy, shooting you down. -Igal Koshevoy; March 6, 1993 METALLIFEROUS DECADENCE 19:8 ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ FADED PICTURES ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Ghosts, ghosts, mist and fog floating through the night. Pretty pictures, molasses memories flying away - leaving me behind. In my hands, I watch them as their chroma fades, hues dissipate, and the resolution turns them to a grainy blotch. Then the night's wind tears them out from my clutching hands. I chase them as fast as I can run, till I drop to the ground with exhaustion, just trying to catch their faded goodness. The wind keeps taking my pictures, my albums, my words, my songs, my breath. Sucking me dry of their feelings of joy, of exhilaration, of happiness, of beauty and of kindness. And what fills their place? The wind. The cold empty wind that billows across the empty highway I lay crumpled on. Cold, empty wind of the night - blowing me around. Tearing me apart till I'm transparent - then invisible.... "Ghosts aren't real!" someone said. But I believe. -Igal Koshevoy March 6th 1993 TIN-FOIL GHOST 1:4 ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ Happy Poem ~~~~~~~~~~ Have you seen fear Have you smelled its decaying breath Have you seen the darkness of death on your shoulder Standing in the cold breeze on a sunny day Waiting patiently for the right person to take at the wrong time Have you felt the anger and frustration they bring to my heart I wish to know what they see I wish to see the pain of the death and fear of the dark Darkness spreads over me as I wander through life "Fear is the mindkiller" Suffering under the reigning god Despots of death and destruction of society Anarchists for christ Beckoning for a place and wish they were here Standing on the threshold of my kingdom I survey all I see I see nothing but the darkness of the blindfold But imagine what a great place it must be I wonder how you live with this destruction And how you cope with yourself Your quick and squinty glaring personality Can see right through my disguise and I wish I was naked once more! - Joe Hope, 1993 ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ RAIN ~~~~ The rain streams down Soaking me to the skin and deep into my soul As the drops fall around my ankles Tears stream from my eyes Nobody notices Nobody cares Though I feel alone people are all around me Searching for shelter Never talking to me Just rushing here and there The lightning cracks the sky Lighting my darkened view of the world Only showing how devastated our world really is I look around at the naturally lit world I see poverty and hunger Death and murder Capital gain And capital punishment Kill he who kills And all of us should die We all pollute and turn the other cheek The man asks for change and we walk on by We call ourselves a civil society! I turn in shame And walk in the rain And weep as I beg for change. - Joe Hope, 1993 Madness 01:01 ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ The Cubists Circle ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ They looked into the room, saw cubes and circles, great cylinders. The torment of such a cruel device no canvas to capture. White, more torture. Both beauty and torment. Blank canvas of possibility, blank canvas of uncreativity. Explosion in a shingle factory; what trife. A beautiful array a planes and shapes. Squares, circles, triangles, lines. The cubists lifeline. The dissector of the subject: analyzing with intensity. Why do they criticize what they do not understand? Why can they not open their minds? It is our job to open the gates of creativity to them... or become the subject of our geometrical massacre. - Shawn R. Tribe August 25, 1993; 1:38am ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ Cubist Vision ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Can you imagine what I see? To look at an object, not seeing its depth or mass, merely seeing the bold lines of its creation. To look at a floor and see the intricate patterns of geometrical lines. Tall buildings, people, trees, all become mass components of lines, cubes, and circles. My world is analytical, and two dimensional, the demented vision of an artist? Or merely the world of creativity? - Shawn R. Tribe October 16, 1993; 7:04pm ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ No. 16 ~~~~~~ Fools will never understand, scholars try, only artists know. For the public criticizes. How can one criticize what one does not understand? For they say: "My child could do it!" or "It is just lines!" The newspapers hold their silly little contests, with kids entering it unaware of their fallacy. Perhaps I should say, blasphemy? Editorialists poke fun of it, while cartoonists make a mockery of it. For those of us, who do understand, we certainly wonder why they cannot. Rothko. A genius. The etherial quality of his works astound, as if you could see God eminating from them. The omnipresent being, with no true form. $1.8 million dollars? A bargain. - Shawn R. Tribe August 12, 1993; 10:40pm ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ home is Where the Hell is ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ home was always far away warmth and love were always for others parents were always strangers a love taken ungiven unforgiven the hand that rocked the cradle that held the hand that wiped the tears that kept the ghosts at bay few and far away so was the hand that raised above that fell upon that caused the tears that kept the hope at bay another bruise on my coat of arms I wait without hope as His belt announces the coming of night - John David Hickey ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ Shadows... ~~~~~~~ She searches for something that she can give to him As the light ahead of her begins to slowly dim His shadow appears in front of her before her eyes As she begins to ponder the answers to all of her why's Does the answers lie within him or does he not know? For he will be together with her now wherever she will go His shadow will appear before her eyes only for her to see As his shadow embraces her as together in the night,they flee Fleeing away from all of their cares in the still of the night As they travel far away together soaring together,taking flight She ponders once again what she can give to him as she searches her heart For he has come to be with her and as they join in darkness,never will they part For she is now a part of his shadow as the two shadows now become one As they play in the sky together dancing under the stars and the sun She hands him her heart as a token of her love for him so true For all the times that his shadow in the darkness comforted her and love grew Their heart from this day on for them will always beat together as one As they look up in the sky together,for them they begin to see the sun The sun for them together will always light their way wherever they go As the wind will whisper their names together and love will always grow Growing each day as the two shadows joined now when the darkness falls To be there for each other in the darkness when the other shadow calls - Heather James August 1993 ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ Reasons... ~~~~~~~ Don't worry,the candle will light our way in the darkened sky The waves will collide against the shore as we wonder why Some things have no answers for them to happen,they just do We may ask ourselves too many questions our whole lives through Sometimes it is just destiny and fate that carries us along the way Sometimes we think back at our childhood when we watch children play Sometimes things in life for us never make sense to us at all We wonder in life why someone in our life has somehow broken the wall The wall where we felt we were protected and someone breaks it down As we feel all the emotions and feelings filling up as we feel we drown Overwhelmed with feeling alive once again and someone touched our heart As we all know that we have to let go of insecurities and make a new start Fear may stop us from getting too close though we somehow do As we find out in life that they are the finest friend we ever knew - Heather James August 1993 ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ Come Dance With Me... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Dance with me now under the moon so bright Take me in your arms now and hold me tight Tighter and tighter like no other before Take me higher and higher, where the thunder will roar Where the streams divide into a small stream As we are sharing this same wonderful dream Shattered dreams as I awaken into the night Feeling you close and holding onto me so tight There is comfort in feeling you so close and so near I love you and hope that wherever you are you, will hear The stars for us will always shine as you will now sleep But since I have met you,you are forever in my keep Come dance with me once again in the moon,it will never burn out Come ease my pain and let me ease in your mind, your doubt Your doubt that I am sincere,you will see in time I am still around Because I can never lose the friendship with you that I have found. - Heather James August 1993 ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ Dedicated to the reader Kimberley Ann Jackson, who is truly a beautiful spirit of many sorts... · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · October 1990 ~~~~~~~~~~~~ The soft folds of dawn appeared ... in the horizon. And I turned my face, one more time ... to look, at the soft curves which rested peacefully ... I thought ... and she spoke softly and keenly about what perception appeared in her vision. And I sat... couldn't think... much... but... I could see... the soft curls... and the clouds... manifest themselves into a cohesive whole ... as she spoke ... firmly ... neatly ... carefully. As the soft lights curled themselves in her horizon her words floated musically over the salty waters of our hearts. And it soothed as if a magickal lullaby had donated its caressing wisdom over the bodily features which covered this earthly soul ... to whom she spoke. The soft folds of dawn appeared and as it converged its light into one life it also reminded me us, that we must live yet again to clarify that which can't be said or heard, very well... but felt all over, and it's called a special kind of love. - Pedro Sena ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ December 16, 1987 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Forgive me not the greatest sins if I wish to outdistance my whims for knowledge... for love... for care... beware... Forgive me not, if I never listen to many words that might glisten with some color... and meaning... longing... a touch... Forgive me not, if I can never love that light, heat, message from above in humble spirit... must see it... and know it not... can't hesitate... Quickly the pen appears, and strikes and paper, so glad it is here, enlights before the feeling fades into a spec... of oblivion... did it exist?... how did it come... Be ready, when your door also opens and pass thru into many great oceans in thought... in life... of life... all true... and necessary, also unnecessary, but I record it, here... beware... for... I am ready to write. - Pedro Sena ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ January 4, 1988 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The throes of a lonely time like grapes to a sour wine stands at the tip of my tongue as I hope, pray, for the wrong I may have never done. And as that time passes by here I remember the things I revere love, desire, vanity and more all too true, here sitting before my very own eyes. One day passes, the second dies the passion, the care, the gall, willing wasteful times and thoughts of what might have been and is not but what is here is true, and there is some wine left. And some poet sits and cries begging for mercy, new highs for his spirit, poems and rhymes that often taste like bitter limes from the gardens to our own cups. One day I will wake up, I'm told revitalized, weak body, but bold with letters of care and definition for what has been called derision of some life bitter taste. And the last drop fell from the cup running from the glass into my gut hoping that in my body it will live once again for hope, lest it forgive my, your, pain anyones. The throes of a lonely time like grapes to a sour wine stood at the tip of my tongue hoping to cease all the wrong ... and I laughed, and I cried, it was good wine, and I cried no more, but had words galore. - Pedro Sena ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ "Tis vain to expect," he said, Looking toward the horizon absent-mindedly. "Everything I value is something I've lost." I replied (something trite, I'm sure), But he missed my answer, muttering to himself, As he stilled gazed away. Meanwhile, happiness appealed to us both in vain. - Vincent Otten ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ Homecoming ~~~~~~~~~~ I forgot you. They loved me -- Or at least What I had. Now it's gone, And I've come back to myself, but to you? How can I? The tie's gone. But who else For my heart? As friend? No. As beloved? Ha. With head hung I still come. A one-man race? I step aside, But you run Right into me. Arms 'round me, Tears on me, Kisses for me, And laughing! Laughing! - Vince Otten ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ Regenerative ~~~~~~~~~~~~ You cannot ask, "are you well?" your muffled tone, a muscle ache and sight fogs in the low wake, this beard, know me and pray, do and I feel the weak drummer in my chest. Satin white with a pillow, oak and silver buckles & trim the smooth skirt ruffles and something down by my feet, something crowns my head. It is tight, black metal lung for the constellation of Orion, behind him is Cancer the triad where hand in hand is Gemini, Venus and Saturn so align. The quieting parade of darkness sad men, sad ladies, children they take the fork in the road, my husk to the dirt field dust of white wooden crosses that peel. Go on! It is over, there it is, it is mostly over, I want dust and where there can be no tears for a dust-bowl martyr, be gone to deep throated owls of brown. The separation of church and state, the poem on my headstone, carved by mother nature, my father rolling, like thunder bolts and his bad back broken farm I bleed across and below, no longer from above my tears Clock me to the anthropology-- Forgive your long gone wishing well-- Paste me in library microfiche memory-- Annunciate me over wine from the big find, under the city that rose and fell quick over my beaten shack strike, where someone may ask some part of me --I hope-- anything they like... - V.A. Blevins March 2, 1993 ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ Common Rivers ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ We have come from life out of common rivers Where it is we find the barnacles of love, And attach ourselves under soft inconvenience As not to perform those gestures in gloves, Dripping blood into the rainbows on the ocean-- Giving our organs to the least of scarecrows-- Marking our mantelpiece with melted trophies-- Singing joyfully in the presence of moans-- And because we haggle long against the incomplete, There is where we compete only in deep premonition. But experience can tune jackass sixth sense For nighttime dream theaters of the sinful Recollection and desires of the holy flesh And leave ourselves in residues of coincidence, Where to feel is the core of a universe, alone Spent in the morning dewdrop meadows of crying. But there comes a peaceful wisdom in age, Like roses that curl up in brown patches Dumping seeds in vessels back to the river-- Flowing long into the grottos of dispair-- Leading into the outer crust of death-- And so marked by the will of the prayer. - V.A. Blevins June 15, 1993 ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ IMAGE ~~~~~ We can understand and sometimes even listen to words so often spoken, yet seldom heard reality astounds, even the smallest ones of us soon...a light that somehow saw one day appears on your window sill of dreams as if real...some mirages seem to exist but then, so quickly vanish again into nothingness lost facts hidden from future generations' thoughts cycles of falling feeling becoming so strong in the minds of faithful following friends, friends to the one beginning apparition of time without any loss of hope...fear itself is gone only love exists together. - Franz Zorn ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ I love The day dying with a silent fall, like a rose, Birds ringing in the dawn, welcome upon the clear air. I love The stars at night, like so many Piercing thoughts in the back of my mind. I love So many things, this little little planet, sweetly, The people on it, and life, the Small creatures of God, our children. I love Dreams so like this waking life, that returning, I do not know if they have passed or not, You, Words and sounds I hear like poems, Time flowing around us, fast and slow, Sifting our beloved memories into the past. - David Parton ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ I FEEL GOOD CAUSE WE ALL ARE GOOD AN I CAN PUT YOU ANYWHERE ANYTIME ANYONE. CAUSE I'M OUT HERE AND WE'RE ALL PEOPLE AND EVERYTHING ANYONE EVER DOES RATTLES THIS LITTLE UNIVERSE OR THAT ONE. - David Parton ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ Were ever the skies so clear or blue Or air so crystalline. Oh God, to the peak of the stars, the vault God and Godhead Dripping ruby-eyed goblets of pouring down Christblood. Had we but world enough enough had we but world & time & time And ringing circles mixed with mind singing. - David Parton ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ SO MANY DAYS ~~~~~~~~~~~~ So many days And so many tears So many ways Through so many fears The flaring of anger The tearing away What love never conquers Hate holds at bay So many reasons That fall to the side When saying I love you While trying to hide The torment collected Through suffering alone When both must be silent While throwing a stone So many regrets That shadow the fall We see neither abyss Or mountain at all With nothing ahead of us And nothing behind We search for that limbo That no one can find The eyes will be opened By blind men who see What terror it brings us When we are too free With no one to guide us And no one to care Whatever we have Is all on a dare Those bountiful shadows That some call obscene Refuses to deter Whatever they mean From windows to vio⌐ lent reformations To perfect conceptions That help no one dream Whatever we do Whatever we don't The game in perfection Like love is a wound That throughout the rain Will stain with the blood Of innocent virgins That drag you through mud Accepting the poison That each of us drinks With perfect acceptance Refusing the link That violates passion And undermines doors Where walls only anchor What wasn't before So many failings And so many binds So much rehearsal With so little time So much refusal That...Well never mind So many reasons We never can find So hard the distance Between lover's eyes So hard the solitude They despise But sometimes the silence Is there for the good Sometimes the anger Is love's hard earned truth. - Klaus J. Gerken ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ ╤══╕ ╒══╕ ╒══╕ ╒═╤═╕ ╒══╕ ╒══╕ ╤══╕ ═╤═ ╤══╕ ╒═╤═╕ ╤ ╤ ╒═╤═╕ ╞══╛ │ │ ╘══╕ │ ╘══╕ │ ╞═╤╛ │ ╞══╛ │ │ │ │ │ │ ╧ ╘══╛ ╘══╛ ╧ ╘══╛ ╘══╛ ╧ ╧═ ═╧═ ╧ ╧ ╘══╛ ╧ ╧ ╧ ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ Some space ago, everything was one and together. All matter thought distance time and spirit was resolved into a dimensionless entity, as there was no difference to disunite, and no dimension to seek solitude in. Matter was the essence of existence and its manifestation. Matter was to mold the cosmos into the vessel we now behold. Inherent in matter were the natural forces which we were to call laws. As it came to be, the nature of matter became these forces, and without non-existence, except that it possessed properties by its very nature. Do not think of nothing as being the absence of matter, but of matter as the absence of nothing. The universe is a vast collection of places, things and times. Places are occupied by things at certain times. Things exist in many forms, and do many different functions from time to time. Some things are universes in themselves. These things turn back on all things and themselves to encompass all things, places and times. The universe is a group of things. What these things are made of is open to speculation, as their existence absolutely establish their identity, and knowledge of other than ones own reality is pointless as one encompasses the entire realm of existence, from either extremes of time and space. - David Parton ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ ╔═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗ ║ 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 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. Centipede offers ten echo areas, such as a general chat area, an echo of poetry and literature, and also on dreams and speculated history & publishing. In all of the ten conferences, anyone is allowed to post their thoughts, and make new friends. For that is what CentNet is here for: for you. Ever wonder how to accent a poem at the right meter? Well, come join our PoetryForum, and everyone would be willing to help you out. Have any problems in deciphering your dreams? Select The Dreams echo, and you're questions shall be solved. The Network was created on May 16, 1993. I created this 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 Bulletin Board Systems. I 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 download the whole network, 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. If you want to find out more about Centipede, give us a call at +609-896-3256, and join one of our conferences. You'll not be disappointed! Or, check out the latest info packet being distributed in the format: CENTyymm.[ARCHIVE]. ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ ░▒▓█ ▄ ▄ ▄▄▄▄ ▄▄▄▄▄ ▄▄▄▄ ▄▄▄▄ ▄▄▄▄ ▄▄▄ ▄ ░▒▓█ █▄▄█ █ ▄▄ █ █ █▄▄█ █▄▄█ █▄▄▄ █ █ ░▒▓█ ▄▄▄█ █▄▄█ ▄█▄▄█ █ █▄ █ █ ▄▄▄█ ▄█▄ █▄▄▄ ░▒▓█ ▄▄▄▄ ▄ ▄ ▄▄▄ ▄ ▄▄▄ ▄▄▄▄ ▄▄▄▄ ▄▄▄▄▄ ▄▄▄ ▄▄▄▄ ▄▄▄ ▄ ░▒▓█ █▄▄█ █ █ █▄█▄ █ █ █ █▄▄█ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ ░▒▓█ █ █▄▄█ █▄▄█ █▄▄▄ ▄█▄ █▄▄▄ █ █ █ ▄█▄ █▄▄█ █ █▄█ ░▒▓█ ▄ ▄▄▄ ▄▄▄▄ ▄▄▄▄▄ ░▒▓█ █ █ █▄▄▄ █ ░▒▓█ █▄▄▄ ▄█▄ ▄▄▄█ █ ░▒▓█ ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ THE AFFLICTED, a poem by KJ Gerken FRAGMENTS OF A BRIEF ENCOUNTER, poems by KJ Gerken THE BREAKING OF DESIRE (1986), poems by KJ Gerken DIAMOND DOGS (1992), poems by KJ Gerken FULL BLACK Q (1975), a poem by KJ Gerken KILLING FIELDS (1992), a poem by KJ Gerken ONE NEW FLASH OF LIGHT (1976), a play by KJ Gerken FURTHER SONGS 1986, songs by KJ Gerken THE WIZARD EXPLODED SONGBOOK (1969), songs by KJ Gerken POEMS OF DESTRUCTION (1988), poems by KJ Gerken POEMS (1970), poems by Franz Zorn THE BLACKED-OUT MIRROR (1979) a poem by Klaus J. Gerken STEEL REIGNS & STILL RAINS, poems by Igal Koshevoy BLATANT VANITY, poems by Igal Koshevoy ALIENATION OF AFFECTION, poems by Igal Koshevoy LIVING LIFE AT FACE VALUE, poems by Igal Koshevoy ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ All books are on disk and cost $10.00 each, and may be ordered from: ┌────────────────────────────┐ │ YGDRASIL PRESS ███ │ │ 1001-257 LISGAR ST. │ │ OTTAWA, ONTARIO │ │ CANADA, K2P 0C7 │ └────────────────────────────┘ YGDRASIL MAGAZINE may also be ordered from the same address: $2.50 an issue (To cover disk and mailing costs), specify computer type (IBM or Mac), operating system and version, disk size and density and allow 2 weeks for delivery. Note that YGDRASIL MAGAZINE is free when downloaded from Revision Systems BBS (1-609-896-3256). ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ ╓──┐ ╓──┐ ╥──┐ ╥ ┬ ╥──┐ ─╥─ ╓─── ╥ ┬ ╓─╥─┐ ║ ║ │ ╟──┘ ╙──┤ ╟─┬┘ ║ ║ ┌┐ ╟──┤ ║ ╙──┘ ╙──┘ ╨ ╙──┘ ╨ ┴─ ─╨─ ╙──┘ ╨ ┴ ╨ ─╥─ ╓─╖ ┬ ╥──┐ ╓──┐ ╥──┐ ╓─╥─┐ ╓──┐ ╓─╥─┐ ─╥─ ╓──┐ ╓─╖ ┬ ║ ║ ║ │ ╟─ ║ │ ╟─┬┘ ║ ║ │ ╟──┤ ║ ║ ║ │ ║ ║ │ ─╨─ ╨ ╙─┘ ╨ ╙──┘ ╨ ┴─ ╨ ╨ ┴ ╨ ┴ ╨ ─╨─ ╙──┘ ╨ ╙─┘ ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ All poems copyrighted by their respective authors. Any reproduction of these poems, without the express written permission of the authors, is prohibited. YGDRASIL A Journal of the Poetic Arts: Copyright (c) 1993 by KJ Gerken The official version of this magazine is posted on Revision Systems BBS: No other version shall be deemed "authorized" unless downloaded from there. 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