




 may 1993  volume 1, number 1 ͻ
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                       
                                   
                                                    
                                                    
                                       
                                       
                                                    
                                                    
                                 
                     
                                                                            
                                                                            
    
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
  Ŀ              Ŀ    Ŀ ķ  Ŀ               Ŀ Ŀ  
  Ĵ                          Ĵ                       
                                             
                                                                            
  Ŀ    Ŀ    Ŀ Ŀ Ŀ Ŀ  Ŀ    Ŀ Ŀ Ŀ Ŀ  
       Ĵ                             Ĵ       Ŀ  
                                          
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                               Editor: KJ Gerken                            
                    Associate editors: Paul Lauda                           
                                       Igal Koshevoy                        
                  Contributing Editor: Evan Light                           
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                           
                                         
                      ͼ



  
  
   ķ ķ ķ         ķ      ķ ķ ķ ķ  ķ ķ ķ
                                                     
        Ķ Ķ                                       ķ
                                                       
          Ľ       Ľ        Ľ Ľ                Ľ
  
  

      EDITORIAL..................................... Klaus Gerken

      POST MORTUM METAMORPHASES......................Igal Koshevoy
      fucking hell...................................Igal Koshevoy
      St. Martin's Day...............................Igal Koshevoy
      WAY-A-WAY, AWAY................................Igal Koshevoy
      LA DIA DEL COREZON NEGRO, 1993.................Igal Koshevoy
      FEAR...........................................Igal Koshevoy
      Abbreviation Of Simplicity.....................Igal Koshevoy
      Nowhere Bound Train............................Terry Long
      It Just Didn't Work............................Terry Long
      MISERABLE ARTIFICE.............................Andrew Blevins
      A STATESMAN'S OAK TABLE........................Andrew Blevins
      VERTIGO........................................Andrew Blevins
      YOU WERE GONE..................................Heather James
      ROSE...........................................Klaus Gerken
      STORM..........................................Klaus Gerken
      EDEN...........................................Klaus Gerken
      STONES.........................................Klaus Gerken
      The Death Of The Affair........................Klaus Gerken
      SILENCE........................................Vince Otten
      FRIEND.........................................Vince Otten
      I MADE IT THROUGH THE WEEKEND WITHOUT YOU......Inez Harrison
      Death By Ignorance.............................David Hickey
      Quiet Fury.....................................David Hickey
      Shock Waves....................................David Hickey
      Grinning.......................................Jari Winter
      CHOICES........................................Murtaza Officewalla
      THE RIDE.......................................Linda Knudson
      Signs..........................................Francisco Reyes
      DEATH..........................................Vladimir Holan
      sable sun......................................Jared Boehm
      Walls..........................................Jared Boehm
      Screaming......................................Jared Boehm
      Bottle Gazing..................................Jared Boehm
      Drops..........................................Jared Boehm
      On Pushkin's Heroine...........................James Evers

      POST SCRIPTUM -
            WHERE DOES THE CHILLING WIND BLOW........Terry Long



                      
                                                
                                              
                                                
                             

  

       With  so  much  poetic  activity  going  on  in  the  IntelecNet  and
  RIME/RelayNet  Poetry  Conferences,  I have decided there should be a more
  permanent place for the poems that flash on our computer screens for, what
  sometimes seems like, the briefest of moments.  A flash of inspiration, or
  thought and, unless saved in a file somewhere, gone.

            I have over the years  (having  been  on  the "Nets" for about a
  year and a half - Nov 91, to be exact) collected most of the  poems  which
  appeared  there.   Every  now and then I bring out a backed-up disc filled
  with the most amazing wonders and  re-display them on my screen and marvel
  that we should have been so lucky to attract so many good poets.  Many  of
  them  young  and just beginning on their extended explorations.  It is for
  these especially this  electronic  magazine  will  exist.   To give them a
  sense of continuity and show them there is some place their works will  be
  kept  for  future generations and, for themselves, for I know too well how
  often our earliest adventures in  poetry  are cast aside.  And, of course,
  we must not forget the many  professionals,  and  semi-professionals,  and
  those who just write for  the  sheer  joy  of  it.  Those who gather their
  emotions, whether sad or happy,  into  a  poem  and  allow  others  to  be
  involved  with  another  human being on the deepest emotional level.  This
  brings an added dimension to our  lives,  and can only enrich us, not only
  our knowing and  communication  with  others,  but  with  a  knowledge  of
  ourselves,  so often forgotten, that we are all a family, and that we all,
  more or less, have the same feelings as the next person, but also, whether
  through  our  environment,  or  personal  upbringing  and  experience, are
  different: all this enriches us.

       I hope through this publication, some  of  what I have stated will be
  achieved.  If we make a difference in just one person's life, or  if  what
  someone writes makes a difference in ours, the  poem  and  poet,  and  the
  reader will have achieved a wondrous transcendence, from the daily routine
  of  life  to  a  place  where emotions, thoughts and dreams merge into one
  universal empathy.  We are not alone:  and  through our poems we reach out
  to  others,  we  observe,  and  we  formulate   those   observances   into
  philosophies,  and  explore  new vistas, and dream new dreams, and finally
  build new futures through the interaction of our thoughts.


                                                       
                                     з           ַ ַ ַ / ַ ַ
                                          Ľ       Ľ      


                                    "POST-MORTUM...
                                    METAMORPHASES."

    The pre-MORTUM clay seeks verticle expansion, growth...
    ...as the clay is molded, into a more finalizing shape,
    it BREAKS-DOWN, LOSS-OF-EXPANSION, REGRESSION.
                                                  REVERSAL.
                                                            DE-GENERATION.

    Athropy of all knowledge, swapped for the random,
            SpAraAtIc use of their NEW flesh-toy.
                    down hill
                                rolling.
                                          fast.
                                              DAMN FAST.

    And so the sheep conjeal, come together, for the SLAUGHTER,
            they don't realize it. Tough shit Mr. Sheep.
                                    you are expendable.
                            there are hundreds more, free and fresh.
                                                     just like you.

    The sheep, blinded, by the fuzzy chemical storm,
            WANDER/BLUNDER.
        Poking their swollen organ, thrusting it
            into the clay. Fake smiles plaster -- their faces.
                                    (tis acceptable, why?)

    Confusion replaced by orgasm.
            Rejection -- to violence.
                    Blood, the sheep seek.
                            NEW, FRESH BLOOD -- virgin lambs to slaughter

    The souls of the sheep -- replaced -- by ovens
                            MORTUARY -- CREMATORIUM
            And the ovens burn bright, NIGHT and day.
                    "Exposure to radiation," melting, loss, re-birth.
                                            METAMORPHASES.

    The fleeing cowards (or are they?) IRRADIATED.
            MELTED, LOST INNER RE-BIRTH: METAMORPHASES.

    And the yellow bellied cowards go to
            the blinding flames, through the ovens -- MELTED.

    Past the ovens, LOST.
                      Crystalization of their souls, RE-BIRTH.

            Out of the burning oven, (sizzling)
            AND... thrown into the pitch black vacuum,
                                    SCREAMING silently.

                            POST-MORTUM...
                            METAMORPHASES.


                                             -Igal Koshevoy;  Feb. 13th, 1991
                                                 GATHERED SORROWS 93:5 - 96:8



                            "fucking hell"

    hell is for cowards.
            that is what i am.
                    nothing but a
                            fucking coward.

    i am too afraid to live
    i am too afraid to die.

    i am not human, if i was,
    i wouldn't have these problems.
    i have a problem - for i am not.

    the tears shatter into the night.
            all gone.  all fucking gone.

    why do i live?  i serve no
    purpose.  never have, never will.

    if i die tonight maybe all the suffrage
            will end.  please end.  everything end.

                    please.

    if i live, then everything, the pain and
            ragged suffering will go on.  stop, please.

    nothing will change.  only my death.  another plaque.
            maybe, but probably not.  just another coward.  cowards need
                    no crown. they are not worthy of one.

    the end i see, a blazing, bright tunnel, into
            oblivion.  please, is there no other way?  why?

    why?  why?  why?  why?  why?  why?  why?  damn it.

    life, just suffrage, pain, suffrage why drag on?
    why the fuck make it last any longer?  no reason at all.
    none at all.

    living i just pimp my self to others...

    no one wants me.  i am not needed.
    hell, i wish someone would please use me.
    i'd feel important at least.

            "shit is shit
                    we are shit.
                            fuck you all - shut up."

    get outta my mind.  get outta my mind and leave me
      alone.  all alone.  alone i am.  and yet i am not.
      help me, i am lost.  i am confused.  i wish i was wrong.
      i wish.  i wished so much in my short (bleak)
      lifetime.  never.  never.  never did it ever come true.
      if nothing comes true, why the hell should i live?

    my mental sanity is a thin, oh so thin, gasoline
      soaked string.  the fire burns and stops.
      now it is burning.  oh is it burning.

      it hurts.  the burn.  the fire is warm and
      comforting.  death welcomes me.  come in, please.

            DIE BASTARDS!

                                        -Igal Koshevoy;  March 29, 1992
                                        Gathered Sorrows  116:2 - 118:10



          St. Martin's Day
          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
     Who is St. Martin?
          Who knows?
               Who cares?

     On February 14 we celebrate love,
          yet most of us get hate.

     The loved get more loved,
          the unloved, muck apon their feet.

     On St. Valentine's Day we all see how
          truly unloved we must be.
     Not a card, nor kiss apon
          your cheek.

     The 14th is a day to brood,
          yet the next day we
          smile and laugh
               in slight disgust
                    into the faces
                         of the
                              loved
                                   ones.

     I guess February 29th would be a good day.
          Once every 4 years to remember
          all the ones who weren't loved.

     Still we think of them rarely and very
          far apart, just love among the
                    Cannibals,

               So simple,
                         and so just.


                                               -Igal Koshevoy;  Feb. 23, 1991
                                                          DARKNESS  4:2 - 4:8



                      WAY-A-WAY, AWAY
                      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    I am crazy.
    I am great,
    never thought I'd be a heavy weight -
    bobbing in the water like some sort of bait,
    and I'm waiting...

    Look around.
    Gonna split my skin,
    slither out into the midnight dream -
    sink my fangs of pain into the sleeper's skin,
    and I'm waiting:
    come on and show me the way - the way, the way.

    Drink the blood.
    Spit it out,
    gotta keep down my murderer of love -
    need the energy of their life; wanna take it,
    cause I'm aching - itching for the way - the way, the way.
    Gotta slay 'em all, right away - way, for the way!

            ~ ~ ~
    I only need comfort,
    I only need some hope,
    but seriously folks, it's just a joke,
    might as well shut my beak, you never listen to the thoughts I speak.

    My only hope,
    is that you'll stay,
    but they all just keep on a walkin' away.
    ... just keep on a walking away, walking away, walking away.
    ... and just keep on a running away, running away, away.

    This disease ain't terminal,
    but no one would ever stay,
    come on, it's not that tough,
    ... please stay, stay, stay!

    But they all just kept on a running away, away, away!


                                       -Igal Koshevoy; February 13th, 1993
                                       METALLIFEROUS DECADENCE (RUST)  8:5



    LA DIA DEL COREZON NEGRO, 1993    (the day of the black heart, '93)
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    Once in a while,
    you want someone so bad,
    you cry.

    Sometimes it hurts so much inside,
    and all you can do is cry.

    But they always said,
    that nothing is sillier
    than praying for love.

    Take it from me folks,
    never works, never will in the years * to come.

    And the hunger,
    the unquenched thirst
    can be silenced,
    but not the pain;
    that always stays -
    inside your soul.

    And all I can do,
    is cry - for the emptiness around...

    "Sometimes you can be holding someone in your arms,
     and still be miles apart inside...."

    Oh, yeah - what a waste,
    what a damned silly waste
    of, of our hearts.
    Never meant * to be * broken - like they are.

    Just going round,
    spewing out our retribution
    for the pain
    for the hurt
    that always stays.
    We are, the killers, the cruel * cannibals
    killing virtues,
    vanquishing morals,
    pound our heads * against * the walls
                             * till * the blood * mixes * with the dust...


                                       -Igal Koshevoy; February 14th, 1993
                                       METALLIFEROUS DECADENCE (RUST)  10:1



                              FEAR
                              ~~~~
                  Fear is the pain inside all minds,
                     Deep, burrowing, dark pain.
                    Cold sweat across a forehead.
                      "Fear is the mind killer."



    It is the sound of the painful howling of the night train,
              cutting through the pitch-like aire.
         The tiny, deafening glitch of an unseen creature,
              breaking the silence of a desolate junk yard.
         It's the sound of a single, crying widow in the
              middle of a forest of bleached white crosses.
                   The silent watching albatrosses.

    Fear stinks of a crumpled, drunken man laying still,
              slumped, stiff in an alley.
         It reeks of a freshly slaughtered lamb, blood
              gushing out, surrendering your nostrils.
         The dry, dusty smell of furniture breaking down into
              the elements in an abandoned house, its eyelids
                                               nailed shut.

    Fear's bitter taste is that of expended gun powder, the
              taste eating away at your tongue.
         The bland taste of dry, desolate wasteland; silently
              sucking the breath from you.

        It sucks slowly and surely until it
                                          sucks the
                                                   life
                                                        from
                                                          you.


                                           -Igal Koshevoy;  Feb. 23rd, 1991
                                                        DARKNESS  7:2 - 7:7



                           "Abbreviation of
                              Simplicity"


                Give me five minutes, and I'll fill up this journal,
                     give me an hour and I'll fill up a page.
                Give me forever, and I'll do absolutely nothing,
                     give me this moment and I'll do everything.

                It would all be so simple that way,
                                        but it isn't

                Someone always throws that curveball,
                     that spitwad,
                     that stray kick in the shin,
                     to stop you and...

                If you're lucky,
                            just lucky.

                You might just get out of life,
                                    alive.


                                      -Igal Koshevoy;  October 1st, 1990
                                       CRAMPS  20:6 - 20:8
                                       DARKNESS  4:2 - 4:6





    Nowhere Bound Train
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    I hear whistle of that nowhere bound train,
    Something seemed to have got lost in the confusion.
    Seemed to have lost sense with all of reality,
    Life of this world seems like a foregone conclusion.

    Nowhere special that I really want to go,
    Everywhere plays the same song but a different tune,
    Can't see any real changes anytime soon,
    Remorse left to those who always promise the moon.

    Everyone is quick to decide what is best for me,
    Never asked for anyone's help in any way at all.
    Making one live in someone else's perfect world,
    Just another dance in another hall.

    The brilliant color of the changing leaves,
    Telling us time is still going slowly by.
    Wishing sometimes that we could make it stop,
    Look back on some things in life and ask why.

    So much has happened within this life time,
    Sometimes the struggles become such a strain.
    The time has come for me to hitch a ride,
    On that lonely nowhere bound train.

                                            -Terry Long




    It Just Didn't Work
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    I know that things can never be the same,
    There really is no one to really blame.
    As my aching heart begins to sadly weep,
    Wished your love was something I could keep.

    It's going to be hard living without you,
    Remembering all the fun things we use to do.
    Some things in life were never met to be,
    As is the case with you and for me.

    Wish you well with the coming tide,
    Will be strange without you at my side.
    Time changes but people don't I know,
    Look at the time, I guess I better go.

    Will look for other rainbows in the sky,
    Watch time and nature gently pass me by.
    No time to stop and look back with regret,
    All the good times I will not forget.

                                            -Terry Long





    MISERABLE ARTIFICE
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    Every day in the absoluteness
    of someone's panic, there's peace
    tuned down low, it jumps out of me
    and takes you for a ride and everyday
    it's like mushrooms, something turns up,
    mash it up and you drink it all down
    like spirit's wine until you are seeing
    smaller, smaller pictures getting bigger,
    bigger, fog blurred, dreamy real & crooked.

    But if you were to touch it twice,
    it might come alive and then today in the
    clear blue you'd jump out of the page
    and carry yourself through that song
    and exclaim how beautiful it is
    to be able to think and then you find
    yourself in your alley building, twitching
    between upstairs and downstairs, tiring
    until you find yourself in the everywhere
    as you look into that window and believe
    you can feel every single thing
    that takes place, everywhere!

    Then something crawls for your body,
    some natural park automotive country
    personality wrinkled modern canvas
    that disturbs you greatly as it crawls
    up your spine and to the percolating brain.

    There you find yourself in another cartoon,
    find yourself freeze-framed, some kind of
    iceberg ocean picture. And as the twisted
    come down like a glacier and the snowfall
    feels like hail, it's the tight bridge
    that we always cross-reference this place
    just as disturbed and noisy
    as the day it was left.

    And if you finally opened your mouth
    and took me with you on your word train
    through the city rail-track forests,
    it might become something bigger
    than the both of us and it may fill
    our pockets or it may wash us down,
    so we keep beating confident and keep
    putting words out like firecrackers
    or complex toys that run on batteries
    until that flat path we keep creating
    has grown with flowers and died,
    sometimes even for hours
    grown with flowers and died.

    And as we'll never understand the center
    of everything that makes these images
    gravitate to the upper flame spot light
    that keeps drawing you down to the same
    cold water womb where we began inside
    these dusty rooms, the grossly repugnant
    nothing of death won't stick until everything
    that has past makes the one great picture.
    That picture of me and you still floating slowly just
    outside like the skilled planetary sword
                        we have dreamed to wield,
                            but may not an orbit to hold.

                                            -Andrew Blevins



    A STATESMAN'S OAK TABLE
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    With its waves of grain
    the oak table remembers
    a few hundred years of pain
    spoken lightly across its bow,
    as it is old and knows
    the ins and outs
    of a lover's indecision,
    broken precision
    of rhyme
    and tokens of loath.

    Sun love from windows
    fade and color the grain,
    as memories pass
    lace tablecloth casque,
    from banging fists,
    tinkling plates,
    spilled wines of grape,
    and leaves that rode
    during moving seasons.

    But experience was none the worse
    for wear on its finish
    as resurrected from logs
    rotting in the forest
    a still, proud, fixture
    in the statesman's den,
    where fountain pens
    signed love letters
    to ladies forever gone.

    And this afternoon's dust
    has become thick
    and fills its artist's crevasses,
    trapping willow seeds
    from now broken windows
    and wind that whistles through panes,
    still, this vibrant oak
    soaks in recent sensations
    riding sweet upon the rains.

    Until today, expectant change,
    rotted wedge, to the tile floor fell,
    and with broken leg,
    resonant bang, in the statesman's den,
    the seven to ten, a.m. sun forever,
    in this dungy mansion,
    will caress only, its faded edge.


                                            -Andrew Blevins




    VERTIGO
    ~~~~~~~
    From afar grand baby blue
    and the wishy washy smile
    behind blank pictures dew
    dropped sour onto a floor
    adorn of grapevine trails
    with hollow grain tatters
    and whispering of matters
    unknown to my loving ears
    which had clung against a
    long vine telephone pulse
    and cassette ghost images
    which brought the phantom
    to join my kettle-friends
    parading up and down with
    a faint past recollection
    to undo my nervous shiver
    while the tides are fresh
    and biting my unbeknownst
    experience and to capture
    my attention for many and
    most of my presence until
    I am to know then sharing
    the words and the phrases
    with a friend I have lost
    and muses me through word
    after word until all that
    I know has been channeled
    for so prerequisite alone
    might master reverberated
    tones and dehydrate every
    single verse in my bodies
    after bodies that I dress
    in and dress out like fog
    of the city I profess for
    those quiet entertainment
    readings done in cafes or
    long island bars within a
    motorcycle rumble alcohol
    blur and cry some phrases
    while the crumble of chip
    and dip are your jealousy
    and your straight facades
    as I miss my baby of them
    same draught attitudes as
    I'm sure put her to death


                                            -Andrew Blevins






    YOU WERE GONE...
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    You were gone some March sunny day,
    I was waiting to hear from you that day,
    In a letter we both would together write,
    Though I did feel that everything wasn't right,
    Just getting a knock on the door from the police,
    Though realizing in their hearts your death they'd release,
    It hit me so hard and hurt me a great deal even still,
    Because there is memories of you and me that no one can fill,
    I miss and love you though I haven't seen yet your grave,
    Because I want to remember to me what you have gave,
    You gave me kindness and a song lasting in my heart,
    But you never knew it would last my life from the start,
    You loved me and gave me a precious gift,I miss you,
    I wished at the time that you could take me with you.


                                            - Heather James
                                              February 1993





    ROSE
    ~~~~

    i cannot deny an arrangement
    that shattered what dead men reveal
    the living can no more reclaim it
    than a raft could be made out of steel
    it's the tale of an angel that wandered
    from the realms of the heavens to hell
    were this angel not love i'd deny her
    for she left me alone when i fell

    i stumbled upon a commitment
    which made her and i into one
    body and soul knit together
    tight as the tightest of bonds
    but somehow through time's interaction
    somehow through love that was lost
    somehow through greed and it's saviour
    we bargained and ventured the cost

    the night is as dark as it's ugly
    the bed is surprisingly cruel
    no blanket to warm this reaction
    no lover to wake up this fool
    the dream of a rose turns to anger
    when the rosebushes gather a crown
    and this madman adrift on a feather
    swallows his pride just to drown

    a broken love
    a token love
    a flavour of what has been lost
            tell me my love
            what is above
            and what is revealed in the frost?


                                            - Klaus Gerken



            STORM

    The storm rages like a skin on fire
    Unsoothed upon a leper's couch
    Made the guilty pricked by brier
    Made the hungry sore upon the mouth
    Oh what vile and hornet's nest of thought
    Produces death's pale shadow of a ghost
    Who seeks revenge upon a past's harangue
    Who strikes the bones upon a drum skin taught
    I have made this plenty into one last feast
    Given in advancement of the grail
    The blood which flows untarnished still
    Beneath the surface of life's ill
    It is not you nor I that languish here
    We serve a greater cause beyond life's care.


                                            - Klaus Gerken




            EDEN

    You have not mastered what the oak
    Produces in abundance
    The forest is not strong and we
    Are evil in the path we clear
    There are silences upon the foot
    Where neither beast not fowl
    Would stand beneath our gratitude
    There is little that is not our rout
    We have taken what was not our own
    We have given nothing back
    We have settled with a black burnt offering
    Upon a fertile ground and made it rock
    We have parched the country of our birth
    And we have called it Eden: look around.


                                            - Klaus Gerken; 12-20-92




           STONES

    Roses and meanings
    The thorn and the tear
    A smoky horizon
    A sliver of fear

    A silent rehearsal
    Wind before rain
    Clearly a poison
    Held in disdain

    A slow dance macabre
    A lance in the side
    A prayer an omen
    A rose and a bride

    But storm clouds must gather
    Forcefully dark
    Hovering heavy
    No time to embark

    Hamlet's the skipper
    Ophelia's dream
    The blood on the alter
    Poisons the stream

    Gently but gently
    Neath thundering skies
    With obdurate leanings
    These lovers must die

    Like the thorn on the rose
    And meanings unknown
    The jungle will cover
    Even such prominent stones


                                            - Klaus Gerken



           The Death of the Affair

    The fields are stubble growth and black,
    No crows on this horizon mark
    The future's dim presentiment -
    I force no game of blackjack in the isle
    Where the wedding is already torn
    With broken bonds of disrespect -
    Outside the church the hearse arrives:
    The wind picks up - the lovers die
    In blunder, from a sordid lie...
    The cast iron bells upset the flask
    Of hemlock (Hear the thunder flash!
    The thunder is upon us! dare to
    Displace what these lover's mask!):
    "I myself weave no damask."


                                            - Klaus Gerken






            Silence
            -------

    We all know
    how to speak through silence.
    Crossed arms, knitted brows,
    careful dismissal of insignificant overtures;
    deep sighs, light sniffs --
    we telegraph our grievances, crying,
    "Get it? Get it? Get it?"

    But when you're quiet,
    as you so often are,
    you're waiting to be heard.


                                            - Vince Otten




            Friend
            ------

    Out of nowhere,
    Which is where friends come from,
    You jumped in.

    We don't know each other well,
    Which is probably why we're friends:
    We grabbed the brass ring.

    Later, we'll be wiser, but by then it'll be too late:
    How can you stop being friends?
    I don't know.


                                            - Vince Otten






        "I MADE IT THROUGH THIS WEEKEND WITHOUT YOU"

    I made it through this weekend without you
    Didn't plan it that way
    But made it anyhow
    It wasn't easy
    I wanted to call or stop by
    And see if you were home
    Or leave a message
    I wanted to
    But
    I noticed a pattern developing
    I was doing all the calling
    I was the one who would stop by
    I seemed to be the one who
    Initiated all the moves
    Granted
    The times we were together
    Were beautiful fun times
    And I guess it shouldn't matter
    Who calls who
    or comes by first
    But unexplainedly
    It did

    I was moving toward you
    You were standing still
    Yet we were not getting any closer
    You said you like to sit back
    And let things come to you
    That's Hip
    But life has its own rules
    And unfortunately you don't learn them
    Until you're well into the game
    And by that time you've committed
    Several personal fouls

    Sit back and wait for life if you dare
    But sometimes we have to make an effort
    In our own behalf
    Sometimes we have to let a person know
    That they mean something special to us
    And show the world there's
    Something/Someone
    We care about
    Sometimes sitting back and waiting
    For things to come our way
    Is a very good way
    To lose what little we've got
    Sometimes you can sit back and wait so hard
    you don't ever hear
    The knock at the door.


                                            - Inez Harrison






    Death by Ignorance
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    He stands
            He sits
                    He speaks

                    Who knows
            Who cares
    Who sees

    He is the invisible man

    cursed
    to walk the earth
    in utter solitude

    Some see
            Some care
                    Some know

    The invisible man

    He slips in and out of crowds
    a ghost without a cause

    When he feels ready
    He removes the veil from their eyes

    Some laugh
    Some stare
    and sometimes
            Some like

    The invisible man

    Most veils fall back in place
    The background swallows the malcontent

    The invisible man
    trapped in a prison without walls
    rattles his cage
    and sheds

    invisible

    tears


                                            - David Hickey



    Quiet Fury
    ~~~~~~~~~~
    the mountains were lost from view
            the forests were next
                    my city faded from view

    the wind rattles my glass panes
    si secure them against the coming storm

    soon the campus fades away and
    i begin to see flakes fall
    virginizing the city scape
    and i
    the student
    in my room watch with
            indifference as
    my window weeps with melting flakes

    soon now
    i fade from view
    nature absorbs us all
    in it quiet fury
    replacing us with the millions of
    cold
            white
                    flakes
    it wraps me up in cold
                         secure
                              folds
                              of
                              white silk
    the city reappears
    purified
    but i
    untouched behind the glass pane
    remain
    sullied
    and the window looks on with
    indifference
    as i weep frozen snowflakes


                                            - David Hickey



    Shock Waves
    ~~~~~~~~~~~
    13 days
    13 days to forever
            and
            SHE
            called

    I
      DON'T
          LOVE
              YOU
            SHE
            said
            and pulls the pin

    The words bite me in the chest
    My head goes light as
            my
               world
                    dissolves

    Waves of shock
                    break
                            over
                                    me

    Waves of shock
                    break
                            me
                                 over
                                       and
                                            over

    SHE calls back
            I'm sorry
            I need time
            I'm not sure
            I need you

    I put the pin back in

            hoping the next words SHE speaks
            will not
                         shatter
                                    my
                                    world.


                                            - David Hickey






    Grinning
           Feeling a happy flutter
    within my heart sing
    not know how to utter

    Alone with my words, I
    well, not alone
    there's my music, sigh
    and the stars that condone

    I'm fine today
    untroubled with others
    but with so much to say


    My fingers fumble
    joy is not
    my usual
    tone.

    But it's true
    so little pain
    the past has flew
    I'm cleansed by the rain

    Old rhymes
    are dear to me
    a tether to other times
    but insight is the key
    that will set me free.

    Keep breathing
    the music alway resurges
    echoes will always ring
    but life has strong urges


                                            - Jari Winter





    CHOICES
    ~~~~~~~
    Be happy, do smile
    This world is alive
    with sensual new beginnings

    Sadness is the snow
    which melts as you know
    In the sunshine of your achievings

    Don't live in the future
    for today is it's past
    Enjoy it from the start to the ending

    So be gay be merry
    all you Tom Dick and Harry
    Enjoy your life while you live

    Go climb up a mountain
    or swim up a stream
    All that you've got, give

    As I tell you this
    in my hour left to live
    do heed to all my advices

    For I have refrained
    living my life to the fullest
    And now I've run out of...choices.


                                            - Murtaza Officewalla





         THE RIDE
         ~~~~~~~~
    The wind is flying
    Through my hair
    As I ride this horse
    Without a care.

    His grace and beauty
    Is beyond compare
    We are not slowing
    How fast do I dare?

    As we race across
    This field of green
    His talent can't be matched
    By any human machine.

    Try as they might
    No one has been able
    To match this fine animal
    I keep in my stable.


                                            - Linda Knudson





                Signs.
                ~~~~~
    Sometimes we can
         read between the lines.
    We see the things
         we were not supposed to see.

    Sometimes we ignore
         the warnings written everywhere
    and then we call life unfair.


                                            - Francisco Reyes





           DEATH

    You drove it from you years ago -
    Barred the shutters, let it go -
    Or so you thought, - but was it so?
    You sang, because it wasn't there
    In music, but you didn't care.
    Sang of solitude and bare
    It left you - far too long -
    Then in silence - where you wrong?
    Was there poison in your song?
    But what today has left you so
    Frightened, like a man who slow-
    ly realizes, there beneath, a glow
    Of light - beneath the door, beyond
    Where in the room of quiet bond
    No one has lived so very long?


                                            - Vladimir Holan
                                            (translation by Klaus J. Gerken)







    sable sun...
    ~~~~~~~~~
    sable sun setting
    silver moon rising
    time long past
    returns full circle
    we stand apart
    divine light shines.


                                            - Jared Boehm




    Walls
    -----

    Hammer in hand,
    A glare in my eye,
    Walking towards the wall,
    Looming in the distance,
    Stretching across the horizon.

    Tearing it down,
    Piece by piece,
    With a vengeance,
    Standing in my way,
    From the other side,
    Keeping me out,
    Keeping something in,
    Somethings aren't meant to last,
    To see the years pass,
    And its time has come.
    The other side is seen,
    And I walk away,
    Towards the next wall.


                                            - Jared Boehm




    Screaming
    ---------

    Screaming,
    deafening by ears,
    my face flushed red,
    my throat grows dry,
    filled with the vibrations,
    of the echoes inside.

    Screaming so loud,
    screaming so long,
    my anger enraged,
    hatred is obvious.

    Screaming at myself.


                                            - Jared Boehm




    Bottle Gazing
    ------ ------

    I'm looking at the world,
    Through a coke bottle,
    That I found on the street,
    Watching the warped figures,
    Melding, blending,
    Intrigued by the diffractions,
    Just clear enough,
    To see what I want to,
    And to ignore the rest.


                                            - Jared Boehm



                                   Drops
                                   -----

                                     a
                                    few
                                   drops
                                  of rain
                                 fall down
                                fast to the
                               street below.
                               observed only
                               by my eye wet
                                 with some
                                   tears


                                            - Jared Boehm





    On Pushkin's heroine
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    Drink full, Tatyana, from thy chalice
    this pleasant potion spiced with bane.
    The world's unrelenting malice
    the hyp induces in your vein.
    A classic mind of fat estate
    a Haraldette, you're bound to be-
    Not heraldette of `Geddon's gate
    but portenter of lethargy.
    Without, the souls bescratch the mud.
    Within, the strains of Schiller, Goethe.
    Bordeaux and Bentham, you've them boethe.
    The crowd screams for Dzerzhinski`s, blood...
    But all that is some others' time:
    Tatyana, be my Valentine!


                                            - James Evers






    ͸ ͸ ͸ ͸      ͸ ͸ ͸  ͸ ͸    ͸
    ;    ͸           ͸     Ѿ    ;           
        ; ;           ; ;             ;   



    Where Does The Chilling Wind Blow
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    Where does the chilling wind blow?
    Somewhere through a riot torn LA.
    Maybe in New York City in Harlem,
    It seems to blow both night and day.

    Perhaps in blows in the Mideast through Iraq,
    People are kept down through a dictator's force.
    Maybe China where people are denied their rights,
    Down through Europe to Somalia a change of course.

    The war that still wages on in Yugoslavia,
    Philippines where the poor and downtrodden roam.
    Blowing along the continent of starving Africa,
    The streets of shacks that the homeless call home.

    Is there anyway of getting off this world's merry-go-around?
    Are the leaders that damn blind to see as to what they do?
    Or is starvation, death, and oppression their idea of fun?
    I grow so very tired of this world, what will become of you?

    Ill feelings of the KKK, Skinheads, and PETA.
    Is there some grand plan where this will all end.
    Maybe ask the pusher up the street selling candy to kids,
    Guess we all could shut our eyes and just pretend.

    Seems we shut things out and so they don't exist,
    Being led like a pony around the track in some show.
    Take a look around at the world we made and ask,
    Where does the chilly wind blow?


                                            - Terry Long






                  
                      
                   
                          
                                       
                             
               
                   
              
      

  
            THE AFFLICTED, a poem by KJ Gerken
            THE CONFERENCE ANTHOLOGY edited 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

            Coming soon: POEMS OF DESTRUCTION, poems by KJ Gerken
  

    All books are on disk and cost $10.00 each, and may be ordered from:

             Ŀ
               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).



  
                 Ŀ Ŀ Ŀ    Ŀ      Ŀ
                         Ĵ      ڿ Ĵ   
                                 
            ķ  Ŀ Ŀ Ŀ Ŀ Ŀ Ŀ  Ŀ ķ 
                           Ĵ              
                                   
  


  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.

  Information requests, subscriptions, suggestions, comments, submissions or
  anything else  appropriate  should  be  addressed,  with  a self addressed
  stamped envelope, to:

             Ŀ
               YGDRASIL PRESS         
               1001-257 LISGAR ST.       
               OTTAWA, ONTARIO           
               CANADA, K2P 0C7           
             

  All checks should be made out to: YGDRASIL PRESS




