




 September 1993  volume 1, number 5 ͻ
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                       
                                   
                                                    
                                                    
                                       
                                       
                                                    
                                                    
                                 
                     
                                                                            
                                                                            
    
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
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                               Editor: Klaus J. Gerken                      
                     Associate Editor: Paul Lauda                           
                    Production Editor: Igal Koshevoy                        
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
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      EDITORIAL......................................Klaus Gerken
      And here we lie................................David Parton
      The First Book of the Universe.................David Parton
      It is dawn no my love..........................David Parton
      Oh Little girls so softly cry..................David Parton
      Women live life. Men explain it................David Parton
      Bands of assorted excited tales................Franz Zorn
      SHORES OF TRANQUILITY..........................Franz Zorn
      Nights of mind ridden song.....................Franz Zorn
      The Edge of the Universe.......................Heather James
      The weariness of...............................Vince Otten
      It makes sense.................................Vince Otten
      The Pulsating Universe Theory..................Gregory Barnhill
      Tea Leaves.....................................Gregory Barnhill
      Early Bees.....................................Andrew Blevins
      Lonely Life....................................Joe Hope
      A Poem.........................................Joe Hope
      Line of Poetry.................................Pedro Sena
      Model..........................................Pedro Sena
      Lonely Line....................................Pedro Sena
      MEMORY.........................................Klaus J. Gerken
      REALITY........................................Klaus J. Gerken
      POST SCRIPTUM..................................Paul Lauda



                      
                                                
                                              
                                                
                             

  

     This edition is a bit of a nostalgia trip for the editor, in that he
  has included two poets he was closely associated with in his youth (Oh
  too too many years ago!). The poets are David Parton and Franz Zorn:
  both deserving of a readership, then and now, and both moved on to other
  lives. I went to school with one; the other came to Ottawa for the
  summer of '70, which was our equivalent of San Francisco's '67, and
  spawned a rich correspondence which lasted over 10 years. I have sadly
  lost touch with both of them, and hope they will not mind some of my
  favorite poems of their's appearing in this edition.

     I have included some of my own poems from the same period, and no doubt
  they will appear as stale as Dave Parton said they were...I have no
  illusion: they are apprentice works inspired by an incredible fertile
  creative period about to close...the 60's. For some of you this may
  be ancient history...be that as it may...but for the editor and the poets
  he hung around with, it was a period in time no less significant (albeit
  on a more personal level) than the 1870's for the Symbolists in France,
  or the 1910's for the painters who gathered in Paris before the first
  great war. Each of us has a memory they carry, which for them is vital
  to their future development...This is mine.

     The other poets appearing in this edition are of a more recent vintage.
  All appearing on one or more Poetry Conferences many of the readers of this
  journal will be familiar with: Heather James, Vince Otten, Gregory Barnhill
  and Joe Hope can be found posting their fine works on the Intelec
  Poetry Conference; Andrew Blevins, still the host of the Fidonet Poetry
  Workshop - a real survivor, and Pedro Sena, for the first time (as Gregory)
  appearing here, but one of the first poets to come over and support
  to the Centipede Network, where he regularly appears and hosts the fine
  Dreams Conference.

     And of course I have made the Post Scriptum by one of the most amazing
  young men I have ever had the pleasure to work with...Paul Lauda,
  with whom none of this could even remotely participate in life's reality.

     I hope you enjoy the issue; this one (as all the rest) was a real
  labour of love.

                                                          
                                        з           ַ ַ ַ / ַ ַ
                                             Ľ       Ľ      


  And here we lie
  In the warm wind, waiting for evening.
  Sweetness so rich in our eyes
  And trembling with tenderness
  That despite the universe
  All we do is sigh.

  Quivering lips, moist,
  Each beat rustling our
  Farthest branches, where they mingle.


                                            - David Parton
                                              From SELECTED WORKS OF (1971)



  The First Book of the Universe
  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
  Forces........................ At the beginning
        ........................
  Fate  ........................ At the end
  Island Universe .............. In between
  You and I .................... Throughout


                                            - David Parton
                                              From SELECTED WORKS OF (1971)




  It is dawn now my love,
  and meadows shared singing
  hand in hand the night through
  are given over to birds singing
  and sunrise.

  It is old sweet songs you sing
  beside me in my dream.
  Abruptly robins remind us,
  and off you fly to your bed.

  Surrender to the light, awaken;
  Our slender friend, Twilight, has shaken
  the stars from their slumber reign.
  There's a dream before, and a river between
  and a day till I see you again.


                                            - David Parton
                                              From SELECTED WORKS OF (1971)



  Oh little girls so softly cry
  Like branches reaching for the sky
  Or when they whisper of their love
  To birds that sail the air above
  And grass that grows along the brooks
  Grows greener as my Georgia looks
  On fields of stars and yellow leaves
  That whisper when my Georgia sees
  A river softly flowing.

  But now the sky has crawled away
  And winter shortens all our day
  And when I see these white flakes fly
  With wings that beat the cloudy sky
  Among the trees and other things.
  Is it wind or bird cries I hear sing
  And see the wind blow piles and herds
  Of flacky little whity birds
  I wonder if its snowing or sea-gulling.


                                            - David Parton
                                              From SELECTED WORKS OF (1971)



       Women live life.

        Men explain it.


  Dont think cause you'll be
      thinking all your life,
  Dont answer cause you'll only
      keep on takin.
  And when you see me curled up
  naked like a tiny child,
  hidden on my large large bed,
  honey,
  know me and touch, I'll soon be gone.
  I'm only an idea
  trying very hard not to admit it.

  Now I've floated, flown, and walked
  And now I know this place well
  Old me's a nice hideaway but
  Aint no hell.
  An once I had a lifetime
  a good one, George,
  Oh once I had a lifetime, I had
  a good one George,
  But it would never do
  love, I wanted yours.
  Skippen and crackin around
  this old old world turns
  like a wornout blues record
  with a lot of little blues needles,
  Oh Lord,
  after so long, don't you get bored.

  From here to everywhere
  am I
  Round stars fading to
  blue sky.
  In all my poems throughout all time
  All I try to do is rhyme.
  I wonder
    Looking through an eyefull
    of slightly delayed reality
    Looking at a reality of
    delayed eyefulls.
  Either way
  I've got it made,
  Long as no one finds out
         where I keep it hid.

  Well when I woke
    looking out,
  Who could tell,
    look out,
  I can tell, well, is that kind of
  mornin,
  mornin when expectancy becomes
    the inevitable.
  We know that feeling well.
  Sort of single feelin, honey
  near an beside me, almost one,
  That amounts not quite near nothing
    and everythin alse as well.

  Well whats that big old
    difference, anyhow
  I mean
  I mean
  Its sunrise somewhere, and
  sunset somewhere
  And day and night stuffed between.
  And whats this all teach,
  honey, nothin c'ept it's all out
  of reach.
  I mean horses and written
  and riden
  just are right for now.
  I
  imagine,
  so are eaten an sleepin
  and livin an fuckin
  good
  for right now,
  honey,
  I guess, knowing full well
  whats ahead.
  Facing people like the sunrise
  Three stallions in the sunrise
  facing me, two chestnut grays,
  and one pinkish white, well,
  what should I see

  Three floppy old flea bitten
    horses
    actin like you or like me.

  Christ, get the one that
  looks like tiny tim. Big feet too.

  You take Rasputin, honey,
  we'll ride till skin
  shows through.

  Oh
  it aches,
  darlin
  whatchin and lookin
  it aches George
  I know
  you cant come
  an your family wont let you go.
  Whatchin these here spiders
  this mornin, outside
  well whatchin these 2 spiders, runnin round
  snitchen an bitchen
  bout loose ends to tangle a fly.
  S'bout how I end these thoughts,
  grabbin a loose one to try.
  (How about that honey,
  an less than a page an
  I'm back at you.

  To
  go
  over an
  over an
  over an
  over
  just aint no good.
  Here I sit. shit.
  Just as the sun comes up
  risen warm from hell
  dont know if I'm on the edge of faintin
  or on the edge of feelin well.

  I'd like to form
     a new religion, just for fun.
  Every honey every mornin
  you'd come out and stand in the sun.
  Oh Oh Oh
  I knew full well, full well
  What would be done,
  People like me would be openin
  their eyes to that sun.
  Dont read these lines too close
  the clouds might move
  An where would you be standin?

  Good mornin, though
  all the hell,
  its words an words later
  now.
  O
  dont you lnow
  how well I am
  its mornin and
  how swell I am.
    I sing at you
  You sing at me
  And we fit in just anywhere.

  Where am I.
  The conceiver. Looking
  at himself in the mirror,
  chapped lips and pimples.
  How do I even conceive
  of words like beauty
  or dream of
  such tainted-paradise at those
  we dwell.
  And once more I am brought
  back to the beginning
  An who do I find

  Around
  the rhymes of domestic straightening
  and upkeek
  sit I
  happily
  knowing -     at least listening.

  I find myself in footsteps
  leading to you.
  Beside me, ready to make a dream.
  Prepare, love, to ride a future.
  I search and now I know there are no
  answers no meaning.
  Do you consent, my wife
  can you contain the most passionate
  caress a man a woman between, or
  the cruelest seperation
  the coldest blow.
  Sometimes you'll be second
  sometimes you'll be first.

  See,
  cause Peter can sit with his
  physical love,
  he'll learn, he's smart, he shoul'd, I did.
  I prefer you, the whole girl.
  John, my John, will sit with himself
    till despair drives him in or out.
  John will end up very shook up,
    but I hope I can be a friend.
  Most everyone else is easy to see
  S'cept you.

    Now here I am at the last page.
  I didnt know I would get this far. You
  didn't know you would read this far.
  Heck, I aint even finished some of the ones
  before.
    Now I dont imagine you'll get this far
  too often, but when you do, know I love you
  I love you, I love you, my George.
  Forget my yelling, forive me, remember me.
  Cause you'll only read this when you need to.
  I tell you, theres many other things in my
  mind,
  but before all of them, after all
  without word, before all of them
  till this body lives in itself no more,
  By God, George, you shall be first.


                                            - David Parton
                                              From SELECTED WORKS OF (1971)





     Bands of assorted excited tales
     told by gypsy klans
  roaming, roving..off into distant
  hilly lands of love
  Lo forgotten did awaiting man carry
  his needy sack of goods together some more

     Hear of white birds resting on
  heads of Lions, golden in gardens of
     sun maids bathed in radiance
  defying all evil lurking without

     Searing sunrays opening eyes
  into lights of candle makers
     oils of sea watchers
     streams of serpent-like structure

  Leaning three villages
     surrounding by the hope
  of yellow garmented riders
     heading for the moon
        not fearful of surveying eyes

  Theories of rainbows
     goldfish homes
     glittering palms


                                            - Franz Zorn
                                              From THE POEMS OF (1971)



  SHORES OF TRANQUILLITY
  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
  Intervolving thoughts
     like bleak noetic needles
  sifting through the sands
     of time
  form crystalin images
  upon the winds of infinity
     leaving traces of purpose
  in the minds of men

  Mingling upon the shores
     of love
  we unknowingly share
     the iniquities of man
  yet never cease to feel
     the everlasting joys
  of life itself
  for we have taken refuge
     in the kingdoms of our minds
  finding celestial harmony
     amongst the beauties of nature

  Moons of thought
     orbit our souls
  diverting witty concepts
     into nothingness
  as the salvation of love
     descends upon the
        shores of tranquility


                                            - Franz Zorn
                                              From THE POEMS OF (1971)



     Nights of mind ridden
  song
     moving times
    thoroughly existent
  Effects entailing
    lingering onwards
  from within immense
  depths of lost past
     foundations
  Youth has come
     as the gift
  lifting spirits
     out of glimseless
        dreaming
           unrealities
     scornful tyranny,
  peoples of great longing
     inbound within realms
        of forever shattering
           sorrowful shouts
  The steaming breath
        frosted over
        clear minds,
           grounds beginning
     ways men might see
        each others lives...


                                            - Franz Zorn; June 7, 1970
                                              From THE POEMS OF (1971)





  The Edge of the Universe
  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
  The Edge of the Universe....
  At the edge of the universe I see you waiting there
  Moonbeams and the sunbeams playing amongst your hair
  The stars shimmering and shining in your beautiful eyes
  As I see the sun in the horizon starting to slowly rise
  Streaking the sky with all the colors of the rainbow
  As I feel the soft wind on my face as it starts to blow


  Standing here at the edge of the universe as the world turns
  As fireballs and meteors in the sky are seen as it burns
  The clouds above us are bursting with thunder and rain falling
  As we stand together here at the edge of the universe,your name I am
       calling

  At the edge of the universe here with you it feels so good
  As it creates footprints of our feet where we last stood
  The stars become closer to my hand as I once again reach out
  As we both ponder and study in our minds what life is all about

  I grab the star and place it firmly within your warm hand
  At the edge of the universe now you have come to me,maybe we will never
       understand
  The beauty as I look around everywhere causes me at you to stare
  As the stars reflection reflects your beautiful eyes and hair

  We feel the motion of the world turning at the edge of the universe
       where we are
  As you want to give me a token of your love for me as your hand reaches
       out and touches the star

  I hold my hand out as you place your token within my hand
  Here at the edge of the universe we are destined and forever will stand
  The stars,the planets,the sands of time will be for you and I
  For together we are immortal and will never have to die.


                                            - Heather James





        It makes sense that
        the sun beaming through my early breakfast nook
        should make my hope race.

        It's understandable that
        crocuses in the snow
        should greet faith, rising from the dark.

        But why am I in love?
        Oh, I see.
        You.


                                            - Vincent Otten




        The weariness of sudden terror
        Pressed down with unrelenting force.
        Once-bold disciples became sleepers,
        Too wayworn to address remorse.

        How did he, then, the lonely victim
        With sorry heart and sweating brow
        Remain alive enough for praying --
        For crying, trusting, waiting *now*?


                                            - Vincent Otten





  The Pulsating Universe Theory
  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
  Kali, basso ostinatto
  And Vishnu, largo;
  Then Tiamont and Apsu, legatto arpegios, vivace
  Then Fire and Water in unison:
  Mocking quod libet
  resolving, revolving, evolving
  Into die kunst der fugue:

  The first seven-hundred-billion years;
  The sons of Isaac and Ishmael call them days.

  Then...
  The mother's blood,
  Running from now-empty eye-sockets
  Split the Land
  And her corpse became a host
  For mutant strand of DNA, cyanoplasts, mitochondria
  And then the Word,

  But Eurodice had grown senile
  Awaiting the Awakening
  And, thus, could only remember scant fragments
  Of the birth cry of Moshka;
  This he did whisper unto Prometheus
  Who did whisper it unto our fathers,
  Who then set about the task
  Of deducing the next logical note,
    bar, and phrase
  While they celebrated the temporary perpetuality
  Of their own existence
  Even though the sensed the coming ultimate reprise.


                                            - Gregory Barnhill



  Tea Leaves
  ~~~~~~~~~~
  Supermen
  Have strange attractors,
  Superstrings,
  And search for missing factors
  They employ cryptic nomenclatures
  To describe
  Abstract, theoretical behaviors.

  Fredkin and Feigenbaum
  Told me Newton was way off
  That he made so many bold assumptions
  Based on a meager glimpse
  Of the language of God
  And they say that they
  May have seen a sentence.

  Fred says,
  "I think IT's not a flux;
  "I think IT's granular."
  They both say,
  "IT's mostly non-periodic
  And non-linear.
  Einsteinian yardsticks
  Accelerate and retract
  While they measure
  Little black boxes
  Filled with Schrodinger cats
  That have Cheshire grins
  And left and right-handed spins."
  And my head starts spinning
  As I listen to them

       Trying to analyze
       All the patterns
       In the tea leaves
       Trying to imagine the future
       And understand the past
       Assuming, of course,
       This whole 'Time-thing' exists.
       Unified fields,
       Grand symmetry,
       Is this really science,
       Or is it philosophy,
       Teleology, or theology...
       Could this be?
       Could it be the new religion?

  Now that we have
  General Systems
  And Digital Physics,
  Has the time arrived
  To bow down
  Before the modern mystics
  As they try to analyze
  All the patterns in the tea leaves?


                                            - Gregory Barnhill





  Early Bees
  ~~~~~~~~~~
  Beauty! rise in familiar similarity;
    the pointed tail to a leaf glove spreading,
      attracting, refracting the buzz-tease
    as pierce is engulfed in a wet sigh please
  The bean-bodied fuzzy bugs buzzing croon
    was there on time and all to soon
      for the well-ready bud-youth fantasy
    reflected in the sun mirror pool
  Seeded in spring rain from the pollination act
    that was repeated in cross bred flower seas
      to ferry away a tomorrow inside today.
    Now curling away folding waves,
  Quiver and sweat in the sweet honey breeze
    draw and stinging the pocket like
      the sediment rush, the baby fish
    in the balloon mix explosion
  Rattling off in seduction fire,
    pitch blowings to catcher's mitt
      of silk grasping sugar lily
    gasping inside soul deep the head
  So blush pink in the warm flowered bed...
    Stab, Stab, Stab! inside that
      mark laden to rim-lip psychedelic
    nature makeup that'll drive and guide
  The other side's multiple explosion;
    friction-tingling-scream-sash
      framing the window of the many
    deep spring love scenes of rainbows
  Over Four O'clocks right on time.
    And meet them in striped yellow and black
      as they turn away from business
    fly the soon conquered fields
  They will have proven and carry back
    as the relaxing aftermath goes
      down hill, down hill and flies
    gone in groups like the smoke
  Of a big tan velvet smoking cigarette...


                                            - V.A. Blevins





   LONELY LIFE
   ~~~~~~~~~~~

   "You're much to cold to know how much you meant to me!"
                                          -Alice Cooper
                                           "Die for you"

  I loved you
  Until forever
  Still you walked out on me
  I saw you
  Through pain and sorrow
  Still you left and went free
  I wish I
  Could have you
  Here by my side
  But I'm
  Alone now
  On this bumpy ride

  I wish
  I could love you
  For all time
  But you left me out here alone

  Chorus:
  Alone to walk in the rain
  Trying to hide the pain
  Laughing at my strain and strife
  Alone in my lonely life

  I still need you
  But you still are free
  I still love you
  But you don't love me
  I want to see you
  And know your home
  Not with another guy
  That you're gonna leave all alone

  (repeat chorus)

  I tried to be with you
  I tried to stay strong
  But you pulled away
  You didn't want me along
  I wish it was that simple
  I wish I could forget
  The love that we shared
  From the day we met
  Well another day's dawning
  Soon another sun sets
  I still think of you
  And I still get
  This yearning inside
  To be with you tonight
  I wish I would die
  And give up this fight

  Alone to walk in the rain
  Trying to hide the pain
  Laughing at my sorrow and my strife
  Alone in my lonely lonely life!


                                            - Joe Hope, 1993
                                              PAINFUL POETRY(BOOK #1)  57:01



  A POEM
  ~~~~~~
   "Quick to judge
     Quick to anger
      Slow to understand

    Ignorance and Prejudice
     And fear
      Walk hand in hand!"
      -Rush
       "Witch Hunt"

  A poem to me
  IS a window in the soul
  Exposing what you are
  To the world
  Teaching those around you
  The way you feel inside
  And the ones who look
  And listen with their hearts
  May just see who I am
  My poems are a journey through me
  My loves and my life
  That I put on public display
  To show everyone
  Just how I feel
  And see if people agree
  Not many do
  But I try and try
  And someday I will be heard
  Someday, somebody will know
  That my life means something
  And so do my words
  And life just ain't no bowl o' cherries
  It may look normal
  And safe
  Even fun
  But Hell can be deceiving!


                                            - Joe Hope, 1993
                                              PAINFUL POETRY(BOOK #1)  65:09





  LINE OF POETRY
  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
  I wanted to write a line of poetry
  when words failed me, I know not
  how to find rhymes of symmetry.
  All of a sudden. Done. A final dot.

  You say quarks, strangeness and charm,
  I say talk, talk, never say anything,
  for the line flows, a stream, no harm.
  To my mind and body, just a fling.

  I wanted to write a line that rhymes
  and all I find is that old feeling
  short of acting, mirror of the mimes
  with attributes always too fleeting.

  You say this is good, this is bad,
  I say, I know not how the line came
  yet, the next word in the order ahead
  will still appear, sharply, but tame.

  I wanted to write a line for an ode
  and my sadness, then, started to grow,
  oh thankful spirit, teach me the mode
  and I will help you shine and glow.

  I wanted to write a line of poetry,
  only to find there existed symmetry.
  I then stopped writing,
  I wanted the lines to stir and move
  until there was no life to prove..
  except,...
  that,...
  they had a life of their own,...


                                            - Pedro Sena
                                              June 21, 1987



  MODEL
  ~~~~~
  The artist
  stalks his prey,
  as she poses,
  ...
  over there,
  ...
  very still,
  ...
  with an expressionless face,
  devoid of...
  spirit,
  ...
  but,
  full of vanity,
  look at her eyes,
  ...

  ...
  and the artist
  decides to think,
  as he watches his prey.

  He walks towards her,
  ...
  touches her cheek,
  ...
  it doesn't move,
  ...
  caresses the temples,
  softly,
  ...
  it doesn't feel,
  ...
  then he strokes lightly
  the tan-ed forehead
  ...
  it twitches,
  so he thinks,
  ...
  and the barren feel of
  a stone,
  reminds him,
  wondering,
  what is it that any artist
  can find in a fantasy.?
  ...
  if I help,...will it talk?
  if I hold,...will it walk?
  if I pray,...does it hear?
  if I state,...does it fear?
  ...

  maybe a good work
  will eventually
  find a reward,
  ...
  a soul for,
  for,
  a visionless idea,
  ...
  inspiration for another
  empty hope.

  Maybe it will live,
  thy will,
  come alive,
  with truths,ideas,thoughts,
  beliefs,experiences,lifetimes,
  ...
  lifetimes,
  maybe she'll fit,
  as the other half,
  which can so easily
  accommodate the space
  between two hopeful,
  and lonely,
  ideals,
  ...
  feels like begging,
  for a partner,
  ...
  a little love, and
  hopeful visions of
  sharing,
  something,
  which has become so rare,
  that can't even be found,
  much less shared,
  with a stranger,
  ...
  or stone,
  ...
  a model, yet,
  a dreamer of vain thoughts,
  the reason why we
  suffer many nights and days
  of restless wonder.
  Nothing to be won.
  All to be lost.

  And that which we dream
  speak of
  wish to live for,
  ...

  is but a strange
  sight to the eyes of,
  even my model,
  the one who sits,
  and proudly poses,
  naked,
  ...
  ohhh,her attitude,
  ...
  and once again,
  I stalk my prey,
  quietly,
  the hunter,
  alone,
  ...
  until the fantasy
  is no more.
  And nothing more.
  Than a mere simple meal,
  ...
  at the end of another hope,
  ...
  ...
  until the next model.


                                            - Pedro Sena
                                              March 8, 1990



  LONELY LINE
  ~~~~~~~~~~~
  It's hard to be alone
  in a world full of chaos
  where we hide in a dome
  of distrust and pathos
  but
  one day I awoke with a pen
  and wrote the page so full
  that the vision lived again
  and I wasn't lonely, dull
  since
  I could exercise my mind's wit
  into the precipice of the heart
  until words hid, no longer fit
  the loud cry that tears apart
  that
  which I would like to ever say
  and have found alone in dismay
  true beauty of life forevermore
  that shall speak and write for
  the vision
  ...
  the sightings
  ...
  ahhhh, a dream ...


                                            - Pedro Sena
                                              February. 6, 1993





       MEMORY
       ~~~~~~
  When my memories of you
  were swallowed by a whirlpool;
  I tried to laugh,
  yet only tears came.
  When I asked if anything had remained,
  a voice came from the deep:
  "Only pain, my son, only pain."


                                            - Klaus J. Gerken
                                              From DYNASTY (1968)




       REALITY
       ~~~~~~~

          I

  I felt you near me
  When the rain cast me adrift.
     I cried out,
  But you were silent upon the shore.

          II

  For a moment I was Jesus
  And knelt to pray.
     I knew no faith;
  Your silence had wounded my soul.

          III

  In constant anger, my mind
  Tore at your image.
     Yet you were only a ghost
  To a broken soul.

          IV

  I wept silently and wanted death:
  You whispered for the sky to fall.
     And between us two
  Stood an ocean of torrid images.

          V

  I was struck blind by your god
  With his eyes on fire.
     And as I wept,
  My shadow concealed your wishes.

          VI

  The sky broke the restlessness
  Of your thoughts and extracted,
     From the depths of your silence,
  Visions of laughter.

          VII

  The sound of your laughter
  Tore apart my mind.
     I should have known your truth
  Knew no distances.

          VIII

  Then I came to realize
  You were not a mere woman;
     You were a goddess:
  The mother of God, the daughter of Love.

          IX

  Then awareness struck like thunder
  From within life,
     And the movement of your soul
  Captured my eyes.

          X

  The sea scattered like fog,
  And left me standing here.
     Beneath your feet
  You saw the empty sea of truth.

          XI

  Your laughter broke with tears
  Of desperation:
     I stood naked,
  You realized that you were dead.


                                            - Klaus J. Gerken
                                              From DYNASTY (1968)





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


  ... "Without love and trust all you can be in life is alone."

  Without love and trust...
  Would there still be hope?
  Without love and trust...
  Would there be wholesome life?
  Without love and trust...
  Could there possibly be sanity
                    - And pleasure?
  Joy in giving pain, perhaps,
  But the best known examples I
  Know of, are the top of the rich.
  Without love and trust,
  Could there be a God?


                                            - Paul Lauda 1993





                        (tm)
                                              
            Cent                         
             Net                               
                               

              A Professional Mailing NetWork 

                            - Introduction -
                               05.12.1993

      Welcome  to  Centipede, a Professional Mailing Network.  Centipede may
  also be referred to as CentNet.  The NetHost (Paul Lauda), may be referred
  to as the CentHost.   All  other  nodes  may  be referred to as CentNodes.
  CentNet was established for intellectual and responsible writing.
      This Network lives to help users communicate among each other, and  it
  is  here  for  System  Operator  who  are serious about the NetMail World.
  CentNet offers a brilliant new  experience about conferencing; it provides
  free  speech  to  users  and  entertains   intellectual   and   meaningful
  discussions.   Unlike  many  networks  that have strict guidelines with no
  sense of democracy, this  Network  caters  to  Sysops needs and helps them
  with  their  problems.   Centipede  is  looking   for   professional   and
  responsible  Sysops  who  not  only  care about the Network, but also care
  about its Users.  It is Centipede's number one priority to help our Sysops
  with their needs.
     Centipede calls every node periodically  to  ensure that they are alive
  and online, this way, our nodelist file is always  current  and  accurate.
  If  by  any chance there is a mistake in the nodelist, or deletion, please
  inform the CentHost via voice  phone,  or  the CentHelp conference to Paul
  Lauda.
     Our NetWork offers a special program for Sysops and Users in case there
  may be questions or problems.  A 24 hour Voice Support Line  is  here  for
  your  questions:  (609)  895-0858.  If per chance there is no one there to
  answer your call, please leave your  name  and voice phone number, and the
  best possible time to contact you (Eastern  Standard  Time),  and  someone
  will get back to you as soon as possible.  We are here to help you, please
  feel free to call, even if it is just to say "Hello".
      And  what does Centipede stand for?  The body of the Centipede is made
  up of the Sysops who carry CentNet.  Without the Sysops, CentNet would not
  be able to flourish properly.  The  legs  are the Users, without the users
  the Sysops could not move anywhere.  Without the body, the Users could not
  interact with one another.


  NOTE: Conference moderators  will  be  monitoring  each  conference.   The
        purpose  of  a  conference  moderator  is  to  maintain  an 'active'
        conference, it is  their  responsibility  to  have their conferences
        alive with mail transfers.  There is no  censoring  of  messages  in
        Centipede.   However,  if  someone  continually  flames  or degrades
        another person,  then  the  conference  moderator  shall  censor the
        message and shall reprimand the person who wrote  the  message.   If
        that  user  continues  to  flame  or  degrade another user, then the
        conference moderator shall make a note  to the user's Sysop that the
        user's access to Centipede shall be suspended,  first  offense.   If
        after  the  suspension  is  over, and the user continues to flame or
        verbally abuse another,  the  conference  moderator shall inform the
        Sysop to terminate the user's account on Centipede.







                  
                      
                   
                          
                                       
                             
               
                   
              
      

  
            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
  

    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




