TABLE OF CONTENTS - POETRY, page 3

Happy Azalea - Hernan Chang M.D.
Odysseus:As The World Turns - David Ellis
Poema (sin título) - Jorge González
Stately Sequoia – Hernan Chang M.D.
Blue Maze - Maria C. Faverio
Existential Ease – Peter (Krax) Ingestad
I Am – Peter (Krax) Ingestad
The Hands of the Clock - Maria C. Faverio
Two Ponds - Kathleen Cesaro
Lovers - Jon Marin
Brave - Hernan R. Chang, M.D.
A Love Supreme – Peter (Krax) Ingestad
Moonlight - Hernan R. Chang, M.D.
Who Done It? - Paul Nachbar
Manifesto: The Not-Quite-Dead-Yet-Poet's-Society - Paul Nachbar
Mole - Hernan R. Chang, M.D.
Poem: For Contnuiing Ed.. – Paul Nachbar
Chronic Condition – Paul Nachbar
Regarding Everything Between Us – Paul Nachbar
Snowbirds – Kathleen Cesaro
Response to a Raisin Hater – Sean MacNiven
Mind Landscape – Peter (Krax) Ingestad
Cup of Emptiness - Peter (Krax) Ingestad
The Garden – Peter (Krax) Ingestad
She Sits * - Mark Norman
Confusion and Control - Krysta Sutterfield
No Title – Peter (Krax) Ingestad
A Haiku Style Metapoem – Peter (Krax) Ingestad
Bad Poetry – Peter (Krax) Ingestad
I Am A Stranger – Peter (Krax) Ingestad
Cool Romance – Peter (Krax) Ingestad

Happy Azalea - Hernan Chang M.D.

Happy azalea
With healthy pine trees around
You need so much mulch!

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Odysseus:As The World Turns - David Ellis

As the world turns, Odysseus travels.
He covers Mediterranean sea,
atop the sea, amid the earth, he flies
past any obstacle he rams his ship.
Finding peace amidst a rush of madness,
he knows not where next to look, but will wait.

Though his crew is spread thin, they still will wait.
Running through all the obstacles, travels
our great Odyssean, in his madness.
Where about the many oceans or sea,
the greatest earthly creature on his ship.
He runs about the water and woods, flies.

Angel wings aback, alone he flies,
slithers past, while others must merely wait.
Scatting nonsense syllables as his ship
flows smoothly over the water; travels.
Waters of the ocean, ocean of sea.
He cannot escape impending madness.

Even the sound of the waves is madness.
Where do waters flow, wherefore he flies?
Over the edge, into the pit: the sea.
What does he flee, why not just sit and wait?
Into the maelstrom, out of the fire, travels.
Know what he does: find him out on his ship.

How can you follow, when the fastest ship,
is flying at speed, the cost is madness?
Odysseus, as he flies, he travels,
covering land, encountering foes, flies.
Why should he stop, why even should he wait?
He is master of himself, and of sea.

As though he sees it in mind's eye: the sea
flows out behind his ship, about the ship,
he needs not the aid of others; await
him as he approaches fast: through madness.
He has not far to go, but as he flies,
his mind conforms, and records his travels.

He travels, and I see him through the sea,
flying, he flies; he fires off the ship,
from madness he plunges...just wait.

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Poema (sin título) - Jorge González

La luna se seca al alba,
entre dunas de hielo
y susurros de galaxias.

Abre sus brazos, eternos,
entre una lluvia de rododendros.
Sus maneras enlazan
un lacónico decir
y un tiempo barroco.

No hay prisas,
sólo un soplo de viento
en las mejillas
de un Este palpitante.

Decir otra vez adiós,
otra noche que desnuda
su cuerpo con luz.


Poem (translation) - Jorge González

In the dawn, the moon dries herself,
between dunes of ice
and galaxies whispering.

She opens her arms, eternals,
between a rain of rhododendrons.
Her manners link
a laconic saying
with a baroque time.

No hurry,
only a blow of wind
on the cheeks
of a palpitating East.

To say, again, good bye,
the night undressing
her body with light.

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Stately Sequoia – Hernan Chang M.D.

Stately sequoia
If you could just only talk
What tales we could learn!

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Blue Maze - Maria C. Faverio

Slangs of memories
scoff at the outrage of the years,
the underlying urge
to survive the moment’s whims,
the skilled excuses
to force transitoriness into permanency,
like a diary.

Beyond the polka dots of existence,
hands search,
try to grasp,
recede
when they encounter another hand,
yielding to the intricate evasions
of solidarity,
the blue maze
with its own blue sun.

Solidarity - taboo word
translated into myriads of innuendoes
and still not understood,
like a god
hiding his tired eyes
behind a mask.

These memories are more intricate
than Ariadne’s string,
convoluted as winter sky,
a confusion of sounds,
disjointed syllables in a Mensa puzzle
only champions can solve.

Why are they shouting like mad?
Aren’t they happy in the blue maze,
the cave of forgetfulness
where the delirium of being
delights in the splendour of unawareness?

Don’t they understand
they will commit mass suicide
if they join into the puzzle
that is not supposed to be completed
too soon?

The golem will dance
a danse macabre
on their grave.

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Existential Ease – Peter (Krax) Ingestad

Existential ease...
Don't give it to me, Lord, please,
I have it already,
it comes with age,
and if somewhat steady
if not a sage,
I'm happy that way,
'cause age is OK
but youth was always - disease.

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I Am – Peter (Krax) Ingestad

I am -
uhuh. I
think
...nevermind.

I am the walrus,
the one.
I am the walrus,
times two.

I am who I am,
as I was,
always and ever,
will never become the same one again.

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The Hands of the Clock - Maria C. Faverio

The light
of the empathic
autumn sun
wades through the shaking branches
like eyes of child
unsteady,
unable
to discern the truth,
flickering through the coppery shine
of sunset
inquisitive and empty
as dawn.

The hands of the clock move,
trapped in the illusion
because of which they are,
but the brain’s circumvolutions
are the labyrinth
where the Minotaur
tired
bored
looking for a challenge
sits
and waits
for his next victim,
his rescuer.

Reality moves
gyrates
accommodates
to the tumuli
under which
it crumbles
like a puberty dream,
shaking off colours
like a broken prism
or a dull dull evening.

The hands of the clock
bid each other
farewell
under the mould.

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Two Ponds - Kathleen Cesaro

Millions scurrying
no face, no name, no meaning
city cockroach life

Sleepy mountain town
music for the poet's voice
crickets sing his praise

Katie, somewhere in Utah...

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Lovers - Jon Marin

Two lovers sought for the single truth
That would cut through all illusion.
They studied Buddhism with a Buddhist guru
Who proposed
That the wise man lives at the bib of an idiot
Collecting the rubies that drip from its chin.
- - They left him, disappointed.

They sudied the mysteries with a Cultist guru
Who claimed
That the wise man takes a verse from Dylan
And a line or two from Kalil Gibran,
Then puts them together
To build a life.
- - They left, again disappointed.

So they studied love with each other as guru
And discovered
That when columns of smoke merge in the wind
The particles remain distinct.
They'd learned together what each had known:
- - Isolation is absolute.

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Brave - Hernan R. Chang, M.D.

Brave the deepest sea
discover untold secrets:
darkness means true life!

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A Love Supreme – Peter (Krax) Ingestad

A perfect match; a perfect match.
From heart to heart I will despatch

expressions of a Love Supreme,
as echoed by a low-pitch scream,

repeated; and we both feel good,
'cause I am Bismarck. You are Hood

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Moonlight - Hernan R. Chang, M.D.

Nightfall is arriving noiselessly.

A tenuous moonlight bedecked
by a starry sky and the land breeze
awakes long-forgotten, primeval,
memories and instincts.

The gleam of the stars over
the firmament appears to brighten
after a lingering, melancholic, wolf
howling is heard at a great distance.

A sudden onset of lycanthropic
excitement invades my senses and
appears to originate from watching
this impressive, yet surreal scenario.

Scenario that was hitherto seen by fearless
pioneers on their quest for chimerical dreams.
Dreams that now shape our
subliminal collective memory.

Moonlight, stars and starry skies
have unforeseen and flabbergasting effects
upon my psyche and imagination.
They tend to transport me into a state of reverie...

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Who Done It? - Paul Nachbar

Who Done It?
The Jabberwock...
What Can Be Done?
Nobody knows.

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Manifesto: The Not-Quite-Dead-Yet-Poet's-Society - Paul Nachbar

No, love is not quite dead yet...

It has been:

Professed by the professors
Prophesized by the prophesizers
Analyzed by the analysts
Dogmatized by the dogmatizers
Academized by the academifiers
Professionalized by the professionals
Freudified by the Freudifiers
Jungified by the Jungifiers
Behaviorified by the Behaviorifers
Cognified by the cognifiers
Psychopharmacologized by the psychopharmacologizers
Criminalized by the criminalizers
Decriminalized by the decriminalizers.
Intellectualized by the intellectualizers
Pleasurified by the pleasurifiers
Workified by the workifiers
Mechanized by the mechanizers
Humanized by the humanizers
Sentimanlized by the sentimentalizers
Glorified by the glorifiers
Sidified by the Sidifiers

No, love is not dead.
It has been..
Democratized by the democratizers
Popularized by the popularizers
Snobbified by the snobbifiers
Psychologized by the psychologizers
Capitalized by the capitalizers
Socialized by the socializers

No, I'm afraid love is not quite dead
It has been:
Nazified by the nazifiers
Communized by the communizers
Corporatized by the corporatizers
Nihilized by the nihilizers
Trivialized by the trivializers
Neuroticized by the neuroticizers
Psychoticized by the psychoticizers

Well, love isn't quite dead
Its only ..
Christianized by the Christianizers
Catholicized by the catholicizers
Protestantized by the protestanizers
Judaicized by the Judaicizers
Moslemized by the Moslemizers
Atheisized by the atheisizers
Americanized by the Americanizers

I'm sad and happy to report love is not dead
It's only:
Europeanized by the Europeanizers
Africanized by the Africanizers
Asiafied by the Asiafiers
Mediafied by the mediafiers
Publicized by the publicizers
Privatized by the privatizers
Demoralized by the demoralizers

Love aint' dead. It's just:
Moralized by the moralizers
Universalized by the universalizers
Localized by the localizers
Demonized by the demonizers
Angelized by the angelizers
Existentialized by the existentializers

We inform you that love is not dead
But its been:
Homosexualized by the homosexualifiers
Heterosxualized by the heteroizers
Bisexualized by the bisexualizers
Transvestified by the transvestifiers
Incestified by the incestifiers
Traumatized by the traumatizers
Orgasmified by the orgasmifiers
Matrified by the matrifiers
Patrified by the patrifiars
Feminized by the Feminizers

Love, well also has been:
Motherfied by the motherizers
Daddified by the daddifiers
SOnified by the sonifiers
Daughterfied by the daughterfiers
Brotherfied by the brotherizers
Sisterfied by the sisterizers
Familified by the familifiers
Elevated by the elevatifiers
Come and baby light my heart on fire..

No love is not dead
It has been:
Canadified by the Canadifiers
Swedified by the Swedifiers
NewYorkified by the Newyorkifiers
Chicagified by the Chicagofiers
Mountainized by the Mountainifiers
Detroitified by the Detroitifers
(at this point just check the atlas..I get lazy)

NO, love is not really dead.
Its been:
Historified by the historifiers
Philosophized by the philosophizers
Poeticized by the poetifiers
Artified by the artifiers
Theatricized by the theatricizers
Filmified by the filmifiers
Sportified by the sportifiers
Liberalized by the liberalizers
Conservatized by the conservatizers
Radicalized by the radicalizers
Romanticized by the romanticizers
Classicized by the classicizers
Bureaucratized by the bureaucratizers
Computerized by the computerizers
Modernized by the modernizers

Love, we inform you in this report is not entirely deceased
It has just been:
Uglified by the uglifiers
Beautified by the beautifiers
Mesmerized by the mesmerizers
Quantified by the quantifiers
Qualified by the qualifiers
Beatlefied by the Beatlizers
Claptonized by the Claptonizers
Stonified by the Stonifiers
Romanized by the Romanifiers
Grecified by the Greccifiers

Love is not dead contrary to previous reports:
Just
Randomized by the randomizers
Structuralized by the structuralizers
Infantalized by the infantalizers
Adultified by the adultifiers
Seniorified by the seniorizers
Classified by the classifiers
Declassified by the declassifiers.

Nope. Not quite dead yet:
Love is:
estructured by the destructifiers
Commercialized by the commercializers
Sanctified by the sanctifiers
Desanctified by the desanctifiers
Pornographied by the pornographiers
Yuppified by the Yuppifiers
Nerdified by the nerdifiers
Geniusized by the geniufiers
Idiotized by the idiotizers

Love, we report here has been found
To be also:
Mozarfied by the Mozarfiers
Vincified by the Vincifiers
Harvardized by the Harvardizers
Suessified by the Suessifiers..
Dialectified by the dialectifiers
Druggified by the druggifiers..
Bourgeoisfied by the bourgeoifiers
Workified by the workifiers
Medicalized by the medicalizers
Legalified by the legalifiers
Clericalized by the clericalizers
Retardized by the retardifiers

And well the list can go on and on and on
No love is not dead:
It occasionally....twitches.

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Mole - Hernan R. Chang, M.D.

A mole digs forward
And those insects buzz around
What shall we do now?

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Poem: For Contnuiing Ed.. – Paul Nachbar

The this- and the thattians
The this- and the thattalists
I thank somebody here
I was once a philatelist

The this- and thattologists
The this- and thattographers
I thank somebody here
For some fine pornographers.

The this- and the thatticans
The this- and thattiatrists
I thank somebody here
I am not a psychiatrist.

The this- and the thattophers
The this- and the thattagers
I thank somebody here
For sometimes moronic verse.

The this and the thatticists
The this and the thatticals
Well, have it your way
If you think it's all "chemicals."

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Chronic Condition – Paul Nachbar

Hm.
That's all It is.
Going
To play
Guitar now

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Regarding Everything Between Us – Paul Nachbar

Protons and neutrons
Do not care
For the food chain
But they're there
Scratch that surface
You find quarks
And prob'bly
Even smaller sparks.

Daily here
On earth
We live
Work and struggle;
Please forgive
All the ones
Who made us do
Stuff that's
Boring
Or boo-hoo.

Daily here
On earth
We strive
Somehow
Just to stay alive
When there's stuff
One can't ignore
Mostly (sigh)
Comes
Down
To war.

You would want
To separate?
Be a solitary great
Be a giant
Not a dwarf
Well here
I just say
(Of course)

Careful
You don't
Fall behind
Bang
Your head
And lose your mind.

I too
Wish the world
Would stop
Sometimes
I would play
The cop

Bottom, middle
And the top
Up and down
The social crease
All must work
Or all will cease.

I too
Wish the world
Would start
To follow
Dictates of my heart

Fill itself
Entire
With love
Sensual
And that above.

But here
I am just
Only one
In six billion:
Oh great fun!

Beyond these things
You find the stars
Galaxies
And all the rest
The Universe
Is
Very large
But does it
Pass our
Human tests?

Physicists
Theologians
Astronomers
Philosophers..
Knowing more
Than I can know
Make a model
Give a show
Tell us how
It really works!
(sometimes
we just feel
like...jerks..)

Tell us something
Something Real
That I won't be
Someone's meal
That life isn't
Just a deal;
Something
I can think
And feel.

Tell us something
Something True
Nothing made
For me and you?
Tell us too
How to forgive
And with such
Bold knowledge
Live.

In the nearby
Darkened room
My Christina
Sound asleep
Wanting you
And too the world.
All is silence
Not a peep.

Praise all darkness
And all light
I shall work here
Through this night..

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Snowbirds – Kathleen Cesaro

Honking, necks outstretched,
arrow of geese pointing north.
Nature's Spring compass

Feathered pistons thrust
forward into misty rain,
unforgiving wind.

Rising horizon,
sleeping under cool white sheets,
Montana mountains.

Wildflower meadow,
kaleidoscope does the wave,
mirrored landing strip

Chuckling their delight
orgy of food and frolic
summer sun at last.

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Response to a Raisin Hater – Sean MacNiven

The rains are razin' raisins to the ground,
See how they fall, so sadly not quite round,
Dark matter in my muesli, stockpiles dried,
Hydration yet another time defied,
Yet your distaste I cannot comprehend,
And now must raisinkind promptly defend!
For raisins are a gem of sunlight tamed,
And with their kin Sultanas duly famed,
What Student's mix would be complete without,
A raisin's voiceless flavour branding shout!?
I love them for their tangy pungent breaths,
And thank them for their desiccated deaths,
Yea! Raisins mummified, may we ensure,
That you the sandy eons long endure!

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Mind Landscape – Peter (Krax) Ingestad

Mind landscape, mountain
peaks under a painless sky,
how many people?

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Cup of Emptiness - Peter (Krax) Ingestad

Cup of Emptiness,
bowl of most precious metal,
Mind - and the Big Void.

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The Garden – Peter (Krax) Ingestad

The garden of Lust,
the garden of Mind, locate
this environment.

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She Sits * - Mark Norman

She sits, old,
lips pursing as
light bulbs in the room
individually give and die.

Down the hall, the last.
Stubborn, with an incessant
incandescent flicker dances
to the imperceptible sway of the rocker.

Arthritic hands tighten, then
loosen in a erythematic play of waiting.
Patience parleyed to present
dignity wrapped in calico yarn.

Each to and fro of the chair
moves her milky blue eyes
back and forth through
her years of an unwritten memoir of living.

Occasionally curving her lips
to match the rocker’s runs,
tilting her head, eyes sparkling
to thoughts of back when.

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Confusion and Control - Krysta Sutterfield

(or, two sides to everything: Stieglitz v. O'Keeffe)

yes i created her – we met at his gallery
i saw her work. where my work was displayed
(shameless! her being single and working)

training? reading? oh, maybe. Braque, Picasso, Kandinsky,
but isn't it odd, a woman? Cezanne, Dove, Strand,
the marvel is not how well the bear dances yes, I know their works.
but that it dances at all. i want an American touch

people will tire of her, still showing in 2004
the intuitive marvel of her who was Stieglitz?
same same same same work;
the obsession on limited subjects. form, shape, color, passion,
strong, straight, piercing,
great men have long studied and probed the female form, soft, flowing, enveloping,
making sketch
after drawing canyons in nature
after painting and woman
after sculpture. and made by men in cities
why all this fuss over a woman's view? out of steel

scandalous, really,
the things she paints. honi soit qui mal y pense
why, look at that!
it's clear how unwholesome her mind is. i paint my experience,
my feelings,
we had a thing (told you she was shameless) what i know
i used to be married, now we're married

we don’t want a child. he won't
as delicate as women are says it's for my own good
she's dangerously close to insanity now
with her painting and travel and gallery shows.

no, she didn't really want to do that commission. fury
remember – she's an infant; impotent, infantile
can't agree to anything. fury and rage
you should have asked me.

here – come to my next opening.
she's been doing a lot of painting recently i'd be a fool not to paint as i like
there's sure to be some surprises since that's the only freedom
i have left

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Krysta Sutterfield

No Title – Peter (Krax) Ingestad

It dawns without a vengeance
In the metamorphous moment
The Son went in with the door
And all that is left of then is
As God as his white Word is
Three points below the Himalayas
This is but yore, imagination -
Night makes a call. Hilarius,
Go for the window and find out
If the street outside is there

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A Haiku Style Metapoem – Peter (Krax) Ingestad

To find the World is
to found it, to define it,
refine it; ours.

Map of language,
multicolored indeed. Map
of languages -

Map of poetry,
map of poetries? New world,
old reality.

New reality,
strange garden. This day: calm,
cloudy; rich fragrance.

This world is old and
it will never die, but you
remain it's midwife.

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Bad Poetry – Peter (Krax) Ingestad

My bettyboop of furtainly committed Love, let's do the big lambada! Say don't you think the nite is bold? A sanfranciskey on the bocks will toodle-doo for elevator gratitude, I mean for alligator fatitude.

Why coïtus? I will not grasp thy burstling pineupple in certain phoney anger, o Lord of World Calabrity, just let my average banana grande loose in tedium revenge for all this television sound of life you gave me as a birthday present -

I made my note; I made my dote; but Thermas Carlisle also [censored] made it, dont you zink? This be thine ghoul: most vermine hearts of parts of warts of carts of farts of middleofthenighty grosses Bildung.

Some figs of thomsingness, my torpid Luv, I offer U as
pretty darling sunshine, this eternal verdict of a truffled Moon, so give my joint remainder back or I will perish -

Ah, cirty fenthelayon courtridge tail of Parthenusa!
Will I be forever yours? Will you behold my penis
in disgrace? Will you curtail maternal interpititudiny?

While firty bosoms of finalitude and kissfull warts
fertain to utter copularity, I still believe in God
and put my thirfle into splendid farts of pure oblivion -

O lord, how theeth thy pretty megablob of waistful tart
and blossoming pertainiance adheres to miserary forks,
shall we continue? I think not, and rest in passitude -

The extiperfous megaprune of blastful tipperary foil,
in grastly ferth to misery prevailing out of pitiful
regret, will last forever in displace; I beg your pardon -

What fortifiable bananas mean to God will almost always be considered boundless nullity of sordid love, but in the wake of southern moonshine, somewhat accidental, will my heart forever rest in overdue decrepitude -

Hark - it is the Moon! This grandiose perpeetum mobile,
this most profusely colorful bazooka muzzle of eradicated
skies imbues our humid dreams with horror of vacuity -

O Lord, how omniscient now indeed thy photographic love for Death and peanuts! And in the shadows of this most calamitous regret we seek the ultimately contraceptive path of blind chameleons -

The blissful state of petty flowers' most exasperated symphony of anger fades away, lest all the farting nightingales of Lust behold the sunset's awful glory in the mist of supersonic treason -

O rose eternal blossom of sweet love and fornication -
How I behold thee in delirious enchantment, mystery and awe - Thy odour will pervade this world of utter Nothingness!

The blarting thorf by quizzitudinal
collapsity - woohoo, my heart is
on the rollerball! - oh, just forget it.

Thy sweet pure heart of gold, Urania, pops out
of desolato campanilla nothingness et bon viveur,
so help me G*d, as time goes by tic tac - forever!

Good purplity! I just forgot my name:
Belfaffar, thomsing, nevermind the 69f
amendmendmendmendmeant intended.

Why this golden tenebray of yours, my little dove,
why do we understand each other? - Do we not?
- Why do we not? - What did you say? - Uhuh.

Zink, o battleship, in pride! My heart is flittering,
supreme with Love. Sweat night'ngayle, I beg
your goodie pardon, but the sun shuns shadows -

Cordon sanitaire, congratulations, coor fontempt,
you name it, jellybean, and I will bonquest in thespair
thy moooody 7-up: one two three four five six seven

This isisisis a miNImini-
nimaXyMALLy that as is,
this is this, it was out -.

Aww, my dwindling sad dog's
tail, I cannot anymore enjure
unhappiness, I feel just awe -

The glorious sun shines like a giant flower -
O golden shower of eternal bliss
bringing life to the hearts of all mankind.

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I Am A Stranger – Peter (Krax) Ingestad

I am a stranger here,
making a bad career,
yet shredding no single tear.

Some 40 poems I wrote,
all published, I tell with some gloat
in my home country, remote.

What do we say about that,
dummies? A suddenly scurrying rat
- and the cat just sat on the mat.

'Course bad poetry isn't for you,
good poetry out of here too -
it's all just for a few.

May someone seek it in vain?
Some people, proud of a brain,
will never see it again!

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Cool Romance – Peter (Krax) Ingestad

- Just for you, doggie.
- Uhuh...?
- 29 vigs.
- Vigs?
- Viagra. Don't be silly.
- Viagra...?

INNOCENCE.

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