Wordlovers Weekly
Pavel Chichikov, Marc Sherland, Sorana Salomeia, Heather Lennox, Neil Hawkes, Brian  Moisson
In Support: Noel Fuller, Simon Bridge
Volume 1:i. 22 January, 2004
St. Hubert's Vision

Stag of many earthly forests
Stag of omen, crucifixion
Beast that bears the Lord's anointed
And the temple's candelabrum

It is Friday in the world
Christ has suffered and is buried
Now across the tomb and valley
Shadows and their heads are severed

Sun is sunken like an eye
In the skull they call a hill,
All the angels multiply
Overhead, for God is killed

Then the beasts of apparition
Since the sons of men have fled
Come lamenting in affliction -
Jesus Son of God is dead

Then they gather round His chamber
Every being tame and wild -
Wounds of wounded creatures bleeding
For the death of Mary's Child

And the stag between its antlers
Bears aloft a bleeding cross:
This is Friday and creation
Comes to sorrow for your loss

Pavel Chichikov
January 18, 2004

She said that that that that that boy used was superfluous.
Now punctuate.
Simon D. Bridge

With Respect

The first step of love
A hidden key
An escape from self
And door to reality

Bridging the chasm
Of you and me

The universe sings
When we listen
So build yourself a bridge
And get over it

Neil Hawkes

Good Lord, Bill. I don't have time to answer you. I've got to attend a ritual castration and heretic burning momentarily. Now where did I put that lighter fluid?

I am Life

All comes of life
Of thine own do we give thee
Life awakens, breathing

In our genes of ancient memory
Star born dust, forged in ages
Life awakens, forming

By Galilee
Or underneath a Banyan tree
Life awakens, revealing

In death
Throwing off Adam's burden
Life awakens, transcending

Neil Hawkes


Animals of course endlessly discourse
  sheep of authorities baa
  goats of proofs bleat

To a unicorn another unicorn is real,
  but rare
  no proofs required

To the rest of those who go upon hoof and claw
  the unicorn is not there
  no proofs desired

Noel Fuller

New Poet
Brian Moisson

I just walked around last night 
did you ever get the feeling to just walk? 
the weather's right and everyone's asleep 
the wind's warm and slippers on your feet 
don't care which way you walk or how long 
you just breeze in the air 
looking 'round humming songs 
picking up sticks, twisting them around 
peeling off the skin, throwing them away 
back on the ground 
Nothing wrong with that is there? 
then why must I explain to some 
that nothing's wrong with slippers on 
talking to myself, walking 'long 
humming songs 
what's wrong with having kicks? 
what's wrong with twisting sticks?


In the winter the earth is pregnant. It bears within itself a great secret. In the summer, the secret is disclosed.
- Rebbe Nachman of Breslov
Reprinted with permission from 'A Treasury of Jewish Quotations,' edited by Joseph L. Baron, Jason Aronson Inc.


Starbright starlight
Make the dreams take flight.
Among the clouds
Of a misty night.

Flow like the water
Of a laughing stream.
Into a waterfall 
Of a hidden dream.

Let the moon glow
Into the depths within
Of the sleeping mind
Like a strange Djinn.
Appearing like magic
From the deep earth.
As the dream develops
And begins the birth.

Wrapping the dreamer
With a robe of night.
Caressing the soul
With fingers light.

Sleep, young dreamer
Sleep, let the dream go.
Embrace the night
And let the wanderer flow.

The misty wraith of night
Retreats and goes away,
As the day approaches
To let the sunlight play.

And in a rousing mind
Curls up it does seem
Like the retiring mists,
To dream within a dream

Heather Lennox 2004

"That's enough of that!" I told the dream caster, dreams must not include self-deception. Since then no fake awakenings have occurred.

Angel of the Moon

Did you say something?
         I guess not,
         It must have been just the wind.

What was that?
         Oh, it was only an idle leaf
         That was aimlessly swinging in the air.

         I heard its voice,
         I am telling you, I heard it!
         Or could that have been you??

"It was the moon,
         The angel moon opening her eyes" 
         Can you hear her whisper?
         Hush, don't utter a word,

         Just listen,  it is the moon singing!
         The stars are all asleep,
         All windows have their curtains drawn;

         The night is dancing, can you see her?
         Hush, just listen and watch!

         Don't be afraid, 
         I am here!?

         'Stretch your wing, most beautiful
         Dream,  like angel,
 Let me lay my heavy and weary head down,

         Let me cuddle inside your heart,
         Let me gently fall on your serene wing'

         'Hush! The moon is asleep!
         Come here and melt within my voice,
         Sleep well, forever in my arms
         You will have a shelter,
         So close your eyes and sleep now,
         Dawn is drawing near!

         No, no,
         There is no need to say a word,
         Cherish the moment you are now sipping
 Before the hourglass sips you into its sand'


 The angel of the moon is sleeping,
    The angel of the moon is singing,
       The angel of the moon is dreaming.


Touch her to enter ! Our muse, temptress, tomentor, or angel of inspiration.

Not Proud of Death

Death, be not proud, for you have done your worst,
Slipped, sneaking into bedrooms after dark,
To leave startled, up start, just for a lark,
Making casual mark on those you cursed.
Then in the conflicts of another day,
Subtle you wander here and there at will,
Slaying with virtue some, whilst other's still,
You choose so cruel who must learn your way.
I stand alone upon the lofty peak,
To stare at rock's and wave's eternal kiss,
Feel the despair that overcomes the weak,
And wonder who will at my failing miss.
Then upstart I, know how in dark you creep,
I would not them who care, my virtue weep.
Marc Sherland
January 2004

Oh dear! despoiled by a tee.  I suspect that if these things did not happen everyone could doubt I rote it.


Bees upon a nest, a tray,
Rest throughout a winter day
Huddled on their hexagons
Behind a window in the sun

Wag their glassy wings and stir
Their abdomens of golden fur,
Twitch their feelers restlessly -
There's not a leaf on any tree

Sharp as diamond the wind
Outside the window where they're in,
So deadly to the bees the cold,
These huddled bees in their bee-fold

A flock inside a hive they mass
Until the worst of winter pass,
And then the keeper will release
These little ewes with golden fleece

Pavel Chichikov
January 20, 2004

The Sweet Fix

When you searched for your silly hat and scarf,
On the topmost shelf of the hall closet,
Clever found, precious sneaky deposit,
Of continental vice, you had a laugh,
Tipping over my secret stash of chocs,
So now I am on my knees, scrabbling,
Foaming at the mouth, for my dabbling,
Had left few specials, so your casual knocks,
Spilled them crazy to fortune's lazy dog,
Whose wolf woofing pleasure snuffles close by,
And ignores my cries of "Don't dare" and "Just try"
Temptation wags his greedy Yuletime log.
So now, hook frustrated hands on love hips,
I aim invective at your sorry sight,
Not foreseeing this awful nightmare plight,
And all the time the hound is licking lips.
Then there, under the telephone table,
I spy soft delight, cream centred chocolate,
That has not met the mongrel's gnashing fate,
I pounce on it as quick as able,
Then teeth and fingers intermingle mix
As dog and man's evolution crumbles,
We growl and snarl and snatch our grumbles,
As each wrestles for morsel's single fix.
Bold I produce the glory gory thing,
Leap in victory, raise it overhead,
All stuck with hair and slavers and bugs dead,
Knowing this may dire disease bring.
Still mad with triumph and with battle sweet,
I pop the thing into my muzzle's gap,
And poke my tongue into the tasty sap,
Then show my empty palms to mutt's defeat.
It slinks and slumps and takes the hump and goes,
For I won sweet scent right under its nose.
Marc Sherland
January 2004

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