Marion Greene, Noel Fuller, Pavel Chichikov, Marc Sherland, Peter Gallaher,
Sorana Salomeia, Bill Cunningham and Mariellen Gallaher
|Volume I:vi. 27 February, 2004|
Master of deception, time
Let life be. Ease
Your unending, relentless, tease
Hounding now into oblivion
Enshring yesteryear fears
Exalting worried anxieties
Beyond all deservings
I saw the doe of Solomon lying on her side
All the wings of ignorance descending in a glide
Small and stupid naked heads, eyes as hard as stones
Treading places on the doe, witless on their thrones
I saw them poke her curving ribs, rigid-legged pace,
Bow their ugly implements to velvet flank and face
Now the vultures from her sinew pull the skin apart
Who will sing a poem of her, praise her by his art?
I have neither tongue nor soul that's equal to the job
To praise the doe of Solomon beneath the foul mob
So dainty are the footsteps of the quiet doe of dawn
Who in the silent cage of noon conceals the silent fawn
February 22, 2004
Old, discarded and forgotten, dusty
dirty, spent. Lost but for the hands that pry
in search of bygone pride, and talent still
invested there which time has not denied.
Loving hands restoring life with will
to see it done, as memories distilled
of years bring essence re-described, and win
a chance to serve: Again to be fulfilled.
Beauty from a day long gone its skin
akin to new, with elegance to spin
its tales, it waits to cast it's hue and be
returned to life, in glory to begin.
A bit of then brought forth to now, brings more
to life then if `twere born brand new: Encore
Harbour shores a misty blue
In my face a gale wind blew
Sticks and pack soft sunshade hat
Just at end of daylong hike
Small boy circled on his bike
Question scribing with his whirl
Have you walked all round the world?
No! although I wish I had
Very nearly now I've walked
Right around the Manukau!
Wow! far out! Have a good day!
Fast pedaled off to his play.
© Noel Fuller
February 20, 2004
Where are the Orca?
Gossips of crabs scuttling so plentiful
Feed flights of stingrays too many abound
Bites of sharks their thousands of bellies full
Accomplish nothing to keep stingrays down
Gurnard, snapper, mackerel and mullet
Too few getting caught in ray tangled nets
Fishermen feeding the human gullet
With flaps of stingrays are increasing vexed
Making sinks of holes over miles of mud
Where do the rays go when the tide is low?
Leave diamond impressions made in the flood
Back and forth with the great lung's ebb and flow?
Where are the orca? the fishermen yearn
To see orca flipping rays in the air
Thrashing and splashing rays done to a turn
Oh where? Oh where are the orca this year?
© Noel Fuller
February 21, 2004
Mill district rainy afternoon
pub sampler warmth renews.
Postulating in the Empty Desert
"Why hello boys. Nice to see you. Come in, come in.
Don't stand on ceremony. The door's always open.
Will you have a cup of tea, something stronger, gin
And bitters, or a single malt ? I pour a healthy dram.
How are things with all the world today?
I seldom read the news. I just don't take the time.
How are things in Glasgow, Auckland, Australay.
I should know, I know. After all, it's mine.
And then it isn't don't you know. It's like
I said back then just before unpleasant
Things started happening to me, large spikes.
Being nailed to a tree. My friends all went
As far as they could get from me as fast
As they could go. Nothing's learned since then.
Oh, they listened I suppose at long last
But for most part, alas, astray they went.
Some few've soldiered on, although, very well
Spreading the "message" and dying for it
Just like I did. Sad business truth to tell.
And now, it seems, all but they ignore it.
Instead most rather like the Renaissance,
The Enlightenment. Refreshing things, they.
All that reason, all that truth and science
All that sense at last in the light of day.
Don't think I hadn't noticed how you all
Had grown to old for games with angels and
Pins. I knew you'd find that would soon pall
When galaxies could be gathered in your hand.
"It's just natural." How that makes me laugh,
Deciding I was unnecessary,
Superfluous, once you had all of that
Knowledge and power, fact and theory.
And so, you've positively grown of late
You've gotten smart, and strong. You've even cloned
Some bits of self. That you'll soon come to hate.
Building monsters is bad for flesh and bone.
What's worse is what you all call the good life, The choices you all make for yourselves, now
That you have autobahns , electric light,
Logical positivism, the Dow.
And yet, I mind. I remember a time
Not so very long ago, though you may
Have forgotten in the effort of your climb
To these heights from what dark obscurity,
When others had adventured on your path
Of knowledge, truth and logic, engaging
Themselves in brave deeds, deeds destined to last
Honored and remembered beyond ages.
How strange it seems now, I suppose, to them
As they look down on ruins in the sand
Where looters dig for goblets, precious gems,
And scientists hold dry bones in their hands
Postulating in the empty desert
About the lives and habits of the dead
As if cultures were what really mattered.
True, indeed, if the cosmos was your head.
Ash Wednesday, 2004
Every household harbors ghosts
Squealing toddlers grimy-mouthed
Paper peeling where fingers helped
Smudge-marked panes from curious noses.
Every house holds memory close,
Blackened eaves from grandma's candle
Clumsy moving nicked doorjambs,
Every house holds many ghosts.
My Gods, My Gods
His eyes were brown. I remember them
Brown and soft, deeply soft.
Her eyes were blue. I remember them
Blue and bright, love and life.
The sky god had earth eyes.
The earth goddess eyes of sky.
He had a Gothic face, long and thin,
Full lips over a firm chin.
His hair had gone from red to brown
He sang to me before I was grown.
I remember her darker hair
Thick about her white face and fair.
Sometimes a strand fell before her eyes
Her hand, pale and slim, gave chase.
She spoke and watered my growing heart.
Her laughter lifted me on the wind of it.
Her long legs and his long ear lobes
I pulled on them when I was young.
And all his songs were hand made poetry
Of wild words and never ever words
While she made magic in the kitchen dressing
Ordinary dishes with love and blessing.
Looking great in dress up clothes
From the closet where they hung
They greeted everyone in all the world.
His one suit, his hat, his overcoat
His public face his public smile
Her silky dress her slim beguile
Of all I've seen still catches my throat.
My first love was me
But I soon abandoned self for these
Two who smiled and sang my days
Crooned the quiet nights and prayed
Broad rivers of harmony and peace I sailed on.
I lay awake in my creaky bed one night
Brother beside me in his, awake too.
Our sister in the other room,
It was so dark, the world darker,
The singing crooning voices
Down the hall now loud and coarse,
Frowns and tears. Where were the smiles,
The songs they sang, the dancing, and the prayers?
They had reigned in my world and went away.
After that I left Paradise
And their soft and lively eyes.
Oh, Paradise! It had not stayed
There where I had left it when I was
Too young to know it was Paradise.
Feb 25, 2004
Voices outside, TV clamor
Voices inside, wants and instincts,
nothing matters , though --
Past the voices,
Past the twinging
All is simply
And quite clearly
Motto: Love is a beautiful snake shaped necklace; when you put it around your neck it plugs its fangs into your veins and poisons you.
Could it be true?
Could sadness be an artist's only aurora?
In a world of a genuine nature,
In a sphere of wisdom,
Could murder be the answer
To an artist's universal language?
Is decadence the reason why
We wander like blind slaves of agony
Through the labyrinth of hell,
In search for the apocalypse?
In a world where the rainbow arrives only for angels,
In a world where souls need no language
But the truthfulness of art,
It is the artist that stands as a unique voice?
And yet, look how the mortals
Shut their ears,
Cover their eyes with their hands
Full of dust and ashes,
Praising their poor worthless primitivism
And so they are the beams, the lights, the lovers
The pretending protectors,
The deceiving appearances
That patiently wait at the street corner
With the knife if cruel ignorance in their hands.
The curtain tears.
Time's ribs are cracked
Exposed to view
Creation's heart, athrob
In Ag'ny new.
After Mass, time's fabric closed,
All serene, repaired, fulfilled.
Peace fills the air like morning dew.
Quiet peace reigns
When "I" relents
And love regains
Differences of Opinion ...
unseen but singing
Birds riot in spring springing
Wild wet sweet April
Semper Fidelis ... Tamen!
'There is a Divine Power, and I believe', he said,
That first day on the Somme saw twenty-thousand dead.
'There are no atheists in the trenches,' was the cry
So twenty thousand believers were sent off to die.
They with their blood, their flesh, their bone
Manured the Flanders mud.
While their leader safe at GHQ
Sought advice from his great God
When Gods look down on battle
They know neither friend nor foe
Looking on, they hear the rattle
Caring not where falls the blow.
Widows, and children, lovers
To church will weary creep
To hear the lies of preachers
'In God's bosom, loved ones sleep!'
Ah Eve, what guilty sins, did you release,
Encouraging a bite, of forbidden fruit,
Rude naked truth, sheer fall, man made the brute,
But challenge, choice, chance, seems like a constant tease.
Does God deem best, that ignorance, is bliss?
That to deny our passion, and potential,
Is somehow, perfection, reverential,
Doubt their cock-sure, I love to seal with kiss.
Adam, was dim, to think an apple bad,
It's rosy glow, tart crunch, sluice juice that flowed,
Gave him insight, of fig-hid nature glad,
Bought of slither snake, clearer vision showed.
Now we praise, an apple a day, not fad,
Keeps ignorant faith at bay. That's not mad!
30 June 2001
When God looks down on battle he sees neither friend nor foe
But his bewildered children whose suffering he knows.
Their agony is his. Their anger pierces him
He carries all the weight of peoples' hatreds grim.
And when in all the churches songs and prayers are heard,
When blackest grief and sorrow hang heavy on the world
God in heaven here beside us knows the battle has been won.
Our hope is knowing too the rising of his Son.
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