All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
William Shakespeare
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
William Shakespeare
Daniel de Culla (1955) is a writer, poet, and photographer. He is also a member of the Spanish Writers Association, Director of the Gallo Tricolor Review, and Robespierre Review. He’s moving between North Hollywood, Madrid and Burgos, Spain.
Daniel de Cullá (1955 Poeta, escritor, pintor y fotógrafo, miembro fundador de la revista literaria Gallo Tricolor. Es miembro de la Asociación Colegial de Escritores de España. En la actualidad participa en espectáculos que funden poesía, música y teatro.
A PARTICULAR KARMA
By Daniel de Culla
I. KARMA
There’s nothing more to know
Than what I am
When I found the other side of what I want to be:
Karma is a prison of Mind for me
Through its windows, we are seeing mountains,
Reservations, rain and clouds over
The Valley of Perfect Wisdom
A highway overgrown with seed
And hands that yearn for eyes
A camp where we have been stopped
Hearing sounds, ears to Earth,
Inside the ground
Flashing our light through the wood
Over the stream, expecting to see the end,
On the same line of our dreams
Where we are like a wheel
Cracking air on air, spinal membranes
Already feeling our bodies down in bags
Ready to start for a new place,
Suddenly realizing our freedom
Coupled with the conscious plane.
II. MORE KARMA
One’s environment surrounding us
Some exclamation of the tongue:
-Is Karma our Happiness?
Picking through a puzzle of sandblasted wood
And feeling lonelier than ever before
Karma as a trial.
A stream into a miracle without doors,
Opened from clouds, be content,
Moving us within,
Teaching us about our human-hood.
III. BELIEVE IT OR NOT
“I nominate an angel.
Always an angel.”
– Luisa Pasamanik’s
“The Exiled Angel”
(A Poem for Freaky Fairytales)
Receiving letters is like receiving books.
As Hans Christian Anderson’ “The little mermaid”
Or Giambattista Basile’s “Sleeping Beauty”
Without a hand or eyes
That cannot see the blood of the seaboard towns
In one’s life about the tale
When one re-encounters one’s self alone
With a gentle wind in a boat of sunshine,
Sailing
Into our welcoming heart
Opened by itself and died abruptly.
It’s steel as the Sea Witch’ knife
To kill the prince and lets his blood drip
On the mermaid’ feet
The “Daughter of the air” committing suicide
As a passing accident
Which is at the same time
The crux of a destiny
Delineating the future concrete tense.
IV. SLEEPING BEAUTY
The illusion of “Sleeping Beauty” coming from her
Whose bones are of mist and ether
At the cataract of two wind falling
Where she is not and is not seen
In an instant remembering creation
Monstrous thunder and clouds
Where souls once again meet unhuman
And name each other
In the esoteric, mirror that lies invisibly
When the sea whiter coiled as wire
Because it comes from the beginning
As the lightening flash
Reconciled with the sky at dawn
Disappearing instantly
Into bliss.
Or as when Irving said he was just a poet
Going to sea, reading
Jeffrey Delman’s “Dead time Stories”
Also known as Freaky Fairytales in the Film
Learning love through a decaying body
That happens
As kids die like beetles that route.
V. CONCRETE TENSE
Receiving letters like receiving books
As Hans Christian Anderson’ “The little mermaid”
Or Giambattista Basile’s “Sleeping Beauty”
Without a hand or eyes
That cannot see the blood of the seaboard towns
In one’s life about the tale
When one re-encounters one’s self alone
With a gentle wind in a boat of sunshine to sail
Into our welcoming heart
Opened by itself and died abruptly.
It is steel as the Sea Witch’ knife
To kill the prince and lets his blood drip
On the mermaid’ feet
The “Daughter of the air” committing suicide
As a passing accident
Which is at the same time
The crux of a destiny
Delineating the future concrete tense.
VI. CULLA IS ME
Culla, my Aragonese mother’s name,
Arises from a village in Castellon de la Plana, Spain
A country tapestry, an idea of a score,
Like some weird contrapuntal music
Of Love and War
Where several of Templars, men and women,
From the old monastic military Order
Became attached to defend
The saint places of the New Testament
Scripture against Islam
Baring bones bouncing off each other.
The Temple had 10 different roads
A mythical page per road
Existing in alternating relationship
To each other Crossed:
Culla is in a Templars’ anagram
Found in the mosque of Omar
Turned wrongly into church at that time
Taking part of the emplacement
From the Salomon’s great temple in Jerusalem.
This anagram is cut in a sheet ivory.
VII. IN A LAMP
In a lamp and in a bronze candlestick
And in a carved stone in the Romanic time.
Culla was Templars’ matrix house
Where they developed intellectual powers:
The collective bargaining, the business deal
The double-dealing
And the sexual intercourse
And anything they could go also:
Poems, ideas, dreams
With so many colors and textures
But ruining their lives
With misapplication and the anxiety to money
As it happens ever.
VIII. DEVIL AT THE RIVER LOBOS’ GORGE
“Devil, a Good Angel”
- Gerineldo Fuencisla
From May’s fresh evening, walking the river Lobos, in Soria,
(I’m fording it on foot any old how, by bad means)
I meet with a gentleman high from height, normal body
Dressed with motley as a devil
My eyes in front with his eyes and the rascal being familiar with
Because me as him, glutted with meat, became friar.
He had khaki, discoloration of the green parts from his feet
By short of light in the cove where he lives behind hermitage
Where Templars come in the waste
Ge giving off aerated bubbles
Excited, heated, only hee-hawing
As obstinate or abdicating from someone or something
The Templar sentence:
Me as You and You as me, devil joined ourselves”
Making me things of love
At that very moment making me a fuss of sly pricks
As insects with four membrane wings as four arms
Saying to me: Love Me so I can feel your breath on my nape
Arranged in that parts from the ass’ both worlds
Where the forked lines tend to set
The train of love on the right road”.
IX. EXTINCTION OF THE PLANET
We laugh at first
Excerpt from a Journey of blood and tears
When Songs of Love and Maps of Freedom
Have undertaken to be revealed
And only are correspondences, notes
Quotes as wave lengths.
Sun rods into mountains
Hearing thrssh thrssh from the tress
Rotting nebulae.
Moon rides rivers
Just being able to pick and go
Objective characteristics
To the observance of geophysics.
Are we seeing our extinction?
Voices-- human crying
Voices-animal, voices-plant
But the Planet cannot sleep a wink
Bushing over the stream.
Voice-Life of Earth lives
And we laugh at first
Again. The same.
X. FRONT¨ DOORS
Baby O dynamite
mistress of the Star fish
swimming in my ears
where often a Wo/Man remains alone
long to listen
Doors singing my business daily
dead as a door nail
into all this Channel
O.O. % Ecstasy. No¡
showing me a door opening by itself
at the End of lives forgotten
when Sun is a dog cart
botted with gay dogs
of the dooms day
sit and dreaming
of the floor of our
nothingness sentencing:
"Baker’s dozen talk
19 to the dozen.”
Elegy of the Sea Drake
By Edward Sullivan
It is in its cave. To sleep.
A creature so feared
that none sane look for him willingly.
Alone due to this.
Why does he not go out abroad
-looking for another. Anyone now.
Solitude is a prison there
the tide crashing nearby,
grey sea rolling in and out.
Mindless creatures churn the murk
grey sea,
no company them,
some do come here though
Hurt. Again and then
repeat it
on these somber shores
a husk lies among the rocks.
The last to torment him and laugh.
Friends do not mock, he says
I do not need you.
The waves speak to me.
They are all I need.
He will die alone.
Another might take his place, or not.
It matters not to him.
Tis the men who need monsters.
days pass again to night
four or four hundred. meh.
another comes in armor today
perhaps he will let him win
This one has brought an audience of clowns like him.
They all stand there unknowing their fate.
The sea crashes again and again.
again.
The sun does not shine today, all is bleak.
He is too old to keep repeating this.
Waves crash against the rocks.
Over and over.
The rocks are strong.
Water is not as much, but yet
the tide keeps crashing
grey waves thunder.
By Edward Sullivan
It is in its cave. To sleep.
A creature so feared
that none sane look for him willingly.
Alone due to this.
Why does he not go out abroad
-looking for another. Anyone now.
Solitude is a prison there
the tide crashing nearby,
grey sea rolling in and out.
Mindless creatures churn the murk
grey sea,
no company them,
some do come here though
Hurt. Again and then
repeat it
on these somber shores
a husk lies among the rocks.
The last to torment him and laugh.
Friends do not mock, he says
I do not need you.
The waves speak to me.
They are all I need.
He will die alone.
Another might take his place, or not.
It matters not to him.
Tis the men who need monsters.
days pass again to night
four or four hundred. meh.
another comes in armor today
perhaps he will let him win
This one has brought an audience of clowns like him.
They all stand there unknowing their fate.
The sea crashes again and again.
again.
The sun does not shine today, all is bleak.
He is too old to keep repeating this.
Waves crash against the rocks.
Over and over.
The rocks are strong.
Water is not as much, but yet
the tide keeps crashing
grey waves thunder.
Shalyma is a superbly gifted lady, stationed in New York City.
Not only does she have a great voice, her skills as a poet are extraordinary.
I had the joy of working with her in 1990s.
We became good friends back then.
Now reconnecting feels good, memories of good laughs, honest conversations and mutual interests return.
What do they say?
A true and honest friendship never dies, it always blossoms.
She is a true friend, a talented lady and we are proud that she is part of our webzine.
Check her out.
She's gonna make it big some day.
This is what Shalyma herself says about her work and life:
http://www.shalyma.com/
When I was twelve years old, a choir teacher at my school suggested to my parents that I should be given vocal lessons. Luckily they agreed and encouraged me to pursue singing. My father especially believed that I was bestowed a gift that warranted formal training. That was a long time ago - I have since become a classically trained soprano with an extensive background in music theatre. I received my education at the Hartt School of Music, where I ultimately graduated with a bachelor’s degree in music theatre. After my studies I traveled around the world, performing in Italy, Switzerland, Austria, France, South America, Japan, but also in every major city in the US and Canada.
Through my continued involvement with Broadway musicals I was fortunate enough to work with esteemed directors such as Sam Mendes, Rob Marshall and Roman Polanski, which raised the bar for me both as an actress, and a performer. My engagements in music theatre, jazz, sacred music, pop and opera, however, have shaped me into a versatile singer, and my influences are apparent in my way of singing. This project features a mainly "classical" vocal approach, but I attempted to maneuver around the rules of the standard operatic voice by using cross-over techniques, effectively blending and blurring the lines of the traditional classical, folk and pop styles. I hope to have accomplished this, and that you will like these songs. It has been a long and winding road, and everything I possess was put towards this life long dream of recording my first album.
I would like to thank you from the bottom of my heart for the love and support.
Gratefully and humbly,
Shalyma
Not only does she have a great voice, her skills as a poet are extraordinary.
I had the joy of working with her in 1990s.
We became good friends back then.
Now reconnecting feels good, memories of good laughs, honest conversations and mutual interests return.
What do they say?
A true and honest friendship never dies, it always blossoms.
She is a true friend, a talented lady and we are proud that she is part of our webzine.
Check her out.
She's gonna make it big some day.
This is what Shalyma herself says about her work and life:
http://www.shalyma.com/
When I was twelve years old, a choir teacher at my school suggested to my parents that I should be given vocal lessons. Luckily they agreed and encouraged me to pursue singing. My father especially believed that I was bestowed a gift that warranted formal training. That was a long time ago - I have since become a classically trained soprano with an extensive background in music theatre. I received my education at the Hartt School of Music, where I ultimately graduated with a bachelor’s degree in music theatre. After my studies I traveled around the world, performing in Italy, Switzerland, Austria, France, South America, Japan, but also in every major city in the US and Canada.
Through my continued involvement with Broadway musicals I was fortunate enough to work with esteemed directors such as Sam Mendes, Rob Marshall and Roman Polanski, which raised the bar for me both as an actress, and a performer. My engagements in music theatre, jazz, sacred music, pop and opera, however, have shaped me into a versatile singer, and my influences are apparent in my way of singing. This project features a mainly "classical" vocal approach, but I attempted to maneuver around the rules of the standard operatic voice by using cross-over techniques, effectively blending and blurring the lines of the traditional classical, folk and pop styles. I hope to have accomplished this, and that you will like these songs. It has been a long and winding road, and everything I possess was put towards this life long dream of recording my first album.
I would like to thank you from the bottom of my heart for the love and support.
Gratefully and humbly,
Shalyma
THE END OF AN ERA
by Shalyma and Truffles
We are standing on a threshold
And we are counting the sum of all our days
And as the dusk falls
And the night forewarns
A change is riding
On the winds of a storm
It's the end of an era
It's the dawn of the age
It's the end of an era
The turning of the page
We are turning a new corner
We are realizing the error of our ways
And as the dawn comes
And the night is forlorn
A sequel is rising
A new day is born
It's the end of an era
It's the dawn of the age
It's the end of an era
The turning of the page
Arise let courage reign
And freedom soar
See the light of wisdom as never before
It's the end of an eraIt's the dawn of the age
It's the end of an era
The turning of the page
It's the end of an era
The dawn of the age
It's the end of an era
The turning of the page
THE ALLURE OF YOU
by Shalyma and Truffles
The allure of you-
like the moon drawing day into night-
a force pulls me in,
brings me close-
holds me tight.
The allure of you-
a maddening love with no sense,
takes me over until I can see reason in madness.
An unexplainable thrill overcomes me
and sends a cold chilldown my spine
The allure of you-
stole my heart with a happenstance glance,
I'm caught-
caught in the clasp of romance.
I'm lost in-
the allure of you.
----------------------------------------
The allure of you-
like a wave pushing into the shore,
your tide leaves me empty,
alone,
wanting you more.
The allure of you-
stays with me as I drift through my day,
my head's in the clouds and my mind's a million miles away.
An unexplainable thrillovercomes me
and sends a cold chilldown my spine
The allure of you-
makes me dream of one wish coming true-
if you-
you felt the way that I do.
I'm lost in- the allure of you.
YOU SOOTHE ME
by Shalyma and Truffles
You soothe me with heartfelt words that calm my soul,
and free my troubled mind.
You soothe me.
You take me in.
You give me peace and let me cry.
When I'm seeking solace,
refuge from my sorrow,
your arms are open wide,
waiting for me to fall inside.
And when I'm inconsolable,
your love gives me a shelter.
You're the only one I need to comfort me.
You're my sanctuary, safe and strong.
You are my rock of strength to help me carry on.
You soothe me with heartfelt words that calm my soul and free my troubled mind.
You soothe me.
You take me in.
You give me peace and let me cry.
You're my sanctuary safe and strong.
You are my rock of strength to help me carry on.
You soothe me with heartfelt words that calm my soul and free my troubled mind.
by Shalyma and Truffles
We are standing on a threshold
And we are counting the sum of all our days
And as the dusk falls
And the night forewarns
A change is riding
On the winds of a storm
It's the end of an era
It's the dawn of the age
It's the end of an era
The turning of the page
We are turning a new corner
We are realizing the error of our ways
And as the dawn comes
And the night is forlorn
A sequel is rising
A new day is born
It's the end of an era
It's the dawn of the age
It's the end of an era
The turning of the page
Arise let courage reign
And freedom soar
See the light of wisdom as never before
It's the end of an eraIt's the dawn of the age
It's the end of an era
The turning of the page
It's the end of an era
The dawn of the age
It's the end of an era
The turning of the page
THE ALLURE OF YOU
by Shalyma and Truffles
The allure of you-
like the moon drawing day into night-
a force pulls me in,
brings me close-
holds me tight.
The allure of you-
a maddening love with no sense,
takes me over until I can see reason in madness.
An unexplainable thrill overcomes me
and sends a cold chilldown my spine
The allure of you-
stole my heart with a happenstance glance,
I'm caught-
caught in the clasp of romance.
I'm lost in-
the allure of you.
----------------------------------------
The allure of you-
like a wave pushing into the shore,
your tide leaves me empty,
alone,
wanting you more.
The allure of you-
stays with me as I drift through my day,
my head's in the clouds and my mind's a million miles away.
An unexplainable thrillovercomes me
and sends a cold chilldown my spine
The allure of you-
makes me dream of one wish coming true-
if you-
you felt the way that I do.
I'm lost in- the allure of you.
YOU SOOTHE ME
by Shalyma and Truffles
You soothe me with heartfelt words that calm my soul,
and free my troubled mind.
You soothe me.
You take me in.
You give me peace and let me cry.
When I'm seeking solace,
refuge from my sorrow,
your arms are open wide,
waiting for me to fall inside.
And when I'm inconsolable,
your love gives me a shelter.
You're the only one I need to comfort me.
You're my sanctuary, safe and strong.
You are my rock of strength to help me carry on.
You soothe me with heartfelt words that calm my soul and free my troubled mind.
You soothe me.
You take me in.
You give me peace and let me cry.
You're my sanctuary safe and strong.
You are my rock of strength to help me carry on.
You soothe me with heartfelt words that calm my soul and free my troubled mind.
A Wedding Song for Sophie and Tui
November 28th 2014
by Charles E.J. Moulton
He and she today unite
In matrimonial delight
And we see eternal time
Pass annually in rhyme.
Her face a moonshine ember,
Like the soft winds of September,
Evokes eternal bliss
Answered by a true love's kiss.
And the darling buds of May
In pleasant groves they say
That July and August see
June's eternity.
And January's embrace
Reveals February's face
A March with honest love
And April's hand in glove.
And October will always remember
That spectacular November
That transcended time and space
Blessing with angelic grace.
Its beauty fair just knows
Love will flourish like a rose
Nuptial happiness and bliss
Bears a lover's gentle kiss
And now we cheer, my dear,
That abundance sweet is here,
Like a bird that soars the sky,
And touches the yearning sky.
So we wish them all what's well
And from what the angels tell
The light that shines internal
Bears a love that sprouts eternal.
November 28th 2014
by Charles E.J. Moulton
He and she today unite
In matrimonial delight
And we see eternal time
Pass annually in rhyme.
Her face a moonshine ember,
Like the soft winds of September,
Evokes eternal bliss
Answered by a true love's kiss.
And the darling buds of May
In pleasant groves they say
That July and August see
June's eternity.
And January's embrace
Reveals February's face
A March with honest love
And April's hand in glove.
And October will always remember
That spectacular November
That transcended time and space
Blessing with angelic grace.
Its beauty fair just knows
Love will flourish like a rose
Nuptial happiness and bliss
Bears a lover's gentle kiss
And now we cheer, my dear,
That abundance sweet is here,
Like a bird that soars the sky,
And touches the yearning sky.
So we wish them all what's well
And from what the angels tell
The light that shines internal
Bears a love that sprouts eternal.
THE prayers I make will then be sweet indeed
If Thou the spirit give by which I pray:
My unassisted heart is barren clay,
That of its native self can nothing feed:
Of good and pious works thou art the seed,
That quickens only where thou say'st it may:
Unless Thou show to us thine own true way
No man can find it: Father! Thou must lead.
Do Thou, then, breathe those thoughts into my mind
By which such virtue may in me be bred
That in thy holy footsteps I may tread;
The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind,
That I may have the power to sing of thee,
And sound thy praises everlastingly.
William Wordsworth
If Thou the spirit give by which I pray:
My unassisted heart is barren clay,
That of its native self can nothing feed:
Of good and pious works thou art the seed,
That quickens only where thou say'st it may:
Unless Thou show to us thine own true way
No man can find it: Father! Thou must lead.
Do Thou, then, breathe those thoughts into my mind
By which such virtue may in me be bred
That in thy holy footsteps I may tread;
The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind,
That I may have the power to sing of thee,
And sound thy praises everlastingly.
William Wordsworth
A BABLING STREAM
By Julie Clark
A babbling stream, a peaceful lane
These are the things that I enjoy
As I walk on a summers day
With a warm gentle breeze upon my face
A cottage in a field, with swirling smoke
A family sitting round ready to eat
Rich chicken soup and freshly baked bread
Then five little children all snug in their bed
A flitting bird upon the nest
Protecting her brood from unknown harm
A cow chewing cud all gentle and calm
Then sheep and one dog in one accord
Oh what a beautiful land we have
If we would take the time to see
Instead of rushing through the day
Let’s sit for a while and take it all in
ALL I WANT
By Julie Clark
All I want is a little respect
I am not stupid as you suspect
I don’t need the whispers I don’t need the stares
As if to say we really don’t care
I am a normal human being
And all of my life I’ve hearing and seeing
Your reactions to the sight of my chair
And me the person it has to bare
I feel, I love the same as you
I need to be loved my someone too
So come and say hi oh please please do
Because I am only human too
Just because I have this chair
Still at night I cook my meals
I take the hand that my life may hold
So to this chair I put this seal
Of approval not of hate
And now at last I have found my Kate
I always knew it was never too late
For me a loving wife to take
So remember me when you see a chair
And take the time to really care
There is so much to give, so much to share
With a man in the corner in a wheel chair
Summers here
By Julie Clark
Birds sing, bees hum
Summers here again
Kids laugh, adults too
Joy is here now
Play and work warm
Not bitter cold winds
EVERYONE NEEDS
By Julie Clark
Everybody needs someone to love.
Everybody needs someone to care
all your dreams and fears to share.
The peace comes down as with the dove.
Everybody needs to follow a dream
and find out what life is meant to be
we wonder here we wander there.
So many crosses we have to bare
the weight of this world can be halved
on this weary rugged road.
By friends who care and make you laugh.
And they will give you the strength to last.
By Julie Clark
A babbling stream, a peaceful lane
These are the things that I enjoy
As I walk on a summers day
With a warm gentle breeze upon my face
A cottage in a field, with swirling smoke
A family sitting round ready to eat
Rich chicken soup and freshly baked bread
Then five little children all snug in their bed
A flitting bird upon the nest
Protecting her brood from unknown harm
A cow chewing cud all gentle and calm
Then sheep and one dog in one accord
Oh what a beautiful land we have
If we would take the time to see
Instead of rushing through the day
Let’s sit for a while and take it all in
ALL I WANT
By Julie Clark
All I want is a little respect
I am not stupid as you suspect
I don’t need the whispers I don’t need the stares
As if to say we really don’t care
I am a normal human being
And all of my life I’ve hearing and seeing
Your reactions to the sight of my chair
And me the person it has to bare
I feel, I love the same as you
I need to be loved my someone too
So come and say hi oh please please do
Because I am only human too
Just because I have this chair
Still at night I cook my meals
I take the hand that my life may hold
So to this chair I put this seal
Of approval not of hate
And now at last I have found my Kate
I always knew it was never too late
For me a loving wife to take
So remember me when you see a chair
And take the time to really care
There is so much to give, so much to share
With a man in the corner in a wheel chair
Summers here
By Julie Clark
Birds sing, bees hum
Summers here again
Kids laugh, adults too
Joy is here now
Play and work warm
Not bitter cold winds
EVERYONE NEEDS
By Julie Clark
Everybody needs someone to love.
Everybody needs someone to care
all your dreams and fears to share.
The peace comes down as with the dove.
Everybody needs to follow a dream
and find out what life is meant to be
we wonder here we wander there.
So many crosses we have to bare
the weight of this world can be halved
on this weary rugged road.
By friends who care and make you laugh.
And they will give you the strength to last.
Bla I
By Yang Lee
Bla is bla
Spontaneous
True creativity is simple
Can be silly
Does not require to become famous
True creativity IS
It exists
It doesn't expect
It exists
We have become fame junkies
Fulfilling prophecies, waiting for Godot, expecting that jackpot
But while we damn well wait, life passes by
The inner child sits there in his corner, asking the cooler camel what that last sentence meant?
Ricky Rat rats ruffles
Huh?
Does everything have to mean something?
Isn't it enough that it exists and is fun to say?
Riff Raff Ruff
Rarararara
Fun
Bla II
By Yang Lee
Cliff saff muff
Criff craff moff
Dada dudu dodo
Leeleeleeleeleeleelee
Hmm?
Hmm!
Hmmm
Hmmmm
Hmmmmm?
Sing sin sil sim sik sip sit siw siz
Hmm
Hmmm
Be Silly
By Yang Lee
Serious.
So serious
So merious.
Oh, come on.
Merious is not a word.
Oh, yes it is.
It's a mixture between marvelous and serious.
Merious.
So merious.
Be silly. Sit in the kitchen, licking a plate like a cat.
Walk like a duck just for fun.
Walk around like a petrified mitea.
Mitea, bitea, ritea.
Fun. Goooooooood fun.
Silly.
By Yang Lee
Bla is bla
Spontaneous
True creativity is simple
Can be silly
Does not require to become famous
True creativity IS
It exists
It doesn't expect
It exists
We have become fame junkies
Fulfilling prophecies, waiting for Godot, expecting that jackpot
But while we damn well wait, life passes by
The inner child sits there in his corner, asking the cooler camel what that last sentence meant?
Ricky Rat rats ruffles
Huh?
Does everything have to mean something?
Isn't it enough that it exists and is fun to say?
Riff Raff Ruff
Rarararara
Fun
Bla II
By Yang Lee
Cliff saff muff
Criff craff moff
Dada dudu dodo
Leeleeleeleeleeleelee
Hmm?
Hmm!
Hmmm
Hmmmm
Hmmmmm?
Sing sin sil sim sik sip sit siw siz
Hmm
Hmmm
Be Silly
By Yang Lee
Serious.
So serious
So merious.
Oh, come on.
Merious is not a word.
Oh, yes it is.
It's a mixture between marvelous and serious.
Merious.
So merious.
Be silly. Sit in the kitchen, licking a plate like a cat.
Walk like a duck just for fun.
Walk around like a petrified mitea.
Mitea, bitea, ritea.
Fun. Goooooooood fun.
Silly.
Refrigerator magnet poem
By Witty Fay
At first, I was borrowed with fickle love
Around the arms that grew wingless
And wasted my spring on a man who
Loved me less than the folds of time.
Little jarred fruit of mine, I called him at night,
Press me between the blue pages of the early hour
When you turn your eyes from the bookish dawn
Into the feverish daze of the day, at length.
Chalk dust in the air, he called me at noon,
Marooned in the warmth of my lavish thighs,
Speak me of times clad into the smell of us
Before I leave a shred of pink behind the blue you keep
Within seasons and books, the lid and the scribble.
By Witty Fay
At first, I was borrowed with fickle love
Around the arms that grew wingless
And wasted my spring on a man who
Loved me less than the folds of time.
Little jarred fruit of mine, I called him at night,
Press me between the blue pages of the early hour
When you turn your eyes from the bookish dawn
Into the feverish daze of the day, at length.
Chalk dust in the air, he called me at noon,
Marooned in the warmth of my lavish thighs,
Speak me of times clad into the smell of us
Before I leave a shred of pink behind the blue you keep
Within seasons and books, the lid and the scribble.
Fickle moon
By Witty Fay
Pollen moon shedding night flowers
Across the soles of my springish feet,
You love to burn the nightish hours,
I miss not missing you and greet
All hearty pangs and mindful tingles
That lie beyond the moonish reach,
Come swing on crescent arms of peat,
When aching dreams of dark so sweet.
By Witty Fay
Pollen moon shedding night flowers
Across the soles of my springish feet,
You love to burn the nightish hours,
I miss not missing you and greet
All hearty pangs and mindful tingles
That lie beyond the moonish reach,
Come swing on crescent arms of peat,
When aching dreams of dark so sweet.
Vertigo
By Witty Fay
There is a willing reader under my window sill,
Feeling the pages of the cracking walls,
With blind fingertips of wooden candor.
He has been cheated of syllables, rosaries and glue
To mend the broken china of his eyelids,
Thrown at the feet of the drunken sommelier.
He claims he knows good books and bad dreams
And offers to spell me into a winery tale:
The other half of the moon is audaciously dark.
By Witty Fay
There is a willing reader under my window sill,
Feeling the pages of the cracking walls,
With blind fingertips of wooden candor.
He has been cheated of syllables, rosaries and glue
To mend the broken china of his eyelids,
Thrown at the feet of the drunken sommelier.
He claims he knows good books and bad dreams
And offers to spell me into a winery tale:
The other half of the moon is audaciously dark.
Adjectival
By Witty Fay
Is how I choose to break
The pace of such loose sentence,
Into snippets of organic structure
Of language and primeval syllables.
I like you verbal, with no go words
Around the corners of your mouth
That rise from the subtle staple
On your pretty nibs and veins.
And then, you strip me off my nouns,
Until nakedness becomes adverbial,
Or rather proverbial on the lips
Of the mouth that teaches grammar
To the blind eyes that feel their way
Through the curves and valleys of me.
By Witty Fay
Is how I choose to break
The pace of such loose sentence,
Into snippets of organic structure
Of language and primeval syllables.
I like you verbal, with no go words
Around the corners of your mouth
That rise from the subtle staple
On your pretty nibs and veins.
And then, you strip me off my nouns,
Until nakedness becomes adverbial,
Or rather proverbial on the lips
Of the mouth that teaches grammar
To the blind eyes that feel their way
Through the curves and valleys of me.
Liquid memory
By Witty Fay
Scalene love, unequally threefold into you,
From the pit of the stomach into the head,
Leaving no room for arguments,
Imperfectly missing the heart,
As I move around 438 cubic feet of air
That coat my muscles into the constant wash of us,
Skin layer on skin layer, taking the route to memory
With both hands of gossamer, like anemones
Crushed against a coral reef by the light of sun.
I lend my smell to you and imprint it
On every cell that feels striped at the touch,
Like a tiger on a lazy pursuit after his savanna other,
Or a weightless spaceman of no taste or smell,
On such airborne, volatile quest for light.
And I let you flow to the edge of it
And come back like a nameless ebb-
To me, your molten ways are air.
By Witty Fay
Scalene love, unequally threefold into you,
From the pit of the stomach into the head,
Leaving no room for arguments,
Imperfectly missing the heart,
As I move around 438 cubic feet of air
That coat my muscles into the constant wash of us,
Skin layer on skin layer, taking the route to memory
With both hands of gossamer, like anemones
Crushed against a coral reef by the light of sun.
I lend my smell to you and imprint it
On every cell that feels striped at the touch,
Like a tiger on a lazy pursuit after his savanna other,
Or a weightless spaceman of no taste or smell,
On such airborne, volatile quest for light.
And I let you flow to the edge of it
And come back like a nameless ebb-
To me, your molten ways are air.
Will I Lie Dreaming?
By Grant Tarbard
My life drags at the lower limbs
At my motor functions, at my core
As a fetal impression. I was, of course
Imperfect as a feral yolk illumination
Will I lie dreaming of my black tar.
Wisdom of the Dog
By Grant Tarbard
Last dog at the bowl
Has the wisdom of
A fortune cookie.
The last dog yowling
At the low side of
Normal. Last dog that
Digs up a bone is
Burying himself
An escape tunnel
With Death by his side.
Last dog on the teat
Is a leper, is
A pariah of
The enchanted chill.
Last dog on the
Tail end of tooth and
Claw is all eyes, is
A survivor of
The lost dogs, growling
Canny, expecting
The hurt. The lost dog
Missing every part,
Lost and last. Wisdom,
Of the dog says keep
Running, don't get caught.
What DoThey Say On This Matter?
By Grant Tarbard
Inner sanctum innuendo: redirect God in His proper place, He has been living out of it for Sometime. There hasn't been a middle for aeons. What do they recommend?
Outer rectum diversion: weaves around garments and breathing flows gregarious waves Rolling in my speech-language and therapy never ending. What foes with mama doctored?
I will work with my tired shadow: heavy garden of stone witches meat and Turkish Delight Prepares no-one for their up-fall, inevitable a bad apple, some say. What do they know?
I will walk without standing: a eagle dirges deep throated and rubbed with candle wax, he Cannot touch the bottom together. What do they say on this matter?
You've walked over water, you've dropped bad seeds, Vlad deeds, in the ground; I bet that's Better than wading around in Gods wafers. What, the gloom?
Slime deadens from the inside out from the newt I intend to be. Alas, fortunate as I am I've Still got go and end on my brain. What, why the sense of direction?
I wish I was an atomic explosion I could end it all with one desecration, one happy fire to Spark off the evolution on this unholy planet. What, it's weird behaviour that chapped lips?
Clear a path why don't ya, through this fear and jealous, through this radio heat and TV
Static. Why don't you all get out my way? What, fortunate breaks hopes once condensed?
I wish I could be upside down and swallow my tongue: a tinge of sacrament, a pinch of horse Radish, a punch of hiding, a box of ravishing. What, do you break like waves as well?
No, the breaking open of oyster shells gets you excommunicated in these parts, the Squishing of a rubber duck too, to the detriment of your social following. What,
There's still time to escape? There's still time to go walking in a box of rain? There's still
A rights of a king? There's still from Fort Knox a rumbling? There's still a debaser gust
That blows in the whirlwind of my school? There's still ah huh huhs that needs addressing?
What, why the sense of distraction? What do they say on this matter?
By Grant Tarbard
My life drags at the lower limbs
At my motor functions, at my core
As a fetal impression. I was, of course
Imperfect as a feral yolk illumination
Will I lie dreaming of my black tar.
Wisdom of the Dog
By Grant Tarbard
Last dog at the bowl
Has the wisdom of
A fortune cookie.
The last dog yowling
At the low side of
Normal. Last dog that
Digs up a bone is
Burying himself
An escape tunnel
With Death by his side.
Last dog on the teat
Is a leper, is
A pariah of
The enchanted chill.
Last dog on the
Tail end of tooth and
Claw is all eyes, is
A survivor of
The lost dogs, growling
Canny, expecting
The hurt. The lost dog
Missing every part,
Lost and last. Wisdom,
Of the dog says keep
Running, don't get caught.
What DoThey Say On This Matter?
By Grant Tarbard
Inner sanctum innuendo: redirect God in His proper place, He has been living out of it for Sometime. There hasn't been a middle for aeons. What do they recommend?
Outer rectum diversion: weaves around garments and breathing flows gregarious waves Rolling in my speech-language and therapy never ending. What foes with mama doctored?
I will work with my tired shadow: heavy garden of stone witches meat and Turkish Delight Prepares no-one for their up-fall, inevitable a bad apple, some say. What do they know?
I will walk without standing: a eagle dirges deep throated and rubbed with candle wax, he Cannot touch the bottom together. What do they say on this matter?
You've walked over water, you've dropped bad seeds, Vlad deeds, in the ground; I bet that's Better than wading around in Gods wafers. What, the gloom?
Slime deadens from the inside out from the newt I intend to be. Alas, fortunate as I am I've Still got go and end on my brain. What, why the sense of direction?
I wish I was an atomic explosion I could end it all with one desecration, one happy fire to Spark off the evolution on this unholy planet. What, it's weird behaviour that chapped lips?
Clear a path why don't ya, through this fear and jealous, through this radio heat and TV
Static. Why don't you all get out my way? What, fortunate breaks hopes once condensed?
I wish I could be upside down and swallow my tongue: a tinge of sacrament, a pinch of horse Radish, a punch of hiding, a box of ravishing. What, do you break like waves as well?
No, the breaking open of oyster shells gets you excommunicated in these parts, the Squishing of a rubber duck too, to the detriment of your social following. What,
There's still time to escape? There's still time to go walking in a box of rain? There's still
A rights of a king? There's still from Fort Knox a rumbling? There's still a debaser gust
That blows in the whirlwind of my school? There's still ah huh huhs that needs addressing?
What, why the sense of distraction? What do they say on this matter?
|
|
Amazon
By Charles E.J. Moulton
Amazon rivers meander through the night,
Dancing through the wilderness,
Flying like a kite,
Chachapoyas feel like dancing beads,
See where the endless spirit lives
And where the spirit leads,
Karijia Sacrophagi,
Belem, Manaus, Brasilia.
The natives live on fruit,
Swinging from tree to tree,
In the middle we find Timothy,
Caught by Pygmés, who dance around him,
Waiting to catch a fish in his name.
Timothy decided to dance with them,
Takes off his clothes and dresses in leaves.
No more civilization.
He becomes a native, too.
Amazonas Chachapyas Inca Karijia Manaus Brasilia
South American Merengue.
By Charles E.J. Moulton
Amazon rivers meander through the night,
Dancing through the wilderness,
Flying like a kite,
Chachapoyas feel like dancing beads,
See where the endless spirit lives
And where the spirit leads,
Karijia Sacrophagi,
Belem, Manaus, Brasilia.
The natives live on fruit,
Swinging from tree to tree,
In the middle we find Timothy,
Caught by Pygmés, who dance around him,
Waiting to catch a fish in his name.
Timothy decided to dance with them,
Takes off his clothes and dresses in leaves.
No more civilization.
He becomes a native, too.
Amazonas Chachapyas Inca Karijia Manaus Brasilia
South American Merengue.
