translated to ASCII on October 8, 1996 -- %%%%% %%%%%% %%%%%% %%%% %%%%%% %%%%%% %%%%% %% %% %%%%%% %% %% %% %% %% %% %%%%%% %%%%%% %%%%%% %%%%%% %% %% %% %%% %% %% %% %% %% %% %% %% %% %% %% %%%% %% %%% %% %% %% %%%%%% %% %% %%%% %% %% %% %% %% %% % %% %%%% %%%%% %% %% %%%% %% %%%%%% %% %% %% % %% %%%% %% %% %% %% %% %%%%% %% %% %% %%% %% %% %% %%%%%% %%%%%% %% %% %% %% %%%%%% %% %%% %% %% %% %%%% %%%%%% %% %% %% %% %%%%%% %% %% %% %% dedicated to the art of the written word POETRY INK Poems by Matthew W. Schmeer vol. 1, issue 1 June 1995 =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D POETRY INK 1.01 / ISSN 1091-0999 =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D POETRY INK volume 1, issue 1 June 1995 Please Read Before Continuing ----------------------------- You will need the fonts Courier, Helvetica, Palantino, & Times installed in your system in order to view this document correctly. Legal Stuff ----------- POETRY INK is copyrighted 1995 by POETRY INK PRODUCTIONS, a wholly owned subsidiary of the imagination of Matthew W. Schmeer. POETRY = INK can be freely distributed, provided it is not modified in any way, shape, or form. Specifically: * All commerical on-line services, such as eWorld, America On-Line, and CompuServ, and local BBSs may distribute POETRY INK at no = charge. * All non-profit user groups may distribute POETRY INK at no charge. * All CD-ROM shareware collections and CD-ROM magazines may not include POETRY INK without my prior consent. * All redistribution companies such as Educorp may not distribute POETRY INK without my express written consent. POETRY INK PRODUCTIONS retains one-time rights and the right to reprint this issue, either printed or electronic. All other rights = to works appearing in POETRY INK written by authors other than Matthew = W. Schmeer revert to said authors upon publication. All work herein is presented for the expressed purpose of entertainment and enlightenment only. Reproduction of any part of = this work other than for personal use constitutes violation of the International Copyright Law and is subject to prosecution. The opinions herein are entirely that of Matthew W. Schmeer. Any similarities to persons living or dead presented herein are entirely coincidental. Names have been changed to protect the innocent. You have the right to remain silent. You want to go where everybody = knows your name. This is a test. This is only a test. The What, The Why & The Who --------------------------- POETRY INK is a short collection of poetry written by me, Matthew W. Schmeer. Many people (especially my wife) have asked why I decided = to put my work in an electronic form other than the traditional media = of paper and ink and I guess I owe them an explanation. I believe the electronic media will eventually replace the more traditional forms = of written communication. With the popularization of the Internet spreading like wildfire, the millions of users tapping into the world-wide communication database provide artists and writers like myself a ready-and-waiting audience hungering for entertainment, knowledge, and a feeling of focused human interest. When this is = tied to the fact that the monetary cost of electronic publishing is only production time and connection charges, it is amazing that big name publishing houses are not pushing their books and authors out into cyberspace. Of course, the reason for this is simple: they can't = make a profit if anybody can freely download Stephen King's or Jackie Collins's latest work and just give copies to whoever wants one. So = we are left with works in the public domain whose copyright has = expired, such as many of those put out by the fine folks involved with = Project Gutenberg. But what about the rest of us? Many of us would like to see our name in print and feel that rush when we realize someone other than ourselves will actually read our work. But when the "Literary = Littles" are shuttering their doors and closing down, when even the big publishing houses like Alfred A. Knopf are dropping well-known poets from their ranks, when poetry magazines are backlogged for months, where should we turn? Well, the answer is clear. Cyberspace. Perhaps we won't reap any monetary rewards (but then, who's in this for the money anyway?), but the satisfaction of seeing our work in print is = a payoff in itself. So that is why I decided to start this thing. After getting = rejection letter after rejection letter, I decided that if I couldn't get published somewhere else, I'd just have to do it myself. The Plea -------- I hope to turn POETRY INK into a regular, erratically published E-zine. However, the only poems I currently have are my own. If = anyone is interested in submitting poetry, short fiction, or essays, please see the end of this document for submission instructions. I can be reached for comment, requests, criticism, death threats, = etc. at either of these two addresses: e-mail: snail mail: Matthew W. Schmeer 6711-A Mitchell Avenue St. Louis, MO 63139-3647 U.S.A. If writting via snail mail, please include a #10-sized = self-addressed stamped envelope so that I may respond to you. Donations are gracefully accepted, but if you insist on paying for POETRY INK, please contribute any money you might think of sending me to your local Catholic Charities instead. Also, if you live in a foreign country, please send me either a postcard of your hometown (preferred) or e-mail telling me where you live, how you received your copy of POETRY INK, and what you think = of this E-zine. Thanks, Matthew W. Schmeer Dedication ---------- Dedicated To Karen, My Loving Wife, Without Whom Life Would Be No = Fun. Coltrane Lives -------------- Coltrane lives in a smoke filled room behind floodlights on a stage surrounded by faces; lives in the beat of the snare and the pounding of hammers on piano wire; lives in the wondering lines of the double bass thumping out the lead rhythm of life; lives in the backrooms and pool halls and in the room of every kid dying to be the next bird or mingus or davis or monk; lives in the static bursts between tweeter and woofer, between vinyl grooves laid deep in black; lives down inside where the heart pounds fast at the opening notes not read or played but felt from somewhere in the low guttural swoonings of the brassy sax prowling the air of the clubs. ***This work was originally published in Steps Astray, the 10th = issue of the University of Missouri-St. Louis student LitMag. Work on this electronic publication was in progress when the acceptance of this work by Steps Astray was announced. Due to the fact that the author retained all rights to this piece, we deem it fit to appear here. Besides, the editor wrote it. Dirt ----- when her eyes set my fires i want to eat all poetry ever written about lovers and night and stars; i want to bleed through the gutters and sink deep into loam, feel dampness enclose me and earthworms squirm across my brow while the mole makes his subtle inquireries. i want to feel the pulse of the snake as she burrows deep underground, taste the brown of the leaves and hear mushrooms bloom. i want to encompass all that is dead or dying, feel the rotting of wood beneath my fingers and the scurry of millipedes across my cheek. Holy holy --------- When your white roses wilt In their Christmas vase Press them between Your fingers and inhale The fragrance of death, Crumble the petals for potpourri And grind the stems for spice. Take the paintings of crucifixions And hide them in the closet Near mothballed coats, vacation Scrapbooks and single mittens. Find the bottles of holy water, Drink the essence of god In great thickened gulps while You pray for the word Made flesh made whole to consume you. Do not try to explain the advent Of your faith or piety, But bend slowly to the altar And ask forgiveness at confessions For sins not committed, and for penance Move slowly in the dark Toward your lover's blue-licked flame. Layover ------- The planes swarm to the nest Of black asphalt and twinkling jewels On a starless January night. I wait near Concourse A, Watching for your 727 To find its way Home to me from The desert sun and hot breezes, The cacti and jackrabbits Of southern Arizona. I smoke a cigarette and stare Across runways at the screaming Neon sign proclaiming McDonnell-Douglass, Watch as baggage carts shuffle Luggage to places I have never been. I exhale and become part Of the plastic chair. Looking at your week-old Postcard, with its Hastily written single line, I realize nothing Was as I believed. I wonder how you changed, Having bathed naked In the painted desert Under a new moon. You undoubtedly will walk off the plane Tan and smiling, your hair neatly Folded beneath a Panama hat. I will embrace you and kiss you And notice the far-off look in Your eyes as your crate of Oranges is claimed by the Grinning Skycap. I know that it will not be the same, And every movement of my body In bed will remind you of The firm sweaty sides of Chestnut horses between your legs. And you will yearn to ride The stallioned bay tugging the reins When we make love And there will be no way To convince you These midwestern blues Do not belong In the desert sands. November -------- i have counted them again=AD one two three the cracking of grain is the fire of love like samson and delilah lying beneath the pillars of saltrock and limestone and i have counted them again. let the leaves fall where they may, their crackled skin and empty veins are gnarled hands of the ageless dead reaching far above the soil. i turn to dust when i count them again like the ticking of a clock near noon one two three. one two three the razor skips across my wrist in the echo of the metronome and the turning of the screw like hot buttered popcorn i have counted them again one two three easy as can be traces of blood and tears tear down like falling rain. i think of november and the coming of pain one two three on one hand like dropping flies in grease and flame. rural scene #32 --------------- _April, 1953_ A thunder-like dreaming Races across the midwestern skies Above our rainbeaten barn. Everything we have wondered About the weather Pales when lightning floods Our fields and cattle Graze for cover. Staring from cloud-soaked eyes, I turn and watch the wheat Bend with the wind, Waving off-rhythm Helloes or farewells. My wife squeezes my hand Before running to gather The barnyard kittens, her patchwork Dress whipping about her Thinly muscled legs while kittens Scurry to her arms. My son appears, his Face running with rain And binoculars in his fist. He points to the horizon And the cloudy winds billowing Upwards and beyond. Twister, he says. I nod and shuffle The cows to barn And chickens to coop Before heading down To the apple-stocked cellar Lit by one bare bulb. My wife smiles with her Arms full of cat and My son shuts the door, The binoculars still slung Around his neck. We sit And wait. We have been through this ritual Before, years ago and months Since barely past, waiting For the swirling dervish To cross the county line. We were lucky we only lost A few cattle in the first tornado, And we mourned the loss Of our dog in the last. Old Jeremiah probably never knew What hit him, but I imagine He ended up on another farm In another state and still rounds In the herd at night For another man happy to have another hand. My son never mentioned the hurt, But my wife knew, and the cats were Her way of redemption. I never Liked cats -- until Tom mounted Myra And she sprouted kittens and I went Overboard, playing with the little balls of fur In my evening free time after Milking the cows or mending a fence. So now we sit among Last autumns' crop of apples And beets and potatoes and such Bottled and pickled or bare on the shelf, Listening to the whistling trees And shaking shutters while Our four kittens and momma cat Wrestle with yarn at our feet. The slicing rain echoes against The siding, and the cellar door Quakes with the booming of God. I hold my wife's hand, waiting, Just waiting, For the winds of spring to break. ***This work was recently accepted for publication in An Archer's Dream, the 11th issue of the University of Missouri-St. Louis = student LitMag. Work on this electronic publication was completed and ready for release when the acceptance of this work by An Archer's Dream = was announced. Due to the fact that the author retained all rights to = this piece, we deem it fit to appear here. Besides, the editor wrote it. = Submission Guidelines --------------------- Guidelines for submitting work to be published in POETRY INK * Failure to follow these guidelines will mean automatic rejection of your submission! Please read the following very carefully! * Submissions should be written in the English language. We regret that we are unable to publish work in foreign languages, but we = cannot spend time flipping through foreign language dictionaries trying to check grammar, spelling, and meaning. Lord knows we have trouble enough with our native tongue. So unless you can provide an English translation to a work in a foreign langauge, forget about it. * No previously published work may be submitted. Simultaneous submissions are okay. In the case of simultaneous submissions, = please contact us if your work has been accepted by another publication so that we may remove the work in question from consideration. * All submissions must have your name, postal address, age, and e-mail address included on each individual work. You may submit work via = U.S. Mail or e-mail. See below for addresses. * No gratutious obscenity or profanity, although erotic material is okay. If you think it's too graphic, then it probably is and won't = be published in this forum. * Please keep poems under 3 printed pages apiece (page size =3D 8" x = 11" page with 1" margines printed with Times 12-point plain font). * Please limit short stories to under 5000 words. * No more than 5 poems or 2 short stories submitted per person per issue. * Submissions should be submitted as plain ASCII e-mail files or as StuffIt compressed (.sit) attachments to files. Compressed files should be in plain text format (the kind produced by SimpleText). Regardless of submission format, please use the subject line = <> where "your name" is your actual name and = not the name of your e-mail account. * Manuscripts and submissions cannot be returned, nor can I offer any constructive criticism unless I decide to publish the work and I = have serious reservations regarding content or structure. You will not receive notification that your work was received; while we regret = this inconvineince, you must realize we have to support ourselves = somehow. Therefore, due to the massive amount of submissions, we cannot acknowledge receipt of your work unless we decide to publish it. * If your work is accepted for publication, you will be notified as soon as possible. At that time, you will be asked to send the = release form in the following chapter via e-mail to authorize publication. Please return this form as soon as possible. You may include this = form with your submission if you so desire. Failure to send in this form will prevent your work from being published. If you cannot e-mail = this form, please send it by U.S. Mail. We regret you have to spend $0.32 to see your work published, but hey, you can't send a stamp via the Internet, we don't have access to a fax machine, and we really need = to have the release form on file for legal purposes. All submissions, inquiries, and comments should be directed to: e-mail: snail mail: Matthew W. Schmeer POETRY INK PRODUCTIONS 6711-A Mitchell Avenue St. Louis, MO 63139-3647 USA Authorization Form ------------------ Authorization Form For Publication In POETRY INK: AUTHORIZATION APPROVAL & RELEASE Hereafter, the terms "work" and "piece" refer to any poem, short story, essay, or excerpt thereof which has been accepted for publication by POETRY INK. The terms "us," "we," and "our" refer to POETRY INK PRODUCTIONS and/or Matthew W. Schmeer. "Publish" and "publication" refers to appearance and distribution via electronic (DOCMaker for the Apple Macintosh) or printed media. The term "you" and "your" refer to the person who has signed and thereby agreeed to the terms of this release form. Apple(tm), Macintosh(tm), and eWorld(tm) are a registered trademarks of Apple Computer, Inc. America On-Line(tm) is a registered trademark of America On-Line, = Inc. All other names are trademarks or service marks of their respective holders. You hereby grant POETRY INK, the electronic magazine produced by POETRY INK PRODUCTIONS and Matthew W. Schmeer, the right to publish your work. Said right shall include intital publication and any subsequent re-release of the issue of POETRY INK in which your work appeared. You hereby acknowledge our right to distribute your work = in published form. POETRY INK PRODUCTIONS hereby releases all rights other than those stated herein to you upon publiction of your work. = If we wish to publish your work in a different issue of POETRY INK, we will contact you for permission to do so, and acknowledge your right of refusal. You hereby acknowledge that the work to be published is your own original work and is a product of your own design. You further agree that we have the right to request additional information from you regarding the source(s) of your work and any related topic thereof. 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POETRY INK PRODUCTIONS hereby recognizes your right to privacy and agrees not to release any information about you unless required = under the laws of the United States or its governmental bodies. We will = not give or sell our address list to any outside firm or agency unless required by law, although you may be contacted by us for = verification or promotional purposes. You hereby acknowledge you have read and understand this document = and agree to all terms herein regarding the publication of your work. Signed: = Date: = (please print) Name: Address: City: State or Province: Zip or Postal Code: Country: e-mail address: Mail to: Matthew W. Schmeer POETRY INK Prodcutions 6711-A Mitchell Avenue St. Louis, Mo 63139-3647 USA or via Internet e-mail: ..