%-------CUT HERE--------------------------------------------------- % % (This and related files are now archived at the public site % etext.archive.umich.edu (anonymous ftp) in the directory % /pub/Poetry/Sand.River.Journal, courtesy Paul Southworth.) % % This is the TeXfile for Sand River Journal. While you can read % the poems easily enough in this file, the formatted journal can % be obtained by (1) saving it, (2) removing the header, % (3) compiling it: % tex srj % and (4) viewing or printing it: % preview srj % dvips srj % % These are commands on my unix-based system, but the process is % similarly easy on PC's and Macs which support TeX. The PostScript % (compiled) version of this document is also posted and can be % printed directly. % \raggedbottom \baselineskip=12pt \font\journal=punksl20 scaled 2000 \font\byline=ccmi10 \font\lsl=cmsl8 \font\smtit=cmr9 \font\tit=cmdunh10 scaled \magstep2 \font\ref=cmitt10 scaled 1200 \font\astro=astrosym \font\editorial=cmr6 \moveright -1.8in \vbox{% \centerline{\journal Sand River Journal} \vskip 0.9truein {\editorial \baselineskip=0pt \narrower\narrower\narrower\narrower\narrower Sand River Journal is a collection of poems gathered from the newsgroup rec.arts.poems; it is posted monthly in \TeX\ and PostScript formats. Poems appear by authors' permission and constitute copyrighted material. Free transmission of this document (electronic or otherwise) is permitted only in its entire and unaltered form; to inquire about individual poems contact the authors by their email addresses. The editor takes no responsibility for the fate of this document, nor does he claim ownership to any of the contents herein. \medskip Many of the poems appearing in this issue were collected and forwarded to me by zita marie evensen while I was away in Michigan. Send comments and contributions (please reference SRJ) to asphaug@lpl.arizona.edu. Enjoy! \medskip \hskip 1.7in Erik Asphaug, Editor \baselineskip=12pt} \vskip 0.5truein \centerline{\ref Issue 6, Friday August 13 1993} \bigskip \centerline{\astro f \hskip 0.2in n \hskip 0.2in h } \medskip} \def\title#1{\vskip 0.8in\bigskip\bigbreak\centerline{\hskip -3.5in {\tit #1}}\bigskip\nobreak} \def\smtitle#1{\vskip -0.15in\centerline{\hskip -3.5in {\smtit #1}}\bigskip\nobreak} \def\author#1#2{\nobreak\medskip\line{\hskip 1.5truein\hbox{\sl #1\/}\hfill}% \line{\hskip 1.5truein\hbox{\lsl #2}\hfill}\goodbreak} \hoffset=1.6in \obeylines \title{little clouds with arms and legs} little clouds with arms and legs sometimes a single diaphanous souffle nimbi florid with the golden flesh of sun how to measure perfect blueness \medskip there is a land, there is a land \medskip hardly anything grows there but wildflowers shrubs and rocks these rocks have been growing old for ages petroglyphs are dimly flowering yon and dave loves kim across the coyote and mary loves sam across the anasazi warrior and the crushed aluminum can loves no one \medskip here they come, here they come \author{Marek Lugowski}{marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu} \title{blue with brass quartet} it might be midnight winter solstice and it might be cold, a blue that burns on cheekbones and the stars flare bright and fiery and all the gin in me is warm. i am singing in the street, i am light, empty, and the wind slips through me. i slide away, turn liquid, float into the darkness. i am everywhere and my arms embrace all the invisible people that i love because i cannot see them. every clear warm drop of me is falling into the sky. \medskip or it might be the middle of an april afternoon and i am sober as a rock polished smooth by an overflowing stream people are everywhere thick on the ground it makes them less lovable and now the air is blue as the sound of trumpets once more triumphant as winter yields spring. i want to lie down and drink in this day, or paint my bedroom ceiling in this resounding hue. it pulls me up until i sing again. \medskip and it might be that across the bridge, bare bushes with green laquer creeping on the bark, are moving to the silent beat. \quad are singing too. \author{Marie Coffin}{mcoffin@iastate.edu} \title{Gift} it is the rain of a hundred years pummeling my umbrella like a wet banner in the wind lashing my psyche to bleeding ribbons cold. wet. empty. till i opened the mail full of fireflies from a summer night! \author{zita maria evensen}{bu016@cleveland.freenet.edu} \title{Balance} words are cubes of ice ``that which is'' a golden ball that hides in circles of careening seasons slowly snuffs the sputtering spark this self fanning it to flame incense of its consumption spiraling prayers into heaven \medskip it isn't {\it words} that reach God's ear only poets suffer the utter madness of trying to balance one upon the other \author{Jody Upshaw}{jupshaw@ai.uga.edu} \title{It seems that I prefer what you prefer} It seems that I prefer what you prefer and love the things you love, as tenderly. So, since your heart has settled so on her and called her dear, so she must be to me. It never has been difficult before, but now I see my own unworthiness in failing to consider your joy more and my own greedy hopes and feelings less. So, though it put my friendship to the test, I shall hope for the best in your affairs, and dearly love your love at your request, and set her name among my evening prayers. But do not introduce us for a while, Till I require less fortitude to smile. \author{Jennifer Merri Parker}{jmparker@Isis.msstate.edu} \title{Grande-dame, will you please show me what you clutch} Grande-dame, will you please show me what you clutch so firmly in your ice-arthritic hold? I lately feel as if I'd aged as much, my heartbeat slowing, surface growing cold. What desiccated flowers have you kept in secret books of dreams, with caution pressed between the pages, broken petals swept into the drawers and cupboards of your breast? I know you are not mindless, as they think. I could be your contemporary, wise because of my own pain. Teach me to sink into that secret place behind the eyes. And all who look will see an awkward pair, but we will be consoled and never care. \author{Jennifer Merri Parker}{jmparker@Isis.msstate.edu} \title{Tiny fish} Not something you can grasp I will stay with you a little while like the tiny fish near shore which flash silver and are gone. \author{Ralph Cherubini}{ralph@wixer.bga.com} \title{G\"odel} So rich was logic's formal soil that the sturdy arithmetic groves (old stoic atheistic Russell's harvest) produced such a preposterous fruit: noumenal seed of which, though it might be named, shall not be reaped or sewn. \author{Ronald Bloom}{rbloom@netcom.com} \title{eyes} child. you see no color \medskip now. skin a darker shade of pale \medskip slant eyes \dots high cheeks \medskip can i float \medskip with multi-colored wings \medskip into your garden \medskip no. \medskip am i a victim \medskip of my eyes \author{zita marie evensen}{bu016@cleveland.freenet.edu} \title{two crows mean joy} sitting on the grass a smooth, green slate that tickles my behind \medskip birds. i feel their anxious glances toward winter as they hunt and peck across the wide summer lawn \medskip near the trash can by the path perches the pair in question: preening plumange and postulating \medskip i watch the crows--- do they feel joy? looking for something i may have missed, they clumsily take to the air \medskip fly crows, fly fly to your joy i will try to fly \medskip to mine. \author{Tom Witherspoon}{78witherspoo@cna.edu} \title{ash swamp road} an oblique cut. \quad a stop sign. \quad a lilac or two. ash swamp road opens up and beckons you. \medskip in the green shade as the dark trees kiss over the road you hear whispered the stories of a time ago when the land was free of scars and the pinpricks of telephone poles when the people who lived here lived simply lived in harmony \medskip i have yet to listen to the ash swamp road. \author{Marek Lugowski}{marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu} \title{amaranths} you melt-my-heart kick-ass bitchin' \quad you coming here where i kneel weeding i smudged-face mud-caked hands unkempt hair i \quad embrace hide among between green leaves you kiss me and whisper the amaranths are on fire \author{zita marie evensen}{bu016@cleveland.freenet.edu} \title{Dump Him Ditty} My girlfriends think he's sweet as cane, my Marky, Marky Maypo. We wonder why she humped him, dumped him, chucked him out the door. \medskip She stacks her lawyers for the fray, alack, alack a day. Oh, why'd she have to love him, leave him, silly, chilly bro. \author{Karen Tellefsen}{kt1@cc.bellcore.com} \title{Cheater} we three laughed like lovers devouring one another with wayward glances an island within a rose hue circle scented in rain \medskip I loved her for loving you my friend, but even then her eyes were constricting pits focused in the distance she peered outside seeking a beast riding drum beats through the heart of the jungle \medskip her plane ascended in gray bound for the black soil of Costa Rica gold band sliding out of sight \medskip at night she played the taught streched skins of indian men sweat swirled into her navel drowning memories of you \author{Jody Upshaw}{jupshaw@ai.uga.edu} \title{Bluebells} There are no bluebells where you are so I send you memory of them see they are growing right over there no \dots to the left of the door quietly hidden in shyness. \author{Ralph Cherubini}{ralph@wixer.bga.com} \title{Dona Juliana} Striding downtown in her red and gold knickers With black boots that clomp to the trucks and the traffic Dona Juliana sports no smile and her tousseled hair bounds to the four winds. \medskip But then a cloudy man crosses her reverie And a she pulls a smile from her back pocket. \medskip She dusts off the memories and the dull spots, Garnishes with spots of scattered scrapbook innocence. And she keeps the child's voice And she pops open the wild wide eyes. A third-rate man? A first-class gent? It makes no difference. Dona Juliana sees only this: Little boys and their big toys Looking for a playmate. \medskip Once rough players only she used to find. Now she can see the Don Juan signs Of too much familar eagerness Like great dane puppies who don't know their own strength, And maul with great oral fixations. \medskip Through many playmates and many checkmates Advice is bound to come: `Look only for the cloudy weathered ones. They need a burst of the sun.' \author{Annette Young}{ayoung@seattleu.edu} \title{clean} i sink myself-- mascara rag, beneath the eyelashes of the shower. \medskip swamp the salty dandruff of fish tails and hairclip scales from my head. \medskip wax fancy fragrances of surgeons and dreamy diners from my eyes. \medskip i floss the freishas from my teeth, scrape your face from my back --- control my damaged ends with conditioner. \medskip no conditions. no control to damage. \author{helen walne}{g93w5635@warthog.ru.ac.za} \title{Fundamentalist} It is hard to think there is no hand behind it all, chess-piecing us through versatile maneuvers. Here I thought that I would never see your face again in life, and here you are, just when your presence is a necessary move. There must be someone to be grateful to, but in His structured absence, I will beam on you, you curly-headed queen's knight calling out, Can that be you? \author{Jennifer M. Parker}{jmparker@Isis.msstate.edu} \title{propagation of error} sandstone gargoyle perched on a cathedral's spire winged three-toed monster medieval gothic art cracked by catapult rock \medskip restored improved by master guildsmen \medskip limestone gargoyle leaning against a cathedral's spire winged four-toed monster ravaged by time and acid rain \medskip rebuilt meticulously repeatedly polished by men of craft \medskip plastic gargoyle hanging from a cathedral's spire winged five-toed monster copied by craftiest of men \medskip computer enhanced mass produced \medskip polyethylene gargoyle with long neon hair multi-toed monster swinging from the rear-view mirror of a totally rad Edsel \author{zita marie evensen}{bu016@cleveland.freenet.edu} \title{Mes Copains} J'en ai marre parce que mes copains sont tres bizzare Je suis triste parce qu'ils sont completment materaliste Je les deteste parce qu'ils sont toujours me protestent Mes copains sont tres riches mais Je m'en fiche ils ecrievent des lyriques et Je les trouve tres comique \author{M.Murat ildan}{ildam@essex.ac.uk} \bye