As The Sun Moves Into Sagittarius, Sweater Weather
haibun by KB Nelson
My hands, my fingers, they sparkle, I think my knuckles might explode if I hold them still for too long.
The only peace I find is when I walk in the trees. Leaves flip, exposing their underbellies in the breeze. I return to the cabin, intent on reading a book or preparing tomorrow’s casserole. The balls of wool compel me, or rather with the aid of my hands they patiently form themselves into,
I stitch pieces together and a jersey takes form. Such an odd hem. Short in the back, or at least normal length in back, but long, long and tapered, in front. Opposite to style or practical use.
I anticipate. I wait for someone or something, here high in the forest. The garment has taken form and I hear the arrival.
light swarm of snowflakes
late mornings, long evenings
Ruby Van Bendegem is retired after over three decades as a journalist and a lawyer, and is the recovering mother of four. She lives and paints in northwestern Ontario, Canada. On summer days you will find Ruby and her husband paddling a canoe or kayak on the waters of Lake Superior.
KB Nelson is a Canadian writer who thrives in the intersection of art and science. She has won awards in both poetry and short fiction, and is published in a variety of journals and anthologies. A graduate of Simon Fraser University’s Southbank writing program and mother of two, she currently lives in Greater Vancouver.
Are You Afraid?
What is your greatest fear?
I’ve been asked this question often throughout my life.
Mostly, I have answered, “I don’t know.”
I don’t really think about it.
I’ve been bruised, beaten, cut, stabbed,
I’ve been shot at and even had the pleasure of taking a round to my chest armor plate.
I had tackled adversity head on with no other path ahead.
But scars fade. Moments pass.
I am afraid of the same as anyone i suppose.
I fear being hungry. I fear pain. I greatly avoid discomfort.
But none of these are unusual.
None are a great fear that I devote any great measure of my mind to.
Im not plagued by the worries of my next meal.
I do not expect of corporeal harm as I go throughout my day.
I do not think of the heat or cold or wind as anything more than an number.
No I don’t live my life in fear.
I have however been in the worst places i could go.
I have spent a great deal of my life in darkness,
watching the worst of humanity.
I have seen and heard moments that are so unfathomable as to be beyond the scope of reality for my contemporaries.
What would be described as nightmares.
For some I have been the harbringer of death and held them in their final moments,
brought to their god by my hand.
I still treat these experiences as facts.
It is simply another part of the world as it exists.
No more, no less.
I do not fear it.
No. My greatest fear is no one thing.
I fear a moment.
That in which you can define your life as before and after, “that moment”.
Kaci Skiles Laws is a writer and artist living in Dallas—Fort Worth. Her work has been featured in The Letters Page, at Bewildering Stories, 50 Haikus, Former People, and is upcoming in The American Journal of Poetry and a few others. She won an award for her poem, This is How it Ends, by NCTC’s English Department and is currently working on a children’s book called The Boogerman. Some of her and her husband’s visual artwork can be viewed on their YouTube channel listed under Kaci and Bryant.
THE THRONE OF TRUTH
Upon a bed of death, the pie in my sky saw the Kingdom of Lion;
The Throne of that King that began before the beginning began;
That King seeming to be as old as man, but older than man;
That King of kings that before the base of this world made
His buttucks comfortable on the Throne of the Dynasty of Love,
Resurrecting my dead emotions murdered in the cold night.
As I looked down over the land from atop the Royal Throne,
And saw that life marks the eternal journey to the grave where
All feet must lie down and rest without bargain-basement,
The silence of my soul haunted me like the ghost of Abacha,
Spinning and whirling my brain like hell of damnation.
Within my optics range of view behind-the-scenes driver in
The vegetable sceptre, Truth was the only Crown with the jar of
Grace supplying life to the mother of all messes in the third planet
That the big mouth of man-abominator called earth mother.
In contempt of the cultivated beauty of the Symmetry of Fact,
The world still paved way for hyperbolical aspersions wearing the
Robes of Truth in caricatural tendencies of gloom and doom,
The world is dead on the inside without acknowledging
The King of Truth sitting on the Throne of affection,
Massaging morality into erection in the bed of coals.
Ikechukwu Obiorah is a Nigerian Writer, a Prolific Poet and Novelist. He studies B.A (Hons) English at the Benue State University, Makurdi. He is a member of Writers’ League (BSUM) and also a member of Association of Nigerian Authors (ANA Benue Chapter). His poem “The Oracle Bard” has been published in “Poetica” Clarendon House Publications, England, UK. For a decade Poetry has been his sweet heart.
Oct. 5, 2015
Texting or Is Love a Microbe?
my mind is on my mind
and I’m thinking in shapes
of love spilling over and out
like a howling booming orchestra
that wakes up the world
before it turns quiet again.
what’s on my mind?
how love flies in and out the window
like sour dough bread microbes
unseen, unheard but you know
they are there.
Something was lost
on my computer.
the piece written as I waited
for the little ball to stop spinning.
Write a comment, what shall I say?
Write about love, how love
Flies out the window
Write about love flying in
Like sour dough microbes
invisible until you taste them
and then, I am hooked, I can never
return to French or Italian
crunchie though they may be.
The night is fiilled with apparitions
on the wall, filmed in low density resolution, emanating from who knows where, gazing at my naval
while I sit and stare.
History Connects Our DNA
those who sprung us
from old patterns
lived unknown until one day
when they became visible
invisible ghosts and afterward…
released us to feel fully.
… yeast doubles, opens, becomes
a full form in this moment, our history
becomes old… history is released
to feel the yeast, open and full
in this moment, patterns connecting
to feel this moment.