Existential Ponders – Ruby Van Bendegem & KB Nelson

Sweater Weather

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,

what?

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

centaur weather

Artist:

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.

Writer:

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.

Existential Ponders – Travis Atkinsonsessler

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”.

Artist:

Travis Atkinsonsessler

Existential Ponders – Kaci Skiles Laws

Artist:

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.

Existential Ponders – Ikechukwu Obiorah

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.


Artist:

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.

Existential Ponders – Ann Privateer

Artist:

Ann Privateer


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

 then…found again

 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.