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Poetry from past issues


like Botticelli was worthy of Spring
I would be worthy of you
         leaving something that will endure
How vain to think I could
         beastly weak embroiled sad I
                 could make words endure
exquisite,heartfelt & intelligent
         inhabiting the air ordinaries
         of all orders breathe & suffer
and a thousand years from now
         they would smile
                 and rejoice that we lived & loved
and when for that moment I was I
         knowing my love for you was unconditional
                 was the Dharma, Maitreya lives
         a perfect flower inside a drop of rain
                 no longer without you
         no longer a slave to this pain
You who are to me more than anything
         I can ever write or say
more precious
         than all I have
                 when you're away
brighter than the sun
sweeter than the day
more precious
         than all I have
                 when you're away

Andy Clausen
From 40th Century Man {Autonomectia, 1997}


Woodstock, NY 7/9/05
A bright and fanciful space within the darkness of a thicket
A revery of smoke and incense and powerful words
danced across my caressing vision.
Many-armed Shiva and wise Ganesha
assumed a momentary presence in my monotheistic soul.

Donald Lev


The universe begins on West 4th Street
winds its way around Omaha, dips
into the sun, makes a little bang
and drops back to skip along Barrow Street
like a stone:

Life as we know it began dying on
Bleecker Street one paper coffee cup at a time.
7th Avenue screamed in the red of traffic light,
Andromeda cringed.

The guardian angels of storefronts plucked
their feathers from their wings until
there were no more angels

      -everything's changing,
everyone is suddenly a stranger-where
are the stores, the shops?

Today the universe has shrunk
It can fit in the dot of a small "i".

              Frank Murphy

Poetry from passed issues

Song of Bo Baba

If I see the sun rise
         I'll think I'm not thirsty
                 Not hungry anymore
If it is raining
         I'll think now
                 I'm clean
If an earthquake buries me
         I'll think ah!
                 a new set of cloths
If my arms fly off
If a sword severs my head
         I'll think hooray, finally
                 I'm getting somewhere

From Songs of Bo Baba,translated by
Andy Clausen (Shivastan, 2004)

What is concocted at easel
or pencilled onto winning tablet
leaves everybody befuddled
all but me

Expert in art
I grant
(My wife got me
onto committee
she squeezed in here first)
I, lieutenant,
flag in lapel
dispense the largess
"This is good!"
'This is Not!"
This is best!"

Any wonder they are chomping at the bit
to get a quick start?
(My own son plays chess at three
taught by the best of tutors
and Henrietta's girl
is propped to ballet
only a year after learning to walk)

I love it here!
Not quite king
(that's bad in democracy)
but a man freedom is shining on
I change lives and channel the invisible
make visible
what the world sees
though they comprehendeth not
No! No! I do not play with words
Oh no!I am not god

      Roberta Gould