odyssey of glee and throb    leaving behind stones









our Lady of Akita    violating the laws of physics









mugwort fulfilling its destiny in a cinder strewn lot









bazooka deaf    Uncle Jimmy rolled dead cats under his tongue









offering rhubarb to the woman from another world









tzimtzum    in the breakdown lane of the Cosmos









it's like asking if the Comet Moth will live through the winter









all this way to find a snowflake in the hair of the girl made of stone









she soaks whelk shells as I write in Prussian blue









they're all asleep while I'm running water   running water   running water









after the Chelyabinsk meteor I was back listening to Yes









nearing Mount Unzen I point to where the ropeway should be









this morning I'm dealing with the rapid dialect of sparrows









beginning to understand Ugarte's need for the letters of transit









leaning on a bolt of dyed cloth the Ryukyuan girl checks her messages

Daft

Skint of wisdom I strained to capture,
push-ups propelled my fitness regime.
I worked my six-pack, women’s rapture,
skint of wisdom.   I strained to capture
zest when I suffered a contracture
earning male respect for self-esteem.
Skint of wisdom I strained to capture,
push-ups propelled my fitness regime.

Clouds Racing Overhead

Through binoculars I spot a yacht,
a man, his woman, hair streaming free.
Horizon stretched, these yearning hours hot,
through binoculars I spot a yacht,
Mitty-like, spray on deck now my lot.
Exploring leagues of fathomless sea
through binoculars, I spot a yacht,
a man, his woman, hair streaming free.

Bones Beneath Us

Hoping lights like low-slung stars appear
dappling the harbour, a warm hotel,
late in, we faced massed waves, black walls sheer.
Hoping lights like low-slung stars appear,
we hold our course, shark jokes a veneer.
Wreck charts curled, awash, we share this shell
hoping lights like low-slung stars appear
dappling the harbour, a warm hotel.

Biog:  Ian C Smith’s work has been published in Antipodes, BBC Radio 4 Sounds,The Dalhousie Review, Griffith Review, San Pedro River Review , Southword, The Stony Thursday Book, & Two Thirds North.  His seventh book is wonder sadness madness joy, Ginninderra (Port Adelaide).  He writes in the Gippsland Lakes area of Victoria, and on Flinders Island.

A Moment of Ecstasy

I was seven when Dad died. I didn’t really know him well. He was in the Army and always away on some adventure or other. After a long tour in Afghanistan, he came home for good. I was a shy boy. Dad was built like a barn door. A fraught combination. Not long after coming home he took me to my first football match. The local derby at Anfield.

I remember standing on The Kop in-between his legs, hands like shovels holding my shoulders firmly as the raucous throng swayed and sung. It felt as if the humongous heaving body was going to swallow me. I looked up anxiously, tugging on the bottom of his jacket. He registered the fear in my eyes. I expected him to scoff at my cowardice.

Instead, he grinned. ‘C’mon lad, climb up here.’

He swung me up onto his wide shoulders. Cupping my hands under his chin, I could feel the scratchy stubble on his jaw, the beat of the pulse in his neck and the weight of those giant hands holding my skinny knees. Behind us, someone threw a plastic cup full of urine across the crowd. The golden liquid arced through the air, dispersing into a drizzle of dozens of drops that showered the unsuspecting audience below.

A chant from the crowd spontaneously rose, ‘You dirty bastards.’

Dad looked up at me. I could see droplets marking a trail down his temple. We both started to laugh. We laughed and laughed, tears mingling with the precipitation present.

The next morning Dad was found dead in the front seat of our Toyota Rav4. He had chosen to leave me by hooking up a hose to the exhaust. The doctor said it was Post Traumatic Stress. Mum said he was a selfish sod. I didn’t believe that because he had taped a note to the garage door.

 DO NOT ENTER. CALL POLICE.

Now, when I think of him, I mostly just remember sitting on his mighty shoulders, both of us laughing hysterically, his life blood pulsing under my fingertips. It was a moment of ecstasy, and it tasted of piss.

The part in all
         of us We Share 

             Well Being
       Sets Foot on Every
             Beach on a
       Warm Breezy Day 

       I'm being an Idealist.

 I'll Back down 
               When You're Back up,

      and that's a Condescending 
                   Style   I know.

         You Know Better
  the Greatest Joy 
       than I could    ever find 
                                   for You 

The presence of LOVE 
     is ,   You You You Are  .

       I studder for good 
             Reason 
   It  Bears  Repeating 

Sit Here and I promise 
      not to look at your shell.

    The guarded Soul 
makes its own 
        And your presence has 
my Heart 
              on a Rock slain 
      Before and after the time 
                 of Danger   But no precision 
                                     can threaten my
                                           Eternity 
For size and mass are 
     Part & Parcel to the canvas 
           that, "What's it called?",
              always Rises the caller to 
                   Bring more Fresh Ideas. 

        What You Like 
                  is Already 
                          known
           Faster than time to 
                                 Savor the 
                                       passing Brush. 



By John Edward Culp

         All Rights Reserved 
first drafted on  December 2, 2021
In a Castro Valley CA coffee shop ♡

Christmas Monologue

Will you come back this Christmas?
When the December sun pulls together through the alley 
the bamboo bank swings and
calls to the wind
swallows call the flock to the
spring ball...

I'm still looking forward to this
Christmas
the day is still long...still a lonely
garden.
The girl from the past is no
longer a baby
Why does the rose flower quickly fade?

My heart will be close to each
other
like flowers and butterflies on a
busy spring day
Christmas is here...why are you
so far away
in the middle of Christmas, my heart suddenly ached

Nguyen Thanh Hai
(Vietnam)

is the art of Norman J. Olson Erotic Art? 

by:  Norman J. Olson 

I do not get a lot of recognition for my art…  in fact, few people, even people who know me, know about my artworks…  partly, this is because I have never really tried to sell art or be a part of the local arts community, or any arts community, for that matter…  also, I think that this might be because of the nature of my artworks themselves…  

1) they are not formally innovative…  in fact, they are pretty much old fashioned works in oil paint and various drawing mediums…  2)  they are not topical/political and much officially recognized art today is expected to be topical, to have a purpose of setting the world right, or at least to make some kind of political statement…  and 3) my art often uses the old European/art history trope of the nude figure…  which, I think makes my art less than commercial, as people today, are very uneasy with using images of naked people as such in artworks… 

some years ago, I discovered the world of Erotic art…  Erotic art is sort of high toned porn, or art about sexual matters that is accepted in certain quarters, if it makes statements in line with current academic thinking on those matters…  and has a bit more depth than the average porn video… people often assume that my art is erotic art in that it portrays naked people, occasionally sexual activities and seems more sophisticated than what most people would call “porn…”  so, the question is, does my art fall into the category of “Erotic Art…”

the  fact that it may, brought my work to the attention of the Wilzig Erotic Art Museum in Miami, Florida and my history with that museum led to an interview with me by Melissa Blundell, Director of Education for that museum…  this happened last summer (summer 2021) and was one of the most exciting and public expositions and discussions of my art that has ever happened…

If anybody is interested in seeing some images of my artworks and hearing a discussion about my art including the question of whether or not it is erotic art, you can check out this interview at:  https://www.facebook.com/groups/57268513383