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About The North Coast times-eagle. (Wheeler, Oregon) 1971-2007 | View Entire Issue (June 20, 2000)
PAGE 11 NORTH COAST TIMES E A G L E , SUMMER/FALL 2000 THRILLING EPIPHANY That spine tingling, that chill, that cold moment of awareness, that icy instant of enlightenment, that understanding, that comprehension of paradox, those goose bumps, that startling hot flash, that sizzling blaze, that cataclysmic catapult, that cascading heat, that watery warmth, that titanic teeter-totter, that razor’s edge, that quantum leap? MY NAME IS ANDRÉS I am a murderer Defender of human rights A rapist Protector of women Child abuser Compassionate toward the weak Mastermind of the Inquisition Liberator of the persecuted I detonated the Hiroshima bomb Tortured the Holocaust Jews Died with Christ on the cross -ANDRÉS BERGER-KISS Her hand is on my knee. -ARTHUR HONEY MAN mu y DREAM Up at this gleaming beach. This vast fantasy of yours. Worship the moon A dream wants music... All we have is beautiful paradise Together, we embrace the evening But sadly, she does die MARCEL GROMAIRE, 'NUDE Wm A VASE OF FLOWERS' (1932) REFRESHMENTS First she feels legs pressed to each other in the warm rumpled covers. Then the awakened body displaces her glimmering dream traces. Rising, she sits at the edge of her bed. Basks in the light on her back and her head. She livens her taste with toast and jam Listens to a boiling egg bounce against the pan Carefully she cleaves it after it's done. The syrupy yoke spreads over her tongue. She hums behind the curtain when her shower is through, immersed in a mist of steam and shampoo She turns her radio on Music by Schumann interwoven with the caress of the dress she has chosen Graces of morning given at her adorning — she hears whispers as she stirs cinnamon into her coffee and fingers the flesh of her fine soft knee -JESSI DUNKIN 'IF NOT DAMS, WHA T?' "There is. . . a price to be paid for fabricating around us a society which is as artificial and as mechanized as our own, and that is that we can exist in it only on condition that we adapt ourselves to it That is our punishment. " -PHILLIP SHERRARD A deep sense of mourning is pushed to the edge, as life processes are obfuscated by the rhetoric of debate in the tribunals of the arrogant where each increment of delay renders the dysfunctional one step closer to demise Suppose that this is the ultimate ethic of species dominance: Do unto others as we would have them do unto us How acceptable then are "processes" and "prescriptions" when the tables are turned? - mike M c C auley (And does not the essence of life beg a deeper meaning than the economy of the moment?) SILVER MEMORIES TREES On that endless boundary Where honzon meets sky an eternity is lost there framed yet held captive by the upheld branches of the trees painted by God himself trees like clouds "delicating" the hillside with patient beauty from the heavens some with heavy moss-laden branches some with I p av P’s of spnng some tall thoughtful-knowing evergreen like a memoir to Mother Nature — allstanding side by side showing us that we yes are not all alike but yet we are not all that different either -MARGIT LIA BOWLER -LLOYD K MARBET He's slowly fading from my memory Like the gold coating on my necklace He gave it to me that one day The last one before Christmas break So as I watch the angel turn silver. I'm reminded of the day I waved at him And he slid my angel across the floor to me And I smiled, blew him a kiss, and went back to class Every time I thought of the angel in my pocket for the rest of the day, I smiled Inside and out And now, two years later, I look at my angel and smile. Sort of. Angel was wrapped in a complex web of lies But as time went on, I grew past it healed forgot and moved on The gold is fading, the memories are fading. I'm at peace with it I'll be happier when my angel is completely silver. But for now, I'll look at the bnght side At least the gold is coming off. Terry Hahn THE AUTO PARTS Where Your Satisfaction is Our Biggest Concern! 325-1612 BRAND NEW LOCATION AT 730 BOND STREET, ASTORIA, OREGON -JESS/ DUNKIN SHALLON WILL YOU CATCH ME? I am a glass you can never break What you drink, others will refill I wll keep my balance when I shake You can add a crack, but I will never chip You can't destroy me, only I can smash myself And I'm standing very close to the edge -ADDY RUTTER »> WINERY-e STEAM ROOMS OPIN THURSDAY - SUNDAY TILIPNONI 32S-0SS1 we are all in waiting to see if something will take us and melt the past which is only a reminder to a place where we listened and decided our futures... now we are seeing ourselves carry pieces of blood held decisions and pity for goodbyes, the breathing is silenced to a whisper . time in small curtain years waiting far to weather and singing soft seclusion songs, tomorrow's hours yearning.. i sought the children's laughter, there pushing through the lavenders.. crying people's hung up fears and burned them into fusion... lining letters by a forest in a field, lilac stained paper for you., by the city in a room, computer voices dictate loveless rumble for me... we are dead and ready to kill another the nature runs in a further silence than you could feel... the world embraced and tore to pain, in a hand we watched in waiting... ... children, you stand in trial... -i. reflections passing through the window suns. scenes grasp in eyes that watch for lasting days to wander in... running to hold onto battles which lose themselves behind pouring concrete.. show upon bone dust lying between the rocks rotting harshly aged in losing sand storms... hand touched papers freeing themselves to melting waters, blackened letters flowing within unknown likeness .. hands joined for firing brick rooms and grass buried boxes. . one decade waits lamenting serenity for another you who listen the plea, stop and see we are of one we try, hell is near but we raise the downbeaten eyes in sunrise cut our sanity wide open, and lay it out in heat drenched fields cruelty could rob us blind, and gentleness leave uncertainties... in hearing children's crying, let us change fearless rage to compassion call timeless child, no one will hear you, no one shall want you, for sadness could always be touching your mind. -SHARE ZANERA 1698 DUANE ST. ASTORIA. ORE 97103 1 I I
