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Week of May 18, 1998 - May 24, 1998

Brigid Skylark Delaney and Fred William Atchinson

 

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Death of a Mauve Bat! | Sinzibuckwud! | We Put Things In Our Mouths | A Man With No Teeth Serves Us Breakfast
I'd Like to Bake Your Good | Stolen Mummies| Brendan Constantine is My Kind of Town | Up Liberty's Skirt | Feeding Holy Cats | Mowing Fargo
I'm a Jew, Are You
| Lizard King of the Laundromat
| I Am My Own Orange County | Paris: It's The Cheese | Poetry Super Highway
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Brigid Skylark Delaney
wiredheart@earthlink.net

Bio(auto)

Brigid Skylark Delaney, aka WiredHeart, is the publisher of e-zine, Wired Art from Wired Hearts. She has been published in about 30 magazines including Rage, A Collection of Souls, Apollo's Lute, Who's Who in Short Short Stories, etc. Brigid is a diminutive woman of enormously passionate convictions who has been known to intimidate those in authority. Even she isn't sure how she manages that. She doesn't like to talk about herself but will admit to the fact that she lives in Southeast Florida, is owned by a small white dog named Molly Malone and prefers dogs, wolves, cats, birds and the ocean - in that order - to most people.


The following work is Copyright © 1998, and owned by
Brigid Skylark Delaney and may not be distributed or reprinted in any manner whatver without written permission from the author.

So I Tell Her

it's not really the treatment that frightens me
I mean I've had it before
no, it's the sterility
I mean from one doctor to another
and by the time you reach the last
you don't even know his name or her name
or if the person coming at you
is a doctor or nurse
friend or foe
then you stumble out
feeling all ravished
and inflamed and wanting
to clutch your secret places
to make sure they're still there
but you have to walk straight
straight over to and into your car,
drive home and ignore
the bumper huggers and ranting raves
and you get there and stumble in
and there's no one to tell cause you're all alone
so you look at the phone
and the phone looks back
and you'd call if you could
but why bother them, they always get so upset
daughter, mother, lover, friend;
you end up comforting them anyway
so there's no one really to tell
who wouldn't hurt just as much as you do
or even more
and that, of course, is why here I am
hanging over the desk
just chatting up my coworker
guess you know what I mean Jean
yes, yes, I can see,
I can tell from your softening expression that you do

and its just about that time
that exact time
when I've uttered those words
that she looks straight up from her computer
settles her glasses cautiously on her face and says
"what is it
you're just sitting there staring at me
is something the matter"

and shit I have to go and realize I forgot to open my mouth
when I was telling her all of that.


Graveshore

On
to the soul
lying lengthwise
across the sand,
just past the rocks
edging shore

left embraceless
at the microsecond
of death;

left as the sandals,
as the clothing,
strewn for remembrance,
strewn
to dig crablike
into those left behind
this garden of self hate,
that they might
for one instant
own their hate too.


Chemo Terrify

The apple tree bloomed
in lemon drops.
What did it know?
Smelling sweet,
was as much
a success,
as what it might ever grow.

She walked through
rubbing palms on leaves of blue,
wondering why, here,
even trees
had lost the thought
of what to do

glory colors burst through
in butterfly wings,
strange imaginings,
unknown
unsolved clues
no warning,
its stinger
biting through;

eyes large, mouth round
she pulled her ashes out
to drop them,
to trembling

ancient heartache,
seeking balm.

rock to rock
water crossed,
steps on paper feet
careful movement
whispered cries,
on and over
to the other side;
softly settling
balance forward
self denied,
to find at last
no difference there
and she hung her head
and cried.


EDUCATING myself

Young old fat woman
sucking up to take what they said was mine
after I stood in line
for seven thousand days
learning every last rope
there was to learn
shooting crap out
faster than they
have
EVER
seen,

antiCIPating wishes
ED
U
CATING
myself

"duly noted" they would say
then they'd scurry into corners
darkly held and hug
themselves

I'd just shrug
"better them
than me"
I'd say,
then take the TIME that I had left
to sit in front of mirrors,
lecturing
some damn inner spirit
WHICH
all the freaking gurus
said was all I needed
during this time
so I could overcome anything
just as long as I knew the PROPER words
and bought the RIGHT book
and saw the fucking right videos

oh yeah, huhhuh

so THAT
when the pronouncement came
from some damn doctor
who wouldn't know his butt from a vacuum cleaner
but,
oh yeah
he surely thought he knew what's best for me
I let all those plastic tubes carry me over
the edge and back again
and I struggled
over every hill and
every frigging dale to stand upright
and get back where
I had to be

then the young old fat woman
who sucked a hell of a lot
better than me
shoved me with one wide hip
so far aside
it would take me years to
get back where I started
and I just began to scream
scream to the fat bitch
good and loud
just in case she had also lost her sense of hearing
never mind her sense of ethics
that was one thing she lost ages ago
like did they think I was going to stand there
and have them punch my face out
bad enough I had lost my body
or parts thereof.

young old fat woman
she sure as hell's
gonna remember me.


Synaptic Revelations

My poems arise in consternation
leaking
from the thoughts I've known.
It is not, the least,
a revelation that
my past provokes me so.

With mind protected by the foolish,
hanging cobwebs
clouding air,
I keep my poems
provoking warnings,
buried silently with care.


Wired Heart

Follow up
and through
the thin layer
of this separate soul,

wander after;

inch your thoughts
through my eyes
where lost,
remembered,
deserting lovers
sneak their image,
and pause to hide.

I stay here
beyond the touch
of stone templed
empty faces;
moonlight, glitter,
harsh and sweet with
haunted places

to thread my neat
uncluttered way
along the silent,
still born glass
of a heart
kept too wired
and held in bounds
to say desire,
to come unwound.


Thoughts of a poet friend who went in search of "wizards, princesses and magic men".

Suicidal Fame

Soft uttered moments
hang here in time.
You bleed on our pillows
with sibilant rhyme.

..As we sweat our relief
..for your fine feathered tones,
..we are shamed to indifference
..for what we won't know.

To not see you standing
tethered to stone
pale and dying
behind all your tomes.

..We rise to applaud,
..while the mind that we chase
..has lost its own thought
..has lost his own way.

It is we who must ponder
why we've not seen the glimpse
of the man driven inward
by our vision of him.


Peering Through Zoo Bars

I will be unavailable to the viewing public
for the rest of the year
those holding
tickets will be reimbursed

friends first
acquaintances too
strangers last

sorry that my face took on this
different look,
the view is the same
but the room has changed

someone hired an inept decorator
an unseasoned medical personnel
performing after all night wait
and here I am paying for their
excused refusals.

I can honestly tell you
finefeathered friends and
assorted
but not to be ignored enemies
that I am sorry
sincerely sorry that you,ve lost
your season tickets
to my deadly winter games

please remember
trading places
is always an option.





Fred William Atchinson
legendarypress@tierranet.com

Bio(auto)

Native to Southern California, I was born to Lorraine John & Betty Louise of Costa Mesa on May 18, 1951. The fourth of four children, my early life was rather leave it to beaver. Dad worked for Ma Bell his entire adult life without missing a single day of work, for which he was given an award before he retired. Mom was a bookkeeper when she wasn't trying to maintain peace between the four of us hooligans. All-in-all, I had what most would consider an idyllic childhood. Over the years it has become increasingly clear to me that I have been blessed in many ways: a wonderful family (both nuclear and extended), abundant opportunities (both personal and professional), relatively good health, and an attentive angel looking over my shoulder. And wouldn't you know it - just when I thought that everything was as it should be and life couldn't get any better - I find myself further blessed by the arrival of Charlie. Strong, considerate, playful and handsome, you won't find a more good-hearted soul strolling the surface of this planet (except maybe Mother Theresa, but Charlie's certainly a close second).

It has never been my motivation to harm a living soul (hell, I even step over ant-trails when I see them), so I sincerely hope that my work touches your life in a positive way. If not, then accept my apology for any discomfort these wanderings have brought you, and move along your way in peace. If, on the other hand, you find some of these notions resonating a particular pitch in your spirit, then my effort to bring this body of work to your attention has been justly rewarded.


The following work is Copyright © 1998, and owned by
Fred William Atchinson and may not be distributed or reprinted in any manner whatsover without written permission from the author.


Stars

Children need to see stars
If not for guidance
then wonder

Without,
We would not know
that anything lay beyond
the violence and propaganda
of corporate news
Or see through the tawdry facades
constructed by every age
in the name of progress

This is not to claim
that daylight has no place
in a discourse on reality
But to hold as true
only that which can be seen
by the light of day
is to miss
the profound nature of paradox
For what is our sun but a star
Among an infinitude of others
No two the same
and yet
All
intimately connected

Thus, it is essential
that humans see stars
Only then can we possibly ponder rightly
our relation to creation
Or attempt to comprehend fully
what it means


Morning Coffee

Through clouded mind
pass vague sensations
Only partially registering reality
or extremities
Until you brew that sacred potion
The cauldron chamber
emanating aromatic opiates

Inhaling essence
I am your willing prisoner
Drink deeply
Quench this elemental thirst
Awakening every cell of perception
Anchoring consciousness to form

Inter-dimensional elixir
You weave your spell
through every vein and sinew
I am once again mortal
Inhabiting place and time
No longer vacuous and intangible
Ahhhhhhhh!

Thank you,
I will have another


Tasting Melon

I tasted melon
for the first time today
The dense flesh
oozed its sweet juices
with only the slightest pressure
from my tongue

Luscious and cool
I let it pool
in the back of my throat
Before releasing the refreshing flood
through esophageal gates
toward its eventual destination
where we will become as one

Please don't misunderstand
I have consumed many - in my day
But this was the very first
I ever tasted