big art book ISSUE 6
big art book ISSUE 6
BIG ART BOOK Issue 6:
BIG ART BOOK # 6: Something Different ÂŠ 2017 by Scarborough Arts All pieces herein are copyright ÂŠ 2017 by their respective creators and authors No part of this book may be reproduced, downloaded, or used in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means without the prior written permission of the publisher. Books may be purchased by contacting the publisher, Scarborough Arts, at 416-698-7322 or by emailing email@example.com. ISBN 978-0-9698858-0-1 Front cover image by Paul Zee Book design by Marianne Rellin Published by Scarborough Arts 1859 Kingston Road Scarborough, ON M1N 1T3 www.scarborougharts.com We acknowledge the financial support of the City of Toronto and the Ontario Arts Council. We also acknowledge the partial support of Avant Imaging & Integrated Media Inc. for the printing of this issue of the BIG ART BOOK.
AVANT I MAG I
ABOUT Scarborough is a diverse community with a creative pulse. Scarborough Arts, a nonprofit charitable organization, is the only arts organization of its kind specifically serving the Scarborough community by developing, delivering, and promoting highimpact and innovative arts programming and cultural initiatives for citizens of all ages. As one of the City of Toronto’s Local Arts Service Organizations, Scarborough Arts brings artists to the community and community to the arts. Each year, Scarborough Arts produces its Annual Juried Exhibition, an exhibition of art created and curated in response to a themed call. All visual and literary artworks accepted by the jury are published into the BIG ART BOOK with Juror’s Choice pieces additionally showcased within the Annual Juried Exhibition. THE BIG ART BOOK: • Crosses creative boundaries • Blurs lines to link people together through original artwork and writing • Opens a broad cultural conversation • Samples a fresh assortment of creativity • Is about the power of expression and the celebration of ideas The Annual Juried Exhibition, BIG ART BOOK, and other Scarborough Arts projects similar to these are made possible in part through membership and generous donations from people like you. To learn more about Scarborough Arts, become a member, or contribute to your favourite projects, visit our website: www.scarborougharts.com. vii
FOREWORD Jen D. Fabico, Program Director, Scarborough Arts What is something different? Why do we look for it? How do we find it? And what makes something different into something special? The answers to these questions will differ for all of us. The answer might be something that is constantly changing and evolving, or even something that takes us our entire lifetime to understand. In my own life, I’ve been fortunate to witness, feel, create, react to and be a part of something different. For me, I define this as something special. It’s the quiet moments that define my relationship with my dad that say so much by saying so little; it’s the inspiring conversations with community members that stem into the next big concepts and projects; and it’s the moments when I step back and look at the big picture. All of these moments, even if not noticed immediately are some of my “a-ha” moments. They make me feel that I am part of something different, something unique, and something special. Something different is something refreshing. It can also be something challenging. In life, we look forward to witnessing new discoveries. We make purchases and creations to express our own individualism. And we even try to find that someone special who is different from the rest. When I view the selection to this year’s themed call, our artists have also reflected their “something different” experiences into their visual and literary art processes and how it looks varies to each individual artists. All-in-all, this display of our collective differences produces a mosaic of stunning unique-ness. In life, in our communities, through the arts, and within this book, we have captured a kaleidoscope of “something different”. We collaborated and bound it into “something beautiful”—with its own individual pieces and as a collection of artistic works. This year’s edition of the BIG ART BOOK is a celebration of the artists in our communities—what they practice, how they express themselves, and ultimately, who they are. Congratulations to all of our visual and literary artists, as well as to this year’s award winners. May you continue to explore, challenge, and celebrate your “something different” for many more years to come. ix
THE JURORS V I S UA L A RT S Toronto-based artist, Jihee Min explores art as means to engage issues of displaced culture and multiculturalism, focusing on stereotypical issues on race, language and memory. Min attempts to communicate with her surrounding through interdisciplinary and self-referential works, in a wide range of media, such as sculpture, installation, performance, video, photography and drawing. Graduate of Concordia University (MFA) and OCADU (BFA), Min has national and international exhibition history, and her work is part of various public collections including the city of Toronto. (http://www.jiheemin.com/)
L I T E R A RY Catherine Hernandez is a proud queer woman of colour, radical mother, activist, theatre practitioner, award-winning author, and the Artistic Director of b current performing arts. Her children’s book, M is for Mustache: A Pride ABC Book, was published by Flamingo Rampant and her plays Kilt Pins and Singkil were published by Playwright’s Canada Press. Catherine’s first full-length fiction, Scarborough, won the Asian-Canadian Writers’ Workshop Emerging Writers’ Award, was shortlisted for the Toronto Book Awards, and was recently named one of the 100 Best Books of the Year by The Globe and Mail. Catherine was named one of 17 Writers to Watch by CBC Books. (http://www.catherinehernandezcreates.com/)
AWARD WINNERS S C A R B O RO U G H A RT S V I S UA L A RT S AWA R D ( A D U LT )
Swati Soni Autumn Foliage
N I K I TA M A R N E R V I S UA L A RT S AWA R D ( YO U T H )
Jayden Duggan The Adventure
M O N I C A L A D E L L L I T E R A RY A RT S AWA R D ( A D U LT )
Hau Truong Weigh Her
Michael Becker-Segal. In Bloom, 2017. Photography.
Michael Becker-Segal. REFORMING 1, 2017. Concrete on wood panel.
Michael Becker-Segal. REFORMING 2, 2017. Concrete on wood panel.
Tanya Besedina. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m not crazy my reality just different from yours, 2015. Clay.
Tanya Besedina. Double Soul, 2016. Clay.
Tanya Besedina. Soul Case, 2017. Mixed media installation.
Deon Best. Hypnotic, 2017. Batik.
Deon Best. Ever Eyes, 2017. Batik.
Deon Best. Crayon Jungle, Through the Trees, 2015-16. Batik.
Lucas Biagini. Untitled, 2017. Plasticine, modelling paste, acrylic paint on wood.
Lucas Biagini. Untitled 2, 2017. Plasticine, wax, oil, spray paint on wood.
Lucas Biagini. Vulnerability, 2017. Plasticine, oil, acrylic, spray paint on wood.
Mike Callaghan. But More Videos, 2017. Photo-collage.
David Brandy. GEMINOS, 2015. Photography.
David Brandy. BASCULE, 2017. Photography.
Wendy Carmichael-Bauld. Rapture/Ravissement (The Skyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the Limit Series), 2017. Mixed media on canvas board. 18
Wendy Carmichael-Bauld. Finding Michelangelo (The Skyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the Limit Series), 2017. Mixed media on canvas board.
Wendy Carmichael-Bauld. Enchanted, 2017. Mixed media on canvas board.
Matthew Catalano. Whether Pattern, 2015. Digital image.
Matthew Catalano. Cherry Bluff, 2015. Digital image.
Matthew Catalano. Such Great Heights, 2016. Digital image.
Ken Chan. Upon the Reflecting Water, 2017. Acrylic on canvas.
Ken Chan. Autumn Symphony, 2017. Acrylic on canvas.
Ken Chan. At the Edge of the Ocean, 2017. Acrylic on canvas. 26
Margaret Chown. Patina, 2017. Digital painting.
Margaret Chown. Phosphor, 2017. Digital painting. 28
Margaret Chown. Water on Mars, 2017. Digital painting.
Jan Creelman. Untitled, 2017. Batik.
Jan Creelman. Sauron Sings the Blues, 2014. Batik.
Tiffany Dawe. River Journey, 2017. Acrylic on canvas.
Tiffany Dawe. Bird of Paradise, 2017. Acrylic on canvas.
Tiffany Dawe. Nest, 2017. Acrylic on canvas.
Cheryl Duggan. Chanel (Lost & Found), 2017. Photographic print.
Cheryl Duggan. Fake News, 2017. Photograph.
Cheryl Duggan. Earth, Air, Fire, Water, 2017. Paint and glitter on canvas.
Hope Flynn. Motherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Love, 2017. Oil.
Hope Flynn. Home Away from Home, 2016. Acrylic.
Hope Flynn. Mother Nature within the Community, 2016. Acrylic.
Mojgan Ghare. Fascination, 2017. Pen and coloured pencils.
Mojgan Ghare. The Illusion of Luxurious Life, 2015. Mixed media.
Mojgan Ghare. The Sunrise Salute, 2016. Pen and coloured pencils.
Denise Gracias. Send Out Your Light O Lord. Acrylic on canvas.
Denise Gracias. The Yearning. Acrylic on canvas.
Denise Gracias. Morning Meseta. Acrylic on canvas.
Weaving deep among tall grasses, hidden low on willowed stem, I cannot trace the mystery of your footsteps in the glen.
Teresa Hall. Cat Among Flowers, 2015. Photography.
Megan Hazen. Fragmented Memories: Cape Sounion, 2017. Oil on canvas.
Megan Hazen. Fragmented Memories: Florence, 2016. Acrylic on canvas.
Megan Hazen. Fragmented Memories: Fields, 2017. Oil on canvas.
Mariana Hernandez. Safe Descent, 2016. Acrylic.
Mariana Hernandez. Phobia, 2017. Acrylic.
Mariana Hernandez. Cinematic, 2015. Acrylic.
Jennylynd James. Blue Tapestry, 2017. Acrylic on canvas.
Jennylynd James. April Showers, 2017. Acrylic on canvas.
Zamila Islam. Shut Up and Take It, 2017. Mixed media on canvas.
Esam Jlilati. The Refugee, 2016. Oil on canvas.
Esam Jlilati. The Stolen Freedom, 2017. Oil on canvas.
Esam Jlilati. Tears of War, 2016. Oil on canvas.
Mahjabeen Kabir. Hearts to Breathe, 2017. Digital.
Shani Kalev. Wanderlust, 2017. Acrylic on canvas.
Natalie Kemp. Labyrinth of the Night, 2017. Photography.
Natalie Kemp. Self, 2014. Photography/photo manipulation.
Natalie Kemp. Aurum, 2011. Photography.
Jeffery Kingsley. My Bodyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Looking Wrong, 2017. Digital.
Jeffery Kingsley. Decline, 2017. Digital.
Jeffery Kingsley. Gillian, 2017. Digital.
Carmen Li. Serenity, 2017. Alcohol ink.
Carmen Li. Rise into the Galaxy, 2017. Alcohol ink.
Carmen Li. Majestic, 2017. Alcohol ink.
Adrian Liggins. Liquid Sunrise, 2015. Photography.
Adrian Liggins. Gossamer Sunset, 2013. Photography.
Adrian Liggins. Circle of Life, 2013. Photography.
Robert Marra. Broken Line, 2016. Mixed media on canvas.
Robert Marra. Dead Line, 2017. Mixed media on canvas.
Robert Marra. Blood Line, 1999. Mixed media on canvas.
Yasaman Mehrsa. The Celebration of Nature, 2016. Mixed media.
Teresa Mellors. Wildheart, 2016. Acrylic.
Teresa Mellors. Mystic Muse, 2016. Acrylic.
Teresa Mellors. Mystic Mountains, 2017. Samic ink on rice paper.
Donny Nie. A Fabricated Space, 2017. Acrylic on cradled panel.
Donny Nie. Natureâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Colouring Book # 2, 2017. Acrylic on cradled panel.
Donny Nie. Eye Candy: About Memory, 2017. Acrylic on round canvas.
JC Olsthoorn. pixielated, 2017. Mixed media.
JC Olsthoorn. Land O’Lakes — Vacancy Down, 2017. Photograph on metal.
Allan Oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Marra. Homestead Winter Evening, 2016. Oil on canvas.
Allan Oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Marra. Main Street Newmarket, 2016. Oil on canvas.
Allan Oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Marra. Schoolhouse Rainbow, 2017. Oil on canvas.
Uma Ramakrishnan. Finding Moksha (Salvation), 2008. Oil.
Uma Ramakrishnan. Self-Portrait, 2002. Oil and gouache.
Uma Ramakrishnan. Intuitive Thought, 2007. Oil.
Catherine Raine. Greens and Magenta Bled to Grey, 2017. Mixed media collage.
Catherine Raine. Shadow of the Sun on the Windowsill at Wychwood Library, 2015. Digital photography. 93
Beverley Rosenberg. Still Living at Home, 2003. Acrylic on canvas.
Beverley Rosenberg. Modern Living, 2014. Mixed media.
Beverley Rosenberg. One Person, 2003. Acrylic on canvas.
Huda Salha. Dispossessed, 2017. Acrylic on canvas.
Huda Salha. Waiting for the Unknown, 2017. Acrylic on canvas.
Huda Salha. Unsettled, 2017. Acrylic on canvas.
Melanie Eve Schaffer. Frida Kahlo, 2017. Leaded glass.
Melanie Eve Schaffer. A Piece of our Water, 2017. Leaded glass.
Thiviyaa Sehasothy. Dip Your Toes, 2017. Ink and acrylic paint on yupo paper.
Thiviyaa Sehasothy. Pulse, 2017. Acrylic on canvas.
Thiviyaa Sehasothy. Untouched Tranquility, 2017. Acrylic on canvas.
Shafia Shaikh. Rest, 2017. Acrylic and textile on wood panel.
Mark Liam Smith. Adam Rising, 2016. Oil on canvas.
Mark Liam Smith. Beneath the Kiss, 2016. Oil on canvas.
Mark Liam Smith. Skin Deep, 2016. Oil on canvas.
Swati Soni. Autumn Foliage, 2017. Acrylic on canvas.
Swati Soni. A Beautiful Morning, 2017. Acrylic on canvas.
Swati Soni. A Garden of Happiness, 2016. Acrylic on canvas.
Shahithya Sukumar. The Grace of Bharatanatyam, 2017. Watercolour and acrylic on canvas.
Oliver Tiura. Ravenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Eye, 2017. Digital print.
Jennifer Toffoli. Bullets, 2017. Ink on watercolour paper.
Mark Toffoli. Meditation, 2017. Oil on canvas.
Mark Toffoli. Magician, 2016. Oil on canvas.
Mark Toffoli. Satyrs and Fauns Oh My!, 2016. Oil on canvas.
Hau Truong. The Arc, 2017. Watercolour and collage on paper and vellum.
Hau Truong. Two Figures; a clearing, 2017. Oil on wood board.
Dina Torrans. Birth of a Universal Nation, 2017. Mixed media on paper.
Dina Torrans. Kingdom of Cappadocia, 2013. Mixed media on paper.
Dina Torrans. Many rivers, one sea, 2013. Mixed media on paper.
Michelle Tourikian. Sovereign, 2016. Oil on canvas.
Michelle Tourikian. Gemini, 2016. Oil on canvas.
Michelle Tourikian. Space Dandy, 2016. Oil on canvas.
Dragica Vidakovic. Armoured Crewman, 2016. Shellac, oil paint, permanent marker on wood. 126
Dragica Vidakovic. Time Lapse, 2016. Chalk and oil pastels, charcoal, conte, pencil crayon and acrylic on wood. 127
Dragica Vidakovic. On the Edge, 2015. Acrylic and wood stain on wood.
Roshni Wijayasinha. Birth of Sound, 2013. Acrylic and mixed media on canvas.
Roshni Wijayasinha. Rainbow Bubbles. Acrylic and mixed media on canvas.
Roshni Wijayasinha. Intergalactic Meeting, 2010. Acrylic and mixed media on canvas.
Pete Zee. Plastic in Paradise, 2016. Photography.
Shye Zhang. Zarisa, 2017. Pencil crayon on toned paper.
Shayne Darling. Owl, 2017. Acrylic on canvas.
Shayne Darling. Lioness, 2017. Pencil on paper.
Shayne Darling. Wolf, 2017. Pencil on paper.
Cashius Duggan. Space Invasion, 2017. Acrylic on canvas.
Cashius Duggan. Tsunami of Colours, 2017. Acrylic on canvas.
Jayden Duggan. Natureâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Wonder, 2017. Photography.
Jayden Duggan. Tewâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Falls, 2017. Photography.
Jayden Duggan. The Adventure, 2017. Photography.
Grace Giourgas. Myself, 2017. Watercolour on paper.
Grace Giourgas. Out of Sorts, 2017. Acrylic on canvas.
Mohammad Jainul Abedin You and Me
Here is nothing except you and me and a charming nature beautifully decorated with hills and lakes Vales are carpeted with fine green grasses… So quick The happy hours pass away from the so little life Many things remaining to say yet and to do… So when you think of me then I think of you Thus thinkings of each other make some poems of love and make the earth a perfect heaven….
Mohammad Jainul Abedin My Garden
I want to make a garden full of roses black, white, and pink.... Bees are invited to suck the honey and to taste Butterflies are invited to enjoy the colors and the smell.... Men are invited to enjoy the glory and glamour of roses in the nature.... Have you ever visited a garden full of roses Have you ever enjoyed their colors and smell.... Roses can make you fall in love They can remove all the distresses of your mind....
Sheila Bello A Rock Reflecting
In a garden now, I am a rock reflecting in bright sunlight, emitting glints from my rough and smooth areas alike. For centuries, my home was in the bowels of a mountain. Though I lived in darkness, warmth from the sun reached me. Melting snow and rain gradually eroded the soil that enclosed and upheld me. One fall day, I was dislodged from my mountain home. I bounced and rolled down the mountainside, then splashed into a river. A gardener took me out and brought me here. Despite my adventures my strength and firmness have not diminished.
Sheila Bello Truth and Beauty
Truth and beauty are keys that open gates leading to creativity. Truth and beauty can inform or inspire creative endeavours. They are everywhere in nature, a favourite muse and teacher. With intuition as a companion I wander away from worn out paths and go beyond boundaries that are defined and guarded by society. I find inspiration to write in the rhythms of nature, in eyes and movements of all humans and creatures, under bridges, in forests, gardens, hillsides, rivers, the sea, shells, pebbles on lakeshores, the moon, sun, drifting clouds, and the vast sky at all times.
Sheila Bello Write
Let your pens write, to right the wrongs of mind controllers and ruthless rulers. With creative writing inspired by critical thinking challenge injustice. Free yourself from the clutches of ignorance and subversive ideologies that deprive you of humanity. With the right words, help to cleanse the world from systems and beliefs that designate some as lesser beings. Write to free yourself and others, from the chains of dictators and gatekeepers who assign cruel punishments to enslave or eliminate. Write to release the innocent from imprisonment. Do not stop writing until everyone can think freely and make art accordingly! 155
Mike Callaghan 12 Hideous Interviews With Boring Men And Women:
Are you above or below average? How guilty do you feel about the environmental or social impact of your consumer behavior? When you encounter street musicians, do you give them money? Have you ever given another motorist the finger? Have you ever shoplifted? Do you trust the police? Is it appropriate for parents to spank their children? Do you pray? Would things improve if you were in charge of everything? How many Kardashians can you name? In the long run, is human civilization doomed? Did you lie today?
Mike Callaghan gaud
naked algorithms are wreaths of weed and a cracked headlamp process tossed on luck
a murk of theories and guesstimates know-what-I-means occupying the St. Peter role self-mythologizing
between persuasive platitudes dance floors are smaller electric train circling “Elvis at the Throttle” looking for meaning
kids go to school where trash collected how often predicting recidivism
eventually have to wring that sponge out sensible work always soberly scaled the purchase of a single doughnut 157
Lisa Hazelwood-Goudie Being Different
Means wearing my skin inside out My heart hanging out like an itchy Tag that society tries to stick back in, But that always flips right back out Or like the lower back tattoo That I can’t make myself regret. But being different Also means Wearing my wings on the inside, Feathers clinging to my ribs, Squeezing my lungs. Making it hard to breathe. Yes, being different means Hiding my wings, So no one knows that I can fly. Until I step off the curb, At the corner of ‘Conformity’ and ‘Who Gives A Damn’. And then I soar.
Lisa Hazelwood-Goudie Stonehenge
Find something different In this formfitting, tiresome night. Find… …The sonnet in the timid sigh, …The totem in the forest, …The hero in the thief. Redefine the honest. Frighten the ghost. Redeem this demon. Find something different. One... Thing… Different… Find something different In me.
Teresa Hall Peregrine Falcon
Diving in the vortex, natural is the reflex, spiralling through the air am I. Shoulders pinned, wings fold, eyes are in protective mode, hurtling faster, faster cross the sky. Plummeting towards the ground, feathers do not make a sound, spinning in a dead heat am I. My heart is like a drumbeat, sharp talons for my feet, fastest on the earth am I.
Jennylynd James Subway Ballet
They stepped gingerly around the caramel stream Someone left a memory behind Who would do this? One of the thousands In their morning trance, hold a cup in the right hand and a bag in the left ‘Don’t come too close ’, I protested silently A swaying cup entered my space I’m wearing white trousers The sleepy cup holder was unaware The train stopped and more piled in Noses turned up, faces winced, And the stream spread, perpetrator long gone. An empty cup rolled under the seat One step, two step … Tall men danced petit jetés
Manivillie Kanagasabapathy Strong Women in Summer Storms
Strong women love, like a summer storm. With passionate abandon, drenching you with all she is. Making your heart race, as you feel the tempo of her dance, as brilliant as lightning, and deep as thunder. She moves quickly, and appears suddenly, a storm without warning, but giving life to parched souls. When strong women love, the Earth is reformed.
Manivillie Kanagasabapathy Titles
I can never think of titles maybe because my words are too used to running untamed without definition and ownership. Or maybe I hate titles, because they ask me to think about what I am trying to say, instead of what you tell me I am speaking about? But then again, maybe I only hate titles, because they signify the end of the poem and the beginning of trying to classify it.
Manivillie Kanagasabapathy To my Sisters
I am blessed For I have many sisters. Sisters of the blood, HerstoryÂ linked to mine Through generations of love and sacrifice. Her name surrendered to family lines, a ghostly presence weaving the family story. Sisters of the soul, Who chose to connect their story to mine Trusting I will remember, That life existed before they became Daughters, wives and mothers. Sisters of the body, Defined and bound by words Of who we should be And not who we are. Sisters I have yet to meet, Their voices and lives, Reflected in the eyes, Of my strong and wise sisters.
Denise Kemp Life Without You
The strains of this life were getting to me and I couldn’t make the time for you. Then you left and my world fell apart. A darkness, which the brightest sunlight couldn’t penetrate, descended upon me. All my fears came banging at my door. I desperately searched for you. I tried to wash away the emptiness, but the wine eventually became bitter. I felt your presence last night when the world was asleep. I picked up my pen and the words flowed! Please don’t leave me again my muse; I’m nothing without you. I simply can’t live without writing.
Denise Kemp The Orders
I’m still traumatized by the carnage we wreaked. The orders had been severe: “Quell the uprising; show no mercy!” We slaughtered the rebels and destroyed the elders’ manuscripts. I found one of them lamenting the destruction of her life’s work. Only ashes remained! The old woman froze in terror when she saw me - the monster in the uniform. Her black eyes seemed tortured in her withered face. Her writings screamed at me from out of those dark pools! I couldn’t bring myself to shoot her and everything she stood for. I took my gun and vanished into the night.
Denise Kemp The Passion That Kills
I was so passionate about getting my stories told, I could hardly bear it. Day after day and night after night I furiously scribbled away. The words spewed out from my soul and into the trembling hand which clutched the pen. Mockingly, the words stared back at me from the stark whiteness of the pages. The mighty pen ruled my life and my insatiable hunger was quite literally consuming me. My family stood by helplessly as I wasted away. I was cold and still when they found me one day. My pen had run dry - my stories were complete!
Darcy Miller Peace Under Fire
I ran into Peace once or twice through the years But like an illusion he just disappeared I never managed to pin him down He was there for a time and then suddenly gone He showed up at my door just after the war But again he rushed off in a hurry It seemed that even a hint of dispute Caused Peace to take off in a flurry I could never tell if peace was real Or if he was just in my imagination He claimed he was the antidote To a manâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s fateful annihilation If this were so than Peace should know He need prolong his stay He canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t run off when things get tough He must find another way
Darcy Miller The Noise of Silence
There’s something to be said for silence Do you hear it A cleansing of the soul A clearing of mind An exercise in patience An inner contemplation for a time Some say it’s just bring ennui To stir up life’s corruptions I prefer to think of silence As a chance for exploration A period of mindfulness A rite of observation To be silent is not to be deaf But a state of awareness without bounds For silence in and of itself Is the cause and effect of sound
Darcy Miller Blood Brothers
Is it unjust to take the food from my mouth When your stomach already bulges Is it righteous when you pray on the week or the sick As if greed is your only indulgence Yet over and over your cravings unmet And nothing will fill the abyss You bash your way downward with little regret Your depravity and premise amiss Why do you fear, I am not a threat Why do you build walls so high Simply look through the eyes of a wide angled lens Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll see we are both flesh and blood, you and I
JC Olsthoorn what was our parting all about (from jack’s satori)
sheer as ice arguments + rain her romantic rain coat odd classic lines her boots disillusioned my rain coat poor misunderstood it started inside smash of cash register racket of washing dishes restaurant a joint or joint where she + me couldn’t get a word in even thru our own passive thoughts edgewise it finished if anything is ever finished finish let’s say with an old cliché we need street lamp directions a signpost to stand next to for some odd maybe vague insecurity or something feeling anyway onwards + onwards
Catherine Raine Thistleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Shadow
I am the shadow of a thistle cast upon concrete, growing and shrinking by the hour, a parody of progress. The goldfinches favour the plant of substance that defines me. My magentas and greens have bled to grey. Breezes bob my blossoms and harmless spines, but no gentle face inhales delicious August from my head, eyes closed to feast on my scent, ears pitched to my sighs. Grab me, and I spill across your wrist, a temporary tattoo. Stand between me and the Sun, and I dissolve into you, eclipsed by your mass, your density, your weight.
Natasha Ramoutar Cartography I
Ask me where I come from and I will tell you: from the remnants of melted sugar cubes, from rough grains ripped from stalks, from the spiced and saccharine scents, from a sweetness that mixes with cardamom hanging in the air. I come from a line of honeyed women, women sweet enough to empty pockets, to upturn kingdoms, to launch ships to war. In a journey long ago, I saw the origin point: fields of cane standing tall like soldiers on patrol. But cane is unprocessed; no grains, just long stalks, unbridled and wild and free.
Natasha Ramoutar Stories
The grandmother of my grandmotherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s grandmother must have arrived a ship that rolled through tempestuous waves. At least that is what I suspect; I have never seen any documents or maps or dog-eared photographs of her journey. The stories I know by heart are not of her; tales of Othello and outcast, of young Miranda all bright-eyed. My father grew up studying Hamlet in grade school. What of spoiled kings, tortured princes, and frigid Danish air was relatable? Grief, maybe. I think of her upon that ship from Denmark, grasping at faeries in the moonlight.
Natasha Ramoutar jumbie (noun) /jÉ&#x2122;mbÄ&#x201C;/
i. The word jumbie is a jumbie in itself. It is a coffin with no body, an urn with ashes scattered ii. The dead air of the early morning, in which we awake to grasp at empty shadows iii. A memory of a long faded memory of our grandparents in dirt streets below the moon beams iv. The soft buzz of mosquitos as they come and go like ghosts.
Kevin Ramroop Annex
An x Was at once just real An integer moving linear Unvexed by limits and hyperbole An (x) Is variable yes but Will prove a steady slope over time No matter the how or why y we got here An x May be the product of difference Some deference or conduct Invariably functioning as regret Yet an ex Consumed over time Annexes into our being And sums invariable growth As we climb along the ladder Of this Cartesian existence.
Deontoxication In talks occasional, He feels: content is necessity with our engravings so rigorous on slots and pane: Ten Commandments lead the unkind necessarily to gather a moral compass direction. The sires answer His deliverance; Demand order so that darkness binds the mind.
Intoxication, all he feels: contentedness/ acidy withering ravens soaring or else onslaughts and pain tend to come adamantly. The unkindness is airily together. Some more will come pass the wreck, shun desires and service the liver, once the man orders, oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; That darkness binds the mind.
Kevin Ramroop The Lotus Eaters
US Whether expectations precede the rain, Or deal with whole delusions right, These lotus-eaters wile and spite, In light and night they prey. Avoid their vows that pain Is cured on sight if and when we imbibe. Cirrhosis of a liver seizes the light And we may never see clearly again.
THEM Weather expectations; proceed therein. Ordeals withhold Elysian rites. Thieves loathe us, see, theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re wild and slight Enlightened? Nigh, depraved. A void devours their panes; Scourged of sight like fleas webbed in bind, So roses of a lover cease delight, And they may never see clearly again.
Beeta Senedjani Darkness
Darkness, my oldest friend Come to me like a whisper, a murmur in the night Come to me when I am open and alone Come to me and envelop me in your sweet velvet Darkness, my dearest friend So steady you are to me So reliable Darkness, can I taste you with my breath? Can I take your hands in mine and warm them against my skin? Can I wrap my body around you until it is not clear whether it is I who encompasses you, or you me Darkness, do you walk this way too? Shall we walk together?
Hau Truong Weigh Her
Weigh the nail clippings; anxious, bitten, Half-moon tusks cling to linoleum. Amber, burning keratin, lit like kerosene, Works the factory floor. She is fire, fiber, sinew and tar. Amber, from poverty, gets her degree. From a pedigree of fishermen. Her eyes wet, iridescent, slippery. The butcher sells milkfish, minnow and char. From from a mother of three. Amber, a mother of three.
Add up her skin, that proud chin. That translucent thin, resin soul of a jelly-fish. Scourer her. A head of hazel fur; burnt melanin. Weigh her by hour, by kin, Packaged in tin.
Sheila White You Like to Shop
I detect you like to shop. I gamble. You, with the readies on demand to be splurging, knowing the extra cost that follows later could be shopaholism, rounds of group therapy served up like an olive in a martini before six, sautéed mushroom appetizers keeping you, my retail heroine, distracted, with no time to buy something. Problem solved, right? Please, no coarse words. Me? I’m in every game – deeply: Teaching odds, inside baseball, how to play, how to make a million, no, millions. I live at the casino, understood? But the moments of escaping come at a premium in this long chapter of our fears. We demand a recount. Profit is the destination sign for most people. I chart their reliable flight and then reach for a Tylenol. 181
Sheila White Forwards, Backwards
Start to mine all depths the best. Whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s beginning? When, oh when? * When, or when? Beginning whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s best. The depths, all mine to start.
Nadia Wilson Happy Happy, Merry Merry
Waves of misery and dispair Receding I am part of the human race again Energized and Alive Ready to uncork the champagne and Savour the chocolates Nine months of bliss and contentment Till the next â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;familyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; holiday When days of bitterness and mourning Resurface And inner tears flow anew.
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