The Chronic Malcontent
A zine for constructive complaining
A zine for constructive complaining
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| ARTS AND LIT 2004 |
| Renaissance How wonderful to be happy With restlessness - To feel that surge of power And unbounded joy Like a child, shot out of school By last day fever Exceeding human limits And breaking new ground every second. To feel that internal vibration And see the incredible external result beam Through earthly cares and Everyday matters Like some biological Klieg light; Focusing attention on you, The creator of some unimaginable thing - The unreal become real. Copyright 2004 Sue Klaus From "Looking for the Twenty-First Century Relationship 1993 |
| SNOWBLIND - Denise Walker In a land of cold grew a passion, Core of fire at the heart of the storm; Fiery youth, causing age to pass: She grew young again. In that blistering cold, venturing forth Because the numbness of it outstripped The numbness inside, we were - They were snowblind: Laughing eyes, touching hands Holding back time and the return to responsibility, Wondering: will this infatuation born of winter Melt as snow does? In stolen seconds she fell fast Stolen from the teeth of chaos Deposited on the shore of a forbidden eyeland Too fast? The law of all or none, All at once or not at all All the law she knows. Till, like vapor trails of night fliers Came sunrise, herald of beginnings: Beginnings the best, delicious unknowns. She woke to rumors, legends, stories of him Phantom of unconsciousness, Too many long nights alone Tangled and burning with nowhere to turn An infection of dreams From which she cannot wake, Shading her days with a haze of longing; Nights burn with desire. At the core of it, Still, the illicit display of molten youth. She is the fire, usually hidden. You could not know. And now in circles she turns, Burning endlessly, her path a dance On trails of mist; all changes wrought A distance falling, calling out for bold maneuvers. Secret, her beam of absolute fixation Fix on the magic, will it to live Like film exposure star trails, Caught for all time. Burning close now, burning both ends The midnight wick; passion's fire, The torch that splits the night. Days become only time to be spent waiting. And in the night, in the dark She keeps seeing your eyes And wondering |
| Your Flowers, Your Garden Your flowers, your garden, Wealth of colors, bright each day - Sweet tomatoes, ruddy rhubarb, Purple beans and strawberries. Your toolbox, your workshop, What on earth is a repairman? Somethings broken? Let's go fix it Jars of bolts, of nails and gaskets Your children, their antics, Their decisions, your headaches - Do not fear, for we all love you Vale of tears, revolts, and all. For John Seniw - 1907-2003 from your daughter, the writer. |
A Compact One-act Play
He roared
"Where is my kippered
herring?!"
She smiled, sweetly,
and as if she were
saying "I love you,
dear," said,
"Three cans should be
enough for anybody."
He roared
"Where is my kippered
herring?!"
She smiled, sweetly,
and as if she were
saying "I love you,
dear," said,
"Three cans should be
enough for anybody."
