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"Promenade á la Mussorgsky"
Jeanette Willert, Alabama June, 1874
Modest Mussorgsky settles onto the hard piano bench, running one hand in a glissando up the keys. An idea is growing - a promenade connecting his recently deceased friend Viktor Hartmann’s drawings and watercolors; ten piano pieces in a suite held together by the novel notion of viewers walking through the exhibition. He begins: Allegro giusto! B flat major – a grand Promenade. A progression: The Gnome (Vivo! as the little gnome clumsily runs with crooked legs) to The Old Castle (a duet of bassoon and alto saxophone in minor G sharp) He moves us (allegretto) to view the Children’s Quarrel after Games at the Tuileries in sight of the Louvre in Paris. Movement 4 takes us past The Cattle (a Polish oxen drawn cart) moving from loud to soft as the cart passes and recedes. At this point in the composing, Mussorgsky writes “[the work] is boiling – sounds and ideas hung in the air… I can barely manage to scribble them on paper.” He creates Movement 5, the unusual Ballet of Unhatched Chicks (from the ballet Trilby), moves us on to the two Jews, rich and poor in B flat minor; he uses E flat minor to view The Market in Limoges, so reminiscent of folk songs . An ominous echoing of chords takes us into The Catacombs where the composer writes “the skulls begin to glow softly.” Allegro con brio announces the nightmarish witch’s flight of Baba Yaga, the Hut on Hen’s Legs… Our promenade ends with allegro and a grand E flat major for the virtuosic heroes’ finale- The Great Gate of Kiev! Charles A. Perrone, California
1.
within the covers as dark as they may be in the fluttering future stark lines to record the whiteness of the hospital bed sheets to engrave the stone-grey spirit of the baptismal fount as well to capture the roundness of initial chips from gold-sheen chalice lest you fail to remember to remember all shades of saints' days with or without smoke-filled hazes of observation or avoidance a reason to keep the blackness of a marital tuxedo intact for in fact it may be back when slacks of extremities have reached their limits 2. azure dog-eared pamphlets smooth cat-eyed marbles shiny duck-tailed headgear four funny fox-tailed ferns dozens of den-friendly clocks following fields of sheared fur private pictures of pleasure all planning to return for more 3. the profile of the guitar is shapely and sexy and truths are played out in chromatic changes letters lilting wilting rising surprising rounding the globe and lifting to the skies ready to descend re-made into entries and lobes 4. the drab cardboard is only an easel for the finger paints of the enthusiastic children at the table who love all the colors and how they feel as free figures emerge from their imaginations even before the first one is all envisioned and turned to be born 5. flash sun and flush moon are one celestial bodies be flesh tips digits palms hands waving from the shore to the lore hairs and stairs on end the moistening lips the glistening eyes the Xs on the calendar the wood-grain shelves nearly complete for a one-day stain at least "Spring Back"
Olchar E. Lindsann, Virginia hark angelic covid pallid choir,
merrily stalking yr springtime raindrop backbeat, flipping icicle basking its creep up eaves, and spoke of bicycle fatty acid smiles broadly pounce on charming lamb skin softly downy tickle fluff of giggle throat-rip stomach bile onesie; am I wrong? for lo, demonic baby death rattle, mask of nineteen vivisection toys jaggedly crawls through gentle fangs of lullaby radiation, tree-scalp counts elephantine cold front coughing breeze and daisies’ marrow reaps shreds of groundhog ribbons, pacifier razor candy swallows, walking baby steps tool land mine, kiddo, pollen, snowshod hunter fed on flesh scrap veiny. "In AcCurate Stance"
Olchar E. Lindsann, Virginia ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~?~
"his anachronism observable is purposely mad" – Paschal Beverly Randolph ~?~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ he shrieks for sooth stomps for hansom cabbie drone is thine serves his heat pump lucifer matches gramophone to hauberk verily VR scythe she telegraphs hieroglyphic hybrid vaudeville memes entire foxtrot autotune maps feudal brigands' walkie-talkie galleon rocket dongle howbeit GPS her corset crashes stem in the cathedral cell nay tis messerschmidt as any roman milkmen lo upon his cotton pleather gin her harpooned soviet hauls up hill again the aerosol of utter burlap venmo digital her quilting freeze dry circle round and round the cryogenic vellum, Hope. "Rain Crow"
Ramey Channell, Alabama At times she wondered how it all would end
even after she must have known it was ended. Sometimes when the wind blew, bringing rain again, she cast her dreams aside and flew herself away. Some say she lived alone against the dark side of the mountain; some say her madness came from what she knew of flying. But she always cried before the rain began, from the darkness and the broken heart and the fever of dying. I heard the rain crow just before a cold rain swept down from shadows and across the cold gray morning. A chill was in the air and the rain crow’s song sailed, lost and lonely and full of old dreams, like a bird’s wings touched by mist and magic and dark dreams folding. Some say she kept her secrets, alone across the forest unforgiving. Some say she calls the rain, she calls the rain, from her own soul to cool the madness and the fever of living.
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"Proud Paleo Perfect People"
Mark Blickley, New York
Photo: Amy Bassin, New York
Mark Blickley, New York
Photo: Amy Bassin, New York
A sudden sound of blasting wind makes the tiki torches flicker. In struts Basil, the outlaw tribal shaman, wearing a large furry buffalo hat with protruding horns, a fancy fringed vest that reveals his chiseled chest, and a colorful speedo that houses an abnormally large scrotum. He flexes his amazing triceps and biceps in an exaggerated pose of greeting as he raises his arms above his head, strutting up to the outdoor stage.
“Tribal Members! Proud Paleo Perfect People! You sacred PPPPs! Praise be to the Lard, and all other natural byproducts,” shouts Basil.
His audience cheers.
“A blessing on all your heads, from your family of physically and morally undefiled Paleolithic ancestors.”
“Homeostasis in the highest!” chants the crowd.
“Sagging and shapeless mainstream mankind doesn’t want me to venerate and expose the powerful purity of our superior genes. Using work swallowing machines and flabby factory farming they want to strip us of our true Paleo heritage! The attempted molestation of we Proud Paleo Perfect People began on this very night at the very first D.O.A., Dawn of Agriculture’s sneak attack on humanity!”
“Outrageous abomination! Homeostasis in the Highest! Praise be to the Lard and all other natural byproducts!” screams the crowd.
Basil does repetitive, exaggerated sweeping bows to his followers, but in doing so, two huge peaches are dislodged from his speedo and fall to the ground. The crowd gasps in surprise and disillusionment.
An embarrassed Basil stutters, “They....they....those are naturally found and picked fruit. Not harvested from evil orchards!” He raises up his flexed arms to distract his followers as he quickly kicks the large peaches off to the side of the stage. He hides behind the lectern at the front of the stage in order to recover his dominance and dignity.
Basil lowers his arms and grips the sides of the lectern. “Quinoa, why is this evening, this night, different from all other evenings?”
“Because it is the joyful commiseration of D.O.A. Eve, the Dawn Of Agriculture, Basil.”
“And what is commiserated on this day, Herb?” asks Basil.
Herb screams, “We commemorate on this sacred D.O.A. Eve, the 15,714th annual remembrance of a terror avoided by our beloved Paleo ancestors, Basil.”
“Correct. And what constitutes this terror, Myrtle?”
Myrtle shouts, “It’s when humanity rejected their natural Paleolithic pureness of hunter/gatherer for the evil of the Dawn of Agriculture who raped the precious few inches of life-giving topsoil, Basil.”
“Norman, why is this D.O.A. evil?” asks Basil.
“It marks Man’s fall from our true nature as self-sufficient food providers and into the perversion of farming and mechanized processed foods!” replies Norman.
Basil glares at the crowd. “Myrtle, and what are the two greatest sins created at this Dawn of Agriculture?
“The sins of grain growing and animal husbandry, Basil. Modern humans castrate their ranched alpha beasts to more easily herd them into automated slaughterhouse pens.”
“You speak truth, Myrtle. Are we animals, Herb? Do we marry fellow beasts?”
“We are not animals, Basil. And we do not marry to destroy sensuality! We are PPPPs, Basil."
"Proud Paleo Perfect People! Untainted, loving human beings, not beasts who refuse to be slapped into a sexual shame of polygamy."
The crowd cheers and chants, “PPPP! PPPP! PPPP!”
Basil smiles and motions to them to lower their voices. “And the evils of cultivated grain? Tell me of this wickedness, Norman. This curse against human nature.”
Norman recites from memory, “Cultivated grain gave birth to the unnatural, wicked food of bread, Basil. The Dawn Of Agriculture began a...a....a degenerative.....and additive addictive invasion against humanity by seducing mankind with factory farmed processed foods. It attempts to contaminate and weaken our glorious Paleo primal genes with empty calories and enforced famines.”
Basil withdraws an extremely large red book from beneath the lectern and holds it above his head. “A reading from the sacred book of Holy Homeostasis!”
“Praise be to the Lard and other natural byproducts,” shouts the audience.
Basil lowers the book and opens it, flexing his muscles as he searches for the proper page. “As the revered Paleo Charles Atlas sayeth, “Evolution is a conscious process.”
The crowd cheers and when the noise dies down Basil resumes his reading. “And the man broke the bread, held it out to them, and sayeth, ‘Take, eat this bread. This is my body which is given to you.’ And what sayeth you, my precious Proud Perfect Paleo People?”
“Hell, no! We are not animals or cannibals!” screams the crowd.
Basil smiles and nods in approval. “Yes, we are not animals or cannibals my children. ‘Tis better dead than bread?”
“Tis better dead than bread!” the crowd echoes. “Better dead than bread! Better dead than bread!”
Basil drinks in the crowd hysterics before pausing and softly saying, “Yet there is one amongst you that shall betray us with a kibble and a nibble.”
“Not on our watch, dear Basil! Not on our watch!” screams the crowd.
Basil silences the crowd. “We shall wait and watch for evil. Ever vigilant. Wait and watch for evil."
“Wait and Watch! Wait and Watch. Wait Watch! Wait Watch! Wait Watch!” roars the audience.
Basil outstretches his arm in a symbolic communal hug. “Proud Paleo Perfect People, thou are indeed the beloved PPPP Wait Watchers!”
“Wait Watchers! Wait Watchers! We are determined Wait Watchers! Better dead than bread! Homeostasis in the Highest! Blessed be the Lard and all natural byproducts!!”
“Tribal Members! Proud Paleo Perfect People! You sacred PPPPs! Praise be to the Lard, and all other natural byproducts,” shouts Basil.
His audience cheers.
“A blessing on all your heads, from your family of physically and morally undefiled Paleolithic ancestors.”
“Homeostasis in the highest!” chants the crowd.
“Sagging and shapeless mainstream mankind doesn’t want me to venerate and expose the powerful purity of our superior genes. Using work swallowing machines and flabby factory farming they want to strip us of our true Paleo heritage! The attempted molestation of we Proud Paleo Perfect People began on this very night at the very first D.O.A., Dawn of Agriculture’s sneak attack on humanity!”
“Outrageous abomination! Homeostasis in the Highest! Praise be to the Lard and all other natural byproducts!” screams the crowd.
Basil does repetitive, exaggerated sweeping bows to his followers, but in doing so, two huge peaches are dislodged from his speedo and fall to the ground. The crowd gasps in surprise and disillusionment.
An embarrassed Basil stutters, “They....they....those are naturally found and picked fruit. Not harvested from evil orchards!” He raises up his flexed arms to distract his followers as he quickly kicks the large peaches off to the side of the stage. He hides behind the lectern at the front of the stage in order to recover his dominance and dignity.
Basil lowers his arms and grips the sides of the lectern. “Quinoa, why is this evening, this night, different from all other evenings?”
“Because it is the joyful commiseration of D.O.A. Eve, the Dawn Of Agriculture, Basil.”
“And what is commiserated on this day, Herb?” asks Basil.
Herb screams, “We commemorate on this sacred D.O.A. Eve, the 15,714th annual remembrance of a terror avoided by our beloved Paleo ancestors, Basil.”
“Correct. And what constitutes this terror, Myrtle?”
Myrtle shouts, “It’s when humanity rejected their natural Paleolithic pureness of hunter/gatherer for the evil of the Dawn of Agriculture who raped the precious few inches of life-giving topsoil, Basil.”
“Norman, why is this D.O.A. evil?” asks Basil.
“It marks Man’s fall from our true nature as self-sufficient food providers and into the perversion of farming and mechanized processed foods!” replies Norman.
Basil glares at the crowd. “Myrtle, and what are the two greatest sins created at this Dawn of Agriculture?
“The sins of grain growing and animal husbandry, Basil. Modern humans castrate their ranched alpha beasts to more easily herd them into automated slaughterhouse pens.”
“You speak truth, Myrtle. Are we animals, Herb? Do we marry fellow beasts?”
“We are not animals, Basil. And we do not marry to destroy sensuality! We are PPPPs, Basil."
"Proud Paleo Perfect People! Untainted, loving human beings, not beasts who refuse to be slapped into a sexual shame of polygamy."
The crowd cheers and chants, “PPPP! PPPP! PPPP!”
Basil smiles and motions to them to lower their voices. “And the evils of cultivated grain? Tell me of this wickedness, Norman. This curse against human nature.”
Norman recites from memory, “Cultivated grain gave birth to the unnatural, wicked food of bread, Basil. The Dawn Of Agriculture began a...a....a degenerative.....and additive addictive invasion against humanity by seducing mankind with factory farmed processed foods. It attempts to contaminate and weaken our glorious Paleo primal genes with empty calories and enforced famines.”
Basil withdraws an extremely large red book from beneath the lectern and holds it above his head. “A reading from the sacred book of Holy Homeostasis!”
“Praise be to the Lard and other natural byproducts,” shouts the audience.
Basil lowers the book and opens it, flexing his muscles as he searches for the proper page. “As the revered Paleo Charles Atlas sayeth, “Evolution is a conscious process.”
The crowd cheers and when the noise dies down Basil resumes his reading. “And the man broke the bread, held it out to them, and sayeth, ‘Take, eat this bread. This is my body which is given to you.’ And what sayeth you, my precious Proud Perfect Paleo People?”
“Hell, no! We are not animals or cannibals!” screams the crowd.
Basil smiles and nods in approval. “Yes, we are not animals or cannibals my children. ‘Tis better dead than bread?”
“Tis better dead than bread!” the crowd echoes. “Better dead than bread! Better dead than bread!”
Basil drinks in the crowd hysterics before pausing and softly saying, “Yet there is one amongst you that shall betray us with a kibble and a nibble.”
“Not on our watch, dear Basil! Not on our watch!” screams the crowd.
Basil silences the crowd. “We shall wait and watch for evil. Ever vigilant. Wait and watch for evil."
“Wait and Watch! Wait and Watch. Wait Watch! Wait Watch! Wait Watch!” roars the audience.
Basil outstretches his arm in a symbolic communal hug. “Proud Paleo Perfect People, thou are indeed the beloved PPPP Wait Watchers!”
“Wait Watchers! Wait Watchers! We are determined Wait Watchers! Better dead than bread! Homeostasis in the Highest! Blessed be the Lard and all natural byproducts!!”
Appal(Trad)
There were no poems suitable for this category for this Is(sue).
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Avant(Serial)
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"Le Overgivers au Club de la Résurrection"
a novel by Jim Meirose, New Jersey
Chapter 4: Janie at Four Years
a novel by Jim Meirose, New Jersey
Chapter 4: Janie at Four Years
Tell me again where Mommy and Daddy went, Janie asked Grammie.
Janie. You know where they are. They’re on vacation. This must be the millionth time you’ve asked me that, she said, waving the TV remote—but wait, watch it—give me that big glass of water, before you spill it. Be careful!
I want to drink it.
Drink it then. If you don’t drink it it’s going to spill.
I—I want to drink it.
Okay, said Grammie, rising. Here let me have it. That glass is too big and heavy. You’re going to spill it. If you were thirsty you’d have drunk it already.
No, said Janie, turning away from Grammie’s grasping hands and raising the glass to her lips, tilting back, and quickly drinking a large volume of water down without spilling a drop.
That’s right Janie, said Grammie. That’s good. Yes, drink it more. Very neat, Janie. Very good. Drink it all before it spills—here. Your show is over. What would you like to watch now?
Janie faced the TV and stared at the colors scrolling up the screen, going pop pop pop pop from the TV to her eye. Fun like fun watching fireworks, up, up, bang now look! Up, up—bang, look—Janie, please answer. What would you like to watch now? How about a movie, want a movie? Or a show? How about the Patterson Bears? You remember the Patterson Bears? You liked that before, let me find it, wait—and the colors made a sound from over at Grammie that popped a mouth open she couldn’t see and the colors peeled off the TV and went all into a mouth that wasn’t there, all gone. Then from the mouth there was the bear face she saw somewhere else maybe here, yes here the bear face with spangle-patterns moving over and across atop it—Grannie saw and said fast, Want this Janie?
Janie watched the moving over and across atop it and--
Janie, it is rude not to answer. Tell me if this is all right or not or I will shut off the TV--
It’s good.
That’s great, said Grammie. She leaned against the couch back cushion, picked up her book lying beside, and held it before her face, signaling Janie to say over to her, Grammie, can we go downstairs again to look at the sleepy people?
The book went down in Grammie’s lap. She raised the remote toward the TV and pressed the mute button, and said, Janie, you know I told you I was only going to take you downstairs one time. And you said okay. Remember that Janie?
I want to smell it down there. I like the smell down there.
You do?
Janie nodded, rising as though expecting Grammie to say yes, yes, she would take her down one more time to smell the smell that smelled around the sleepy people with flowers around in shiny smooth boxes. Flowers, she had seen, and boxes, she knew, but she never saw sleepy people with flowers around in boxes. Mommy and Daddy never showed her the sleepy people with flowers around in boxes and she wanted to know more about why they were there. She never knew there more people living with them that Mommy and Daddy didn’t ever let come upstairs. This was big. She turned toward the stairway leading down, but Grammie said No. Janie stopped and turned and Grammie waved her back toward the TV and words came at Janie that worked with the wave and told her as she walked back, I don’t think Mommy and Daddy would want you to look at the people downstairs more than just this one time. I didn’t know they never took you down there. I’m not sure they want you down there ever, really. We need to wait for them to get back so we can ask them. Forget downstairs for now—look at the Silly Bears on television playing baseball! Hey, look—one bear hit the other one with a bat, hah! And now they’re all out on the field fighting! Isn’t it fun to watch bears fighting? Yes it is, it is, look—now one by one they are playing dead and lying down. What’s that silly red stuff coming out from under them—isn’t this show silly. Janie? It’s about the silliest show I’ve ever seen. How about you, Janie? Is this the silliest show you’ve ever seen, or what? Much more fun to see than the sleepy people with flowers all around in boxes way downstairs. Down there is very, very, boring. Quite silent quite bad. Let’s forget down there. We have so much up here now. Just think up here.
Janie. You know where they are. They’re on vacation. This must be the millionth time you’ve asked me that, she said, waving the TV remote—but wait, watch it—give me that big glass of water, before you spill it. Be careful!
I want to drink it.
Drink it then. If you don’t drink it it’s going to spill.
I—I want to drink it.
Okay, said Grammie, rising. Here let me have it. That glass is too big and heavy. You’re going to spill it. If you were thirsty you’d have drunk it already.
No, said Janie, turning away from Grammie’s grasping hands and raising the glass to her lips, tilting back, and quickly drinking a large volume of water down without spilling a drop.
That’s right Janie, said Grammie. That’s good. Yes, drink it more. Very neat, Janie. Very good. Drink it all before it spills—here. Your show is over. What would you like to watch now?
Janie faced the TV and stared at the colors scrolling up the screen, going pop pop pop pop from the TV to her eye. Fun like fun watching fireworks, up, up, bang now look! Up, up—bang, look—Janie, please answer. What would you like to watch now? How about a movie, want a movie? Or a show? How about the Patterson Bears? You remember the Patterson Bears? You liked that before, let me find it, wait—and the colors made a sound from over at Grammie that popped a mouth open she couldn’t see and the colors peeled off the TV and went all into a mouth that wasn’t there, all gone. Then from the mouth there was the bear face she saw somewhere else maybe here, yes here the bear face with spangle-patterns moving over and across atop it—Grannie saw and said fast, Want this Janie?
Janie watched the moving over and across atop it and--
Janie, it is rude not to answer. Tell me if this is all right or not or I will shut off the TV--
It’s good.
That’s great, said Grammie. She leaned against the couch back cushion, picked up her book lying beside, and held it before her face, signaling Janie to say over to her, Grammie, can we go downstairs again to look at the sleepy people?
The book went down in Grammie’s lap. She raised the remote toward the TV and pressed the mute button, and said, Janie, you know I told you I was only going to take you downstairs one time. And you said okay. Remember that Janie?
I want to smell it down there. I like the smell down there.
You do?
Janie nodded, rising as though expecting Grammie to say yes, yes, she would take her down one more time to smell the smell that smelled around the sleepy people with flowers around in shiny smooth boxes. Flowers, she had seen, and boxes, she knew, but she never saw sleepy people with flowers around in boxes. Mommy and Daddy never showed her the sleepy people with flowers around in boxes and she wanted to know more about why they were there. She never knew there more people living with them that Mommy and Daddy didn’t ever let come upstairs. This was big. She turned toward the stairway leading down, but Grammie said No. Janie stopped and turned and Grammie waved her back toward the TV and words came at Janie that worked with the wave and told her as she walked back, I don’t think Mommy and Daddy would want you to look at the people downstairs more than just this one time. I didn’t know they never took you down there. I’m not sure they want you down there ever, really. We need to wait for them to get back so we can ask them. Forget downstairs for now—look at the Silly Bears on television playing baseball! Hey, look—one bear hit the other one with a bat, hah! And now they’re all out on the field fighting! Isn’t it fun to watch bears fighting? Yes it is, it is, look—now one by one they are playing dead and lying down. What’s that silly red stuff coming out from under them—isn’t this show silly. Janie? It’s about the silliest show I’ve ever seen. How about you, Janie? Is this the silliest show you’ve ever seen, or what? Much more fun to see than the sleepy people with flowers all around in boxes way downstairs. Down there is very, very, boring. Quite silent quite bad. Let’s forget down there. We have so much up here now. Just think up here.
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