Sunday, July 01, 2001

Issue 5

Rachel Harper Joseph

Colin Van Der Woude

William Cannon

Rae Burton

Peter Wilson

Rachel Harper Joseph


The line that leads the eye
from the thin-boned foot
to the birdwing gap...

(step right up and listen close)

"Observe your God
in seven by two
by two

(the sign said "Come See Christ On Fire")

I slipped my ticket
under my tongue
and took a seat
by the tentpole.

(Save This Coupon #47305)

In the darkened tent
a naked man
is kept asleep
in a case of glass

(the line that leads from head to waist)

His eyes are glued shut--
not sleeping.
His arms weigh nothing.
And that is all of the show.

The man down front

(call him turtle, if you will)

is the first to move
in an hour of silence

(wrappers, coughing, murmurs, sighs)

He lifts his bulk
from the folding chair
and stamps his foot,

A wrinkled woman

(who hasn't won the lottery, in all these years)

clutches her bag
and spits out:

"Pisspots! Fraud!"

They tear up their tickets and leave.

(Sa Th Cou #472)....

The disappointed crowd
surges out of the tent
while the talker smokes cigarettes
under the stairs.

Alone, in the dark
an hour of silence

(              )

I rise and walk to the case..

a fishline is thread
from cheekbone to brow

(I see now, that it's not really glue)

but he is awake
and he sees me...

(I am as simple as vertical travel)

An inch from the glass

my breath becomes white

I place my hands

on the front of the case


they come back
minus some skin.

Rachel Harper Joseph is a scenic artist from Philadelphia, PA.

Rachel Harper Joseph Colin Van Der Woude William Cannon Rae Burton Peter Wilson

Colin Van Der Woude


I can hear the music cats play
melodies and harmony
sacred notes in disarray
a chorus plucked from a broken piano choir
a choir of haunted souls

The enchantress of unholy salvation
purifier of thought
pontifical to a God of love

Mirrored minds the son of thee
disappearing twisting images

My mind outcasts friends
and mends broken ends

Colin Van Der Woude: I'm a 24 year old writer from Tassie Australia...was diagnosed with a mental illness at the tender age of 14...I write about thoughts and experiences, mainly at night when I'm too tired to reach for a pen. I have written poetry since the age of 15, a year after being diagnosed with Schizophrenia... used to also be an artist but my creativity in that area was "haloperidolised" and I gave up painting a year ago. Writing is now my main creative outlet.

Rachel Harper Joseph Colin Van Der Woude William Cannon Rae Burton Peter Wilson

William Cannon

same lives from different views
a thousand a day cross this path
(exaggeration, perhaps-fluke)
dump the marbles over the Verrazano
no need to keep the little time
spent sitting still, sitting-trapped
against her large buxom hips
every ghost's trip

when finally it's won
they pull at my arms and clinch my hand
as an excited child does
at first entering an amusement park

abandoned again along the skyline drive
I was once so curious
I was once, at one time, so eager
Now my splitting head…
Moves me back

Some one
Capture this

William Cannon: I am 26 years old and have been published in a couple of minor e-zines. I've been writing for 12 years and am aware of my voice and my target audience. I am the pronunciation of a new generation. My will is to free association with all that's around me. I want unadorned realization. I want to be scared and yet readily accept my environment. I want to change the mainstream from being pleasant greeting cards to altruistic consideration, not in verse but action.

The writers of the gospels claimed to be under divination when writing; I too know not where my structure forms but am deeply compelled to develop the passages I find before me. I take my craft very seriously, I am an artist granted the privilege of communication. My medium is the English language and all its various slang; the life of mine is given purpose.

Rachel Harper Joseph Colin Van Der Woude William Cannon Rae Burton Peter Wilson

Rae Burton

The Insecure World of The Blind Clown

Keep on digging up brand new ideas
   facing the day of hell on earth which is New Year's Eve
Locked up with no chance of parole or receiving visitors
   then comes the day when all emotions disappear for good.
I never realised i was in hell until it was too late
   but we all live in one kind of hell
You can't go outside to play when it's pouring with rain
   because there are more puddles than jackets.

I watched the explorer once as he was exploring
   i could run fast but he could always run much faster
And i screamed aloud but he could always scream louder
   now i am walking down this lonely road alone.

Desperation has once again entered into my life
   if i listen hard enough i can hear God laughing at me
Sometimes it's as if even the poetry seems incomplete
   maybe i finally have become my own worst enemy.

Why work when you can play?
if you think you know the real me sorry you don't,
When it isn't good but as good as it's ever going to get
with 456 poems written ten times over.
I'm never what you expect to see
what monsters in my head giving false answers weekly,
Acts of pure weakness hang around like smells from a lavatory
eyes see but not always the truth.

it is possible to live without knowing it
kiss the wind and those liars play their cruel games,
One day every answer will show itself loud and clear
for now i believe this game is real.
Every one of us born with a killing instinct
as mighty as the devil can make a sound,
The truth hurts me like a knife deep in my soul
life is a cruel game and i must find the missing link.

Rae Burton: I am 30 years old and i suffered a nervous breakdown a few years ago which lead to a few problems but it also brought a new strength to my writing as i find it easier writing down my thoughts and feelings than actually speaking. Although i am no longer considered at risk to myself and no longer have to hear the b.s my shrink threw at me the thought of suicide goes through my mind everyday but i have learned to fight it.

Rachel Harper Joseph Colin Van Der Woude William Cannon Rae Burton Peter Wilson

Peter Wilson

The Unspoken Word

The enthusiasm of a sentimental kind
Full-dressed in broad daylight
A splendid mendacity distinguished in fashion
Is a toil of a faithful companion
The undertones of a half world
In the midst of surroundings
Where sweet idle lies flows the spring of sorrow
A mere form of words within the breast of sympathy
There is the toil without formality
A silver plate neither rhyme nor reason
Of words spoken at a shadow
Peculiar to itself, there are tears for things
Work and play, love and hate are one and all of the same
It will be pleasant to recall this some day
Diamond cuts diamond, ignorant by ignorance
A fallacious debate through adversity to the stars
A potential existence in empty space
I know not what; it doesn't follow
Everything unknown come in! Tomorrow
How do I know? What does it matter?
It's pleasant to play the fool sometimes, while I breathe

Peter Wilson: Fellow schizophrenic and poet

Rachel Harper Joseph Colin Van Der Woude William Cannon Rae Burton Peter Wilson