We are Landscapes
February 5, 2010
by Lewis J. Kahler
We are the poems of history.
We are saying nothing.
The all-important nothing-
that resonates in the mind,
and nourishes
the spirit.
We are the topography
of all that never was.
The memory of what could not be.
We are the note in the cosmic music of chance,
the lost tomes of our foremothers.
We are our guides.
We are the light-
the hope.
We are divinely lost-
and we dance.
Lewis J. Kahler is the Dean of the Center for the Arts and Humanities at Mohawk Valley Community College. He also is the co-editor of Portrait literary magazine and is the author of No Mind: A Collection of Haiku (Portrait Publishing, 2008). Lewis was a contributing editor to Alternative Medicine: The Definitive Guide (Ten Speed Press, 2002). His poetry has appeared in the Resonant Review, Ampersand, Fusion and The Oracle Literary Journal.
Inconspicuous Shield
February 3, 2010
by Alex Chornyj
If it’s integrity we’re after
Then keeping to the high road
Adhering to principles
Must be first and foremost.
Secrets that abounded in the past
Will be left at the curb
There is no place for whispers
But a refreshing frankness.
To be told where we are
Not where we thought we were
So lead to believe
By some surreptitious propaganda.
I will not live a lie
The silence will be broken
The days of turning the other cheek
Have vanished with the lost apathy.
The ones who were powerless
Now see the impenetrable wall
Was only there by the force of suggestion
Almost like a placebo if you will.
Once one summoned the courage
To just walk over a line
That was only imaginary
One saw a true reflection,
In an unaltered mirror
The difference was like night and day
The actual from the inferred
Would be like an oasis,
Being posited as a barren waste
One could not have been further
Like thinking there were no trees
Then finding an entire forest.
Which would not only be shocking
But rather disturbing
From feeling rather naive
To then inquiring as to the motive,
Behind such an inconspicuous shield
To keep most from realizing
What truly existed
Only for their own selfish consumption.
Alex Chornyj is a reiki master teacher. Alex has been published in White Mountain Publications, Articulations, The Tower Journal, The Canadian Federation Of Poetry, online at www.artistsforabetterworld.org and in many Blog Talk Radio spoken word programs such as “Shaman’s Hand” and “Poetry Super Highway.” Alex currently resides in Canada.
Wandering Hobo
February 1, 2010
by Simon Rubin
I am iam iam
Alive under the great sky
My heart is calm as a cumulus cloud
Crossing cerulean blue
My legs are like
Two tumbleweeds
In a cartoon
My mind is clear
And free of concern
I am not fretting about you anymore
Each passing moment
My being smiles bigger
I pull the trigger on violence
I slice up unnecessary thoughts
Like jack the ripper
I am the skipper of
My destination
Through all creation
If you find my body
Bury it or use cremation
Doesn’t matter to me
My soul is in rotation
Maybe I am Buddha
Maybe a barracuda
maybe I am Muhammad
Maybe I am Moses
Maybe I am two Eskimos
Rubbing noses
Maybe I am Jesus
Christ I don’t know
Might as well blow
This town
End up on Saturn’s freeway
Driving On it’s rings
Shooting stars to Pluto
Dipping cookies in the milky way
On my way to my own nebula
Across a sea of tranquility
Gathering no stardust or moss
Just going going gone
Only a song left
Simon Rubin believes that English majors are people who haven’t yet made up their minds what they want to do with their lives. Simon has the gift/curse of self reflection and currently reflects in Eugene, Oregon.
Garbage
January 29, 2010
by A.M. Donovan
Old dreams discarded
By the roadside
Amongst old fast food wrappers
Beer bottles, and dead animals
Dreams
Broken by the world
A world in which
They couldn’t survive
Or abandoned, like a puppy
To ridicule and shame
Outgrown, outmoded, thrown away
Some will come back, briefly
Into vogue
Like patriotism, and faith
Or– lets whisper– God
Then we dig, frantically
Through the detritus of our lives
Trying to find
The newly realized treasure
A.M. Donovan is a writer, a folklorist (teaching classes part time at a local community college) and a very good cook. The folklore does tend to show up in the writing. “Garbage” originally appeared in the 2nd Annual Northwoods Anthology.
The Gentle Buzz
January 27, 2010
by Kelsey Hannon
Connecting mind, body and spirit to a point of abrogation
More clarity than ten clear windows
A gentle buzz of energy in its purest form
Subtle surety softens the muscles in my face
Existing, unafraid of jarring impulses or cuts inside my stomach
And I am
they have entered the half-an-hour-late crowd with salt rings on their shoes and jeans
Editor’s Note
December 25, 2009
Dear reader,
It’s hard to believe that 2010 is right around the corner. I say the same thing every year, and still haven’t become accustomed to looking at the calendar in late December, realizing there are only a few days left. I love this time though, an obvious point of reflection on the year gone by and consideration of the year to come. What accomplishments deserve celebration? What did I not quite finish that would be beneficial to wrap up? What was my greatest joy this year? Who came into my life and what have they taught me? What am I hoping to do next year?
In mid 2009, I dreamed of Awaken Consciousness Magazine being a place where art integrates with personal transformation, a resource of inspiration and potentiality. I am so grateful to YOU for helping to make that happen. It’s an honor to have published such fantastic work, and I am humbled by your commitment to art, to growth, beauty and inspiration.
ACM is on break until the new year, but I hope you’ll visit again in January for more works that articulate and explore the Great Work, that of experiencing peace and joy, remembering our authentic source, our true self.
As always, I’d love to hear from you. Email your comments or questions to me at editor@awakenconsciousness.com or post directly to the contributors through the comment log. If you’re interested in subscribing to ACM, please scroll down to the bottom of this page and click “Sign me up.”
Many blessings to you and yours in this season of love and light.
Mindie Kniss
The Great Mirror
December 22, 2009
by Therese Halscheid
When it has had enough
of our thoughts,
the earth’s silence ends
and slowly
or suddenly
it forms
what we have been thinking.
This is how we learn of ourselves -
what emotions
we are made of
what has been stored
within us, all that
cold silence,
fiery anger,
flooding sorrow.
That pain…
The pain which comes
fastening itself to the world
that is too much sometimes
like what the dry heart does -
how rage becomes
the ground’s sudden quaking
and all those places of trembling dirt -
the landslides.
And of quiet spots,
our feelings are
that vast hush
with glistening meadows
the flowers there.
Therese Halscheid has lived simply as an itinerant writer for the past sixteen years – working deeply with the earth in unusual settings. Many poems come from an intimate relationship with earth, claiming it as a being rather than something to be controlled. Learn more at her website: ThereseHalscheid.com. Editor’s note: “The Great Mirror” originally appeared in Albatross, and Halscheid’s book, Uncommon Geography.
We Know
December 20, 2009
by Kate Hutchinson
If we could see the miracle of a single flower clearly,
our whole life would change.
– Buddha
We are only kidding ourselves
When we say the wind carries secrets
For we know as surely as the sparrows
That sand was once stone
And that leaves fall from trees
Only to bare them for ice.
We know with the certainty of voles
That beneath the sprawling oaks
Lie roots as gnarled and knotted
As the loves and enmities
Of our buried ancestors.
But still we grope and claw
With stick and fork and knife
Through damask of our own making
Into dark rooms where candles once burned
And we try to make meaning
From wax beads dripped carelessly
On smooth mute tables
All the while deaf and blind
To the calligraphy humming
In a single blade of grass
Just outside the door.
Kate Hutchinson teaches English and is Fine and Performing Arts Coordinator at a large suburban high school near Chicago. Her poetry and non-fiction have been published in several journals and collections, most recently The Sow’s Ear, Cloudbank, and two of the Cup of Comfort collections. Editor’s note: “We Know” originally appeared in Mosaic, literary journal of National-Louis University, Chicago, June 2008.
Just Say the Word
December 16, 2009
by William Bradley
I’m trying to think of a word. It’s a word that I’ve forgotten, that I suspect we’ve all forgotten. We knew it once, it’s on the tip of our tongues, something just reminded us. No, it’s gone. Love? No, no. Good? Well, close, but not quite.
It’s like, when I was born, wrapped up in a white blanket, and put to my mother’s breast, my guardian angel leaned in to me and, with breath reeking of Maker’s Mark and Marlboros, whispered it to me. He said “Here it is. Check it. Dude, it’s all that you need to know.” And I understood, and felt at peace. And I know that I won’t remember what the word was until my heart monitor stops beeping and they disconnect me from my respirator, and my guardian angel returns, pulling the pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his jacket and offering me that smoke I’ve waited so long for, since I quit in order to prolong my life on earth. He’ll hook me up with a match, light his own cigarette, then smirk at me with that arrogant, knowing grin of his. The dick. “You remember what I told you?” he will ask. “Almost,” I’ll answer. “God knows I’ve been trying.”
It’s the word that we’re missing from all of our common vocabularies, regardless of language. It is all parts of speech, but it is not a vulgarity; far from it. It is the word that connects one idea to the next, that links one narrative to another, that clears up all misunderstandings. The Christian, the Jew, the Muslim, and the atheist could find all that separates them made insignificant by its utterance. “Oh, that’s what you meant,” they’d say in unison, then have a hearty laugh over the misunderstanding. It all seems so obvious, once the word’s been spoken.
The word names the bond shared by all who live. It soothes us when we worry, it alleviates our fears. It is the name of the universe, and the name of the universe’s creator. It is the knowledge that brings us closer to the Supreme Person, it expresses the best possible tidings to those who have faith and do good works; in the beginning, it was there with God, and it was God.
My guardian angel will lean in closer to me, excited. “Do you give up?” he’ll ask. “Just give up. None who lives ever remembers the word, even though they all want to.” And then he’ll tell me, and I’ll shake my head and groan at my ignorance. It was there all the time. How could I have missed it? It will all seem so obvious, when I’m dead.
In the meantime, though, I’ll get by the best I can, with my ignorant, half-formed ideas formed by my insufficient vocabulary. Most of the time it doesn’t even bother me. Hardly at all. I stand in the kitchen, stirring the pasta and watching the clock. The house fills with the scents of the dinner that will be ready soon. These are the moments, I know, when my wife loves me most. This is when I love her most, too—during these relaxing hours after we have escaped from the office but before we start preparing for the next day’s labors. And when we’re loving each other the most, the word love seems insufficient. So my wife comes into the kitchen and stands behind me while I stir. Her left arm goes around my waist, and she stands up on her toes to kiss my shoulder.
“I love you,” she says with a sigh that indicates frustration with the word’s inadequacy.
“I love you too,” I say, sympathetic to the shortcomings of our language but content in the knowledge that we understand each other regardless.
William Bradley’s work has appeared in The Missouri Review, The Normal School, Brevity, The Bellevue Literary Review, and other magazines. He teaches at Chowan University in Murfreesboro, NC, and he can often be found acting like a know-it-all on his blog, The Ethical Exhibitionist (http://ethicalexhibitionist.blogspot.com).
