Jerry Stochansky

... ON POWERLESSNESS

Seems to be one of those days, those days when you don't make any decisions, of even a small and
unimportant nature. Those days when ink blots on your desk fascinate you for endless seconds and the dog in you

barks up all the wrong trees.

Work is like a wall that you only see the corner edge of, you feel it blindly but it has no texture because it's one
of those days when your hands have been dipped in liquid wax.

Your eyes stare you in the face but you try to look away. You forgot again. You've been living a
somnambulist's dream, and you are that dream and it coats you like wax, a soft but impermeable barrier between
you and the sun. And your back hurts gently when you move.

and they said to me,
draw with your mind,
and I was waxed beyond
iti
Laine Hartwell

Dark Flowers

The landscaping isn't complete
I sat in your hands

frozen in your rivers

static in your eyes

count the trees
glaring in disappointment
marking the stones
where dark flowers lay

equipped with new monuments
white marble flesh

following the veins

piercing the naked hand

partially dissolved

lift up your arms

you disappetr

just like you appeared to me

Frank Gaudet

Fusion

Broken stones

And I'm walking upon them
Like hot coals

The inner ecstasy
Dissipates

Into the chilled air
Just one more chance
For intimacy

But the other believes
Stones can't be mended
Nothing is impossible

To the elements

The harder it will be

To fuse together

I keep my pieces intact
As best I can

Hoping

For the beach to become
Smooth again

Jerry Stochansky

and we aa men hebol thy hey

River

And I came without
a body towash

and you would not receive me
as you did, the others:

The ash somnambulist
is betraying a sleeping friend

Take my last incubation,
the limp earth beside

Sandra Lockwood

The Total Program For Marketing Yourself Visually

Planet of the Arts, vol.4, no.3

ReGeneration

Clouds pile up on the far shore
to heavy to climb
the steep mountainside,
The glass is falling
pushing my thoughts
di below sealevel.

The spirits of this land
fragmented memories
of a forgotten time,
Blow into doorways
to rattle against
a long lonely night.

Morning, still as a hollow gourd

. moves cautiously
around a broken bottle
and curled up bits of old news,
All the derelict leaves
to be swept aside
with yesterday's trash

Jeanie Sundland

You loved me

(it is true

I remember)

when I was

a winner

(you thought)
when I was

what you wanted.
(you thought)

you loved me

not

(when you thought
again)

when you saw

how much

you did not understand.
You are young
enough to not accept
tears as strength
and

I was too proud

to tell you.

(I know)

Perhaps

one day

I hope

and

Tpray

we will not

curse our ignorance

but

celebrate our innocence.

With love
to you.

John Wertschek

Jerry Stochansky

«++ ON POWERLESSNESS

‘Seems tobe one of those days, those days chen you don't make any decisions, of even a small and
unimportant nature. Those days when ink blots on your dak fascinate you for endless seconds and the dog in you

barks up all the wrong trees

Work is tke a wall that you only see the corner edge of, you fot it blindly but it has no texture Because it's ane

of those daye when your hands have been dipped in liquid oa

Your eyes stare you in the face but you try to look away. You forgot again. You've been living a
somnambulist’s dream, and you are that dream and it coats you like was a soft but impermeable barrier between

‘jou and the sun. And your back hurts gently when you move.
‘and they said tome,

‘drauo with your mind,
and Teas weed beyond

Fusion
Broken stonce
‘And Pm walking upon them

Tofuse together
Theep my pieces intact
‘As best I can

Hoping
Forthe beach to Become

‘Smooth again

erry Stochansky

River
‘And Toame without
‘abadytowash

and you would not receive me
(as you did, the others:

The ash somnambulist
inbetraying a sleeping fiend

‘Take my lat incubation,
‘the limp earth beside

‘Sandra Lockwood

Planet of the Arts, vol.4, no.3

You loved me
(itis true

T remember)

when was

(you though)

token Iwas

twhat you wanted

(ou though)

you loved me

(oken you thought
gain)

‘when you saw

how much

you did not understand.
You are young,

enough f0 not accept

‘celebrate our innocence

With tove
toyou.

John Wertschek