The Midnight Dawn: The ship begins to dock.
A woman stands, looking down, silently. Black waters swirl salty white foam; Icy waters move through flapping rudders; The sounds of shifting motors pound; This is a beckoning scene for one in feelings of immersing self-isolation; And, Lora stands at this very edge. Lora stands completely unaware of the true beauty that surrounds her at this very moment.
         The ship’s docking, at Dearing's port, in the Kotzebue Sound... Alaska's pre-dawn dark blue skies with it’s tawny orangey gray clouds; A  panoramic view of white snowy peak mountains surrounds the port. And yet, the only thing Lora has on her mind … is a small Inuit village that will soon make her isolation complete.

    Out onto the deck Jeff calls, "Lora!"

Lora turns towards her husband's voice; But then, turns her eyes back to the whirling water over the stern.
  
    "Sweetheart?" Jeff places his hand on Lora’s arm, "I called the shore; The transport will be waiting… as soon as we're finished docking."
Jeff's voice becomes serene.
“ Wow. Lora, I can’t believe it. It’s been eight years since I been home last."
Jeff places his hand on Lora's.
“ It’ll be good for us to be with family. We'll leave the ship before the sunrise and we’ll arrive in the village just in time to see the final day of Tribal Awareness Week. Lora, I wish we were here a couple of weeks ago. I think my mother would have been happier meeting you when she wasn't so busy...."
  
Lora turns…, "You know, Jeff; I do wish you would just shut the hell up!”
Lora pulls her hand away.
“ Please, just keep still until we get up there.”
Her teeth clench.
“ It's another four and a half-hours, to get to  where we need to go. And, quite frankly, I think it's going to be hard enough for me to what needs to be done; And, I’d much rather get through this without having to listen to your mouth all the way up there."

"Alright.", Jeff says in a somber voice.  He turns to walk back inside but then he sees a new flicker of hope.
"Lora, I see the biplane. It's pulling in..; See it? See it, down there, at slip four, on the pier?!” Jeff smile’s pointing to the small transporter; As he does he grabs Lora kissing her cheek. “ I'm go get the porter to help me with our bags and we'll meet you down at the clearing, All right?”
"Fine.” Lora,…with a strain in her throat.
"Fine, let's just get this over with..."

    Lora stands at the clearing;… She watches the ships crew set-up for a day of helping  passengers board and depart the ship.  Jeff arranged for the two of them to leave the ship two hours earlier than everyone else so they could meet up with their connection.
As Jeff and the porter comes down the ramp a man comes down the dock waiving.
“ Jeff!”

    Jeff calls out. "Lora, here comes Gabe!"
“ Gabe! Gabe!”
"Gabe?"
"Honey!? This is my cousin, Gabriel." Jeff says to Lora as they started down the pier to the biplane. “ He runs our local transport."
    Gabe turns towards Lora.
" Yeah, I run everyone from our village up and down the river; Sometimes, I think this little craft here thinks she's just another boat! She so seldom has a chance to be airborne.”
The luggage is placed on board, Jeff and Lora settle into their seats and Gabe starts moving up the sound; Then, after about fifteen moments the little plane begins to lift, up and out, off the water.
  
    Lora becomes startled, "I thought the plane wasn't going to leave… I thought we were not going to be airborne?! I thought we were riding up the river?"
  
"Yes, Lora." Gabe states with a giggle,
"Yes, the Koyukuk River! I'm sorry, I thought Jeff would have told you?! We'll be airborne for just over an hour then we’ll reach the Koyukuk River and then, from that point, we’ll be riding the river for another three hours till we reach the village."

"Oh."
Lora sits back… and begins to stare out at the enormity of the Alaskan skyline. For her, it seems to have no end; And yet, for Lora there seems to be, nothing, nothing at all but endings on her horizon.

    The procession begins...
The parade comes down the main road in the small Inuit village. The local people are all playing drums, jingles and bones and they’re all wearing traditional ceremonial attire.

    Lora starts looking around to find her husband but Jeff is gone. Lora thinks, angrily.
‘ This is so senseless!? Why did Jeff ******* up here? I can't believe this; Here I am at The Koyukon Festival to tell his mother we're divorcing!? His mother never wanted me in his life. He was just suppose to finish his studies and come back home. I'm sure she'll be relieved to see me gone from his life.’

    Jeff comes up behind her, smiling.
"Honey, Honey isn't this wonderful?! I remember my parents and I participating all together in these events when I was small.”
Jeff points down the road. “ Hey Hon, look!" He places his arm on Lora's waistline.

    Lora turns to him with a grimace," Remove that…!"
    Jeff moved his hand and Lora turns to see where Jeff is pointing.
Lora sees, her mother-in-law, PaKaSuk; PaKa begins down the road dressed in her traditional Inuit tribal clothing.
    She has on a headdress made from the skin and skull of a coyote, and there’s a pair of small antlers imbedded on it. And, she has on tall boots made of polar-bear fur that are adorned at the rims with dangling teeth from the hunts of the past.
PaKa sings long mournful notes as she plays a soft singular beat over and over again on a drum-snare of  sealskin and whalebone.
    Jeff waves to his mother; As she sees her son, she begins to call out,


” Come fellow me one and all…;

Come fellow me to the place of the great hall;

Come to hear a tale that must be told;

Come hear the words from the time of old.”

As PaKa reaches the doorway she gestures to Jeff and Lora.
"Please come, sit here near the fireplace."
    As everyone-else  finds seat’s; PaKa kneels down, she looks deep into Lora‘s eyes; She smiles and then hands Lora a small long rectangular box.
Speaking softly, "Lora, please, hold this… But, do not open it right now; Wait until I’m done with my story. I'll return and we will talk."
  
    Lora stares at PaKa thinking…
‘She is an odd woman. To give me a gift? Looking down at the small rectangular box. She makes a huff, ‘ It's probably a brand new pen to sign the divorce papers with. She's probably…; But wait!’
Lora remembers, ‘ Jeff hasn't told her anything about the divorce yet. ‘
Lora places the box on her lap.

    The show begins...
    PaKa hushes the assembly; Cues the drums to play.
    The drums start. It is a slow, low singular beat  beating over and over…; Over and over. beating  slow low beats; Over and over... Again.

    Jeff bends down; He whispers, "Lora, the crowd is so much larger then I ever remembered it being before."
    Just then, a woman comes and sits right next to Lora and the woman has a baby sleeping in her arms.
Lora closes her eye and thinks,…
‘ Oh God… Why couldn’t this woman find somewhere else to sit; Anyplace other than here?’

    "Welcome! I am PaKaSuk...I am the Coyote-woman for my people…, now! But my story is of a Coyote-woman of long ago. Her name,… GaTraRa; The Coyote-woman Who Lost Her Tears.
Come one and all close your eyes. We shall breath deep the air and hear the drums beat…; And, we shall go… into the past.

            GaTraRa became a coyote woman when she was young. Much younger than the old custom....The old Coyote-woman would chose a young girl to replace her and she would teach the girl all of the knowledge  needed to help her people; She would learn all the wisdom of the herbs that cure and when ready she would take place. GaTraRa was chosen… And with great pride and joy of all the tribe.
She had learned much in a small time working at the side of the old Coyote-woman. But, a great sickness came to the people; Nearly half the tribe were lost...
The old coyote woman was lost…  GaTraRa was now The Coyote woman; …without knowing all the wisdom  the old coyote woman needed to give…

    Lora, sits there listening to her mother-in-law; She starts feeling cold beads of sweat against her skin. She starts feeling a slow low ache in the pit of her stomach.
    Jeff looks at Lora, "Are you alright?"
    "Leave me alone!” She swats at him. "Just go away! I'm fine. Leave me to hear this..."

    PaKaSuk continues "By our old traditions the Coyote-woman is not to join with any man; It was said… She’s to care for all the people of the tribe; But…, for GaTraRa;  GaTraRa was highly favored in the eyes of the council, And, especially by the chief elder's son, NeKraRa.
NeKraRa, who wanted the tribes very young new Coyote-woman to be his spoke a plea to the elders; GaTraRa wanted to be his as well. But she knew a Coyote-women was not allowed to join.  GaTraRa was surprised and overjoyed when the elders told her that she and NeKraRa being allowed to be joined...She felt the spirits were pleased.  And, soon after their joining they were blessed...They had conceived a child.
  
    The drums begin sounding faint and far away to Lora. The scent from  the smoke seems to be making her feel hazy.

Lora feels a low dark ache in the pit of her belly; It begins to grow; Her head lowers and her breath begins to labor. The pain is so deep Lora's eyes feel full of heat and she holds-back a feeling to cry out...
  
    PaKaSuk continues…, "It was the time of the hunt!”
  
    Eyes tighten. The pain becomes overwhelming to Lora; From a deep place within … A howling cry cries out!
"AAAAIIIIEEEEE"


    GaTraRa pushes; A baby’s cry fills the room. Her beaming sweaty body falls back onto the bedding.
    "It is a boy! You have a son!” mother-in-law smiles while wiping off the tiny crying new born.
"My child, he is a, strong, healthy boy! And, look, look see how his face shines like dawning light. NeKraRa will be pleased when he returns."

    As her husband's mother places the new born into her waiting arms, GaTraRa thinks ‘ No woman could ever be this happy.’
She looks up and says, "This day is the day of my greatest joy,"
  
Several weeks come and go. It will soon be  time for the men to return

Several weeks come and go without the young men.
The sound of drums call out from the distance; The time  for the return has come at last.
Many come to the Great Hall to greet the men when they arrive. The young Coyote-woman lefts her baby and runs happily to show her husband, NeKraRa, his fine new son.
Looking out, beyond the path, the men could be seen; They look weary of their hunt; Not all who left seems to be coming… The elder  hunters  may be a day or two behind bringing the treasures of their travels ;All the trades made with the outsiders.  The younger men come with the new pelts to cure and with the fresh meat and fish for the smoke.  As the men come closer the young women gain sight of their man; They run to walk with them to the Great Hall. But, but GaTraRa could not find her man. Her husband, NeKraRa, was nowhere among the men.
“ NeKraRa; NeKraRa !“ The young Coyote-woman begins thinking…’ He may be with the elder hunters; But why?’ She calls out several more times “ NeKraRa!”
Grabing at the men as they pass she asks,
"Where is my husband?"
    None of the men would speak to her or even look up at GaTraRa They’d just keep pass by her and enter the tribal council. Leaving her standing there holding her small baby.

    NeKraRa's father comes out of the council hall; He walks to GaTraRa and places his hand upon her arm.
"My child, our NeKraRa met his death over the ice on the very first night of the hunt."
  
    She looks down into the face of her small child.
"That was the night his son was born..."
Softly, sadly she speaks to her sleeping child cradling him in her arms,
"You will hold your father's name, my sweet boy...and his spirit.“
She walks home.

    Her mother-in-law meets her at the door, crying.
In a deep mournful tone, "My child!"
    GaTraRa just stands there with a void look on her face. Then, she looks at her baby. She lifts him up and hands him to her mother-in-law,
"Here mother," in an increasingly laboring tone,
"Here, here is our NeKraRa."

    The next day, mother-in-law waits for the baby to wake. She waits, long…, but there is no cry. She goes to lift him up and to wake him but as she pulls the blanket back she sees the baby's body is still, motionless. The baby is cold, blue and silent,
She lifts him and lets out a long wailing cry, "No...!"
  
GaTraRa runs…, only to see her baby in her mother-in-law's arms; A face full of tears and crying out over and over again, "He's gone...He is gone!"
GaTraRa falls to the floor; She begins to rock, repeating
"No…! No…! No…!"
But yet, now, not a single tear falls from her eyes.
  
Weeks pass since the death of her baby. Her duties as coyote woman become harder for her. Whenever others seek out her help she becomes angry. She says, "The spirits curse me; I went against them with family and now I have nothing; They will allow me no peace!"
All she does is watch the doorways; it is as she is waiting for someone or something...

    The council watches GaTraRa closely. Mother-in-law brings her worries to the elders.
“GaTraRa‘s sadness grows. “
Mother-in-law tells them, “She must be watched. Our Coyote-woman has felt the brush of the Raven’s feathers; Her tears are stuck within… No tears fall.”
Mother-in-law pleas to them, “ Her sorrow grows, silently! I fear, if we do nothing, she will be taken from us as well.”

    The women of the council gather together; They decide to have the grieving ritual for GaTraRa. But, none them has ever done this ritual. This was something the Coyote-woman would do.

    Days pass, the men are preparing to leave for the last hunt of the season. And, the women begin to prepare the council hall. They gather up all the things they could remember from having watched the ritual done times before.
    The chief elder sees the woman; And he asks, “What are you women doing?”
Mother-in-law tells him of what she and the other women have plan.
Shaking his head, “For as far as back as my memory takes me I have never seen a Grieving-Ritual done during this season before; And, without the young men being around. Do you really know what you are doing?”
All the women said, “ We must!”

    The men are gone…

    The women take GaTraRa to the council hall. They place her near the fire. GaTraRa watches as women gather herbs and place them in bowls.
She speaks out, “You don’t know what you are doing!?” Then, her voice saddens.
” …or maybe you do.”

    The women do not listen; Without a word, they begin to place the bowls in all the places they have remembered seeing them before…Recalling, all the men would play drums all night, during the vigil, they each pick up a drum. They gather around the fire. They stand and surround  the fire with their drums; The woman slowly begin to play.
GaTraRa, motionless, looks to the women thinks to herself, ‘Why are they doing this…I did this…to myself. They should not care

When I got to the hospital, the nurses told me he was still recovering from surgery for some internal injuries and this and that, but I could go see him for a bit. So I went up to his room and realized that I didn't really know what he looked like, other than blood and bruises, but I could still tell it was him by the way the bandages were wrapped around his head. "Hey Chief," I said, "howya doin'?" This time I knew he was conscious but he didn't say anything. He just gave me this look like he was saying, "Who are you?" and "How do I get rid of you?" at the same time. So I replied, "I know your name is Mitchell, but I figured the only way you'd remember me is if I called you 'Chief,' like I did before." That got his attention and he threw me this sudden, glowering stare for what seemed like a real long time, like he was trying to make up his mind about something. I thought I had ****** him off with that "Chief" crack, but then he said real soft,  "My name's not Mitchell."

     That suprised me a bit, so all I could say was, "But that's who's room this is, according to the nurses."

     "Maybe so. But that's not my real name . . . It's just a name I made up."

     "What, you on the run or something?"
    
     "Something like that."

     "And you ain't a Marine?"

     "How'd you . . . ?" Another stare, and then, "Nope. Not now. I was though."

     "I don't get it."

     "Mitchell was a name I made up when I joined the Corps . . . "

     "So, why did you make up a name? . . . You got a record?"

     "Nothin' like that . . . My real name is Irniq . . . It's an old Inuit name. When I joined up, I thought I was puttin' those days behind me."

     "Inuit . . . What's that, a kind of Indian?"

     "It means, 'People' . . . but you prob'ly think of us as 'Eskimos.' We don't like that name, so we don't use it."

     He stopped looking in my direction and kinda tilted his head back and rolled his eyes back before closing them. Then he took a few real deep breaths, and said, "I grew up in a village that was mostly hunters and fishermen. It was fun, when I was little, kind of like goin' on an adventure all the time. But as I got older, I realized how dirt poor we were and how we seemed to catch less game every season. And then I learned that our tribe owned land that the oil companies wanted to drill, and that the oil money could end our need to hunt, and get us modern, comfortable lives, but the tribe kept clingin' to their old ways. My father said it was oil that wiped out the herring habitats, and caused the seal population to crash, and was keepin' the ice away. I didn't care and thought he was a fool fightin' a losin' battle. I thought I saw the future and that he was goin' down with the past. We had terrible fights and I believed that the man who had once been this mighty hero of mine had turned into a pathetic has-been, and I didn't want to get dragged down with him. I thought that by leavin', I could somehow be part of the future. I didn't have too many places to go, so I joined the Marines."

     "Then what are you doing here?"

     He dropped his head forward, opened his eyes, locked them right on to mine, and said, "I left the Corps a couple of months ago. When I joined up, my father told me he no longer had a son. I guess I didn't really hear those words until I went back home and he shut the door in my face. My mother came out and tried to welcome me home, and get me to stay, but I knew that my father had been right all along, and that it was me who was pathetic. So I got on a bus and went as far as I could until my money ran out, and here I am."

     "What do you mean, about your father being right?"

     He closed his eyes again, brought both hands up to the sides of his face, and said, "When I was in the Corps, I got sent to Iraq. I was pretty gung ** at first, and thought I was fightin' for freedom and the way of life that I wanted, but then it just seemed to get pointless. Day after day of cat-and-mouse with an enemy hidin' in plain sight and no real purpose other than bein' there and gettin' into firefights. Then one day I was on this mission clearin' some homes of insurgents. I was leadin' a squad goin' door-to-door and not havin' much trouble 'til we went to this one house and there's this woman screamin' and tryin' to get past us. A couple of my guys had to hold her down while the rest of my squad got her family to kneel down beside her. The woman kept on screamin' and we didn't have an interpreter, so I went up to her and tried to calm her down. I told her in as soothin' a voice I could that we weren't goin' to hurt anyone, we were just lookin' for bad guys, when I saw this blur out of the corner of my eye. The woman started screamin' louder, and I turned and yelled, 'Stop!!! Stop!!!' a couple of times, but it kept movin' fast and I just reacted . . . I didn't have any time to think . . . it just kept movin' . . . and I was yellin', 'Stop!!! Stop!!!' . . . but it wouldn't stop . . . it wouldn't stop . . . it just kept movin' . . . . . . and I reacted . . . I just reacted . . . . . . and then there was my muzzle flash and this red mist . . . . . . this red mist that just erupted . . . and kind of hung there . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and then the woman wasn't screamin' . . . and I wasn't yellin' . . . . . . . . . and there was just this little boy . . . . . . . . this little boy, lyin' on the ground . . . . . . with this mush where his face used to be . . . . . . . . . . . and it was quiet . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . so quiet . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . until I heard this sound like nothin' I ever heard before . . . this kind of moan . . . this deep, hollow, primeval moan that kind of rumbled at first . . . . . . . . and then it grew louder . . . and louder . . . and the pitch got higher and higher . . . . . . until it turned into this ferocious gut-wrenchin' shriek that filled my head and reached way down and ripped my insides out . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and every day I try to put that boy back together in my mind . . . . . . I try to see his face . . . but I can't . . . . . . . . . . . . I can't see his face . . . . . . and I can't get that sound out of my head . . . . . . . . . . . . every single day . . . . . . . . . . . . and all I can see is my muzzle flash . . . and that mist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . that godawful red mist."

In my mind, I raced against time
I smoked peyote with the Apache
I chased Kangaroos
Through the bush with the Aborigine
All the while
...I searched for the power within me

In my mind, I outpaced time
I drew cave art with the Neanderthal
I climbed to the top of the mountain with the Sherpa
I hunted seal out on the frozen tundra with the Inuit
All the while
...I searched for the power within me

In my mind, I eclipsed time
I wrote poetry while under the tutelage of Langston Hughes
And I created visual greatness while apprentice to Gordon Parks
I even stood on the wall with Che' Guevara, like a Sentry standing watch
All the while
...I continued searching for the power within me

In my mind, I turned to face time
I wrote an addendum to the Emancipation Proclamation
And I saw the ugly truths
Of freedom's farcical Declaration
All the while
...I continued searching for the power within me

In my mind, I embraced time
I sought to free my nation from the pandemic perils of *******
And I prayed that we Americans would be free of
The snares of racial and economic divide that still has us chained
I did this while searching for truth, in this, our most tenuous hour
...then empyreally, God reached for me, touching me, and I finally found my power

* Reprinted from 'Exegesis a Decade of Poetry by Mekael'
© July 14, 2009 by Mekael Shane

In the arctic wastes where the Inuit tribe hunts caribou and fights to survive,
I have been told since long ago that tribe has fifty words for “snow”
That seemed superfluous to me- Fifty words for one commodity!
If I was born an Eskimo, I’d have fifty words to learn and know

I do most of the shoveling here, my wife and children cheer me on.
The winter lingers long and drear, some days it seems the Sun is gone.
Despite the calendar I greatly fear that blessed spring is nowhere near
Tomorrow, the radio makes clear, we’re expecting six more inches here.

Some snow is like a sugary mist, granulated and sublime,
Quite useless for a snow ball fight, for that you need the packing kind.
The worst is the wet sodden snow, the kind that threatens a heart attack.
It’s difficult to lift and throw; it hurts the arms and strains the back.

I told my wife I now know why they need fifty words for snow.
I have a few choice words I’d add; words the children shouldn’t know.
Those Inuit folk who fight to survive in the land of snow and ice-
Now I too have fifty words for snow, not one of which is nice.

Where are those killing fields?
They are wherever we see
The Master Race ignoring
Peace, love and equality.

If you’re not white
And your state is red,
Don’t be surprised
If you end up dead.
As maybe some one
Will beat on your head
And demand to know
What goes on in your bed.

If you are any race
But Holy Caucasian
Like African or Inuit,
Mexican or Asian
That includes Islam
And all such nations
The bigots will hate
On every occasion.

Where are those killing fields?
They are wherever we see
The Master Race ignoring
Peace, love and equality.

In World War Two we
Fought against fascism
And now we entertain
An unholy American schism
In which Americans plan
With gleeful fanaticism
To make every effort
To maintain totalitarianism.
For over two centuries
We have sung of equality
And the inalienable rights
Of American humanity.
We continue to fight now
But it has become a calamity
Because now we are fighting
Within each of our families.

Where are those killing fields?
They are wherever we see
The Master Race ignoring
Peace, love and equality.

I would like to feel again
Burst abruptly from this cocoon of numbness I find myself in
Ice Queen.
Eskimo ***** is mighty cold or so I've been told
Lucky me no Inuit runs through these punch drunk crazy veins
The taste of blood, copper and meaty, is sharp on bitten lips
The facade of laughter, worry
The years that stand between us
Are held up for scrutiny
You are always lacking
I am always wanting
It is our way
Now I find us at a crossroads
Another path blossoms thick and heavy with unkempt erotica
Dripping silky sweet between the sheets
It is one I will walk alone, living sin
Our path is ripe and full
Surprises swinging around every corner
My every desire obtained
Going to sleep lonely but repeat
Such is the choice of a woman
Or is it?

[the skeleton bus]       Ossabus injured. and |||||||||||||||| About | |||||||||
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like Greece, Spain, and Italy, in December 1894,
from 1894 it started Gabonese Muscat Mbeşsee photographs of processing. "... and there was evening and there was morning."
Extreme months after pain ranges from 12x10 (1000),
dropped to 50% 1929 2922 50 19
17.9179879 CO2 and the United States (525 DXXV-) - Roman -
Rome, for example, our bones are not in force of summer -
always - twice a robbery in harmful areas of love,
and media understanding, and even the ability to do Dumuzid's [relationship] with mourning pictures
in addition to pastors, Pastor Manuel
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| | | | | | | | | | | | | |||| ||| | |||| || ||||| | ||| ... ......... .. ... ... ... ..... .. "" No, "|| || | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
      | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | 5 On Home 3:09 and the effects
on the gadolinium price of the Spanish Ghali December 1894,
hospitals started from Spain, Italy Muscat Mbeşsee 1894 among other works. Hong Kong's six problem. The American power distribution power
at the time of Charlemagne first entered September 12,
"If you have a lot of fish and beach rentals."
and evening and morning ... it convenient and easy.
"The main judge of some of the animals is more than just after one month
in the basket, hit over the head, the man said 12x10 (1000),
and CO2, and Esau falls to 19% 50 2922 1929 without fear
of [50] 9179879 Atlas 17 fun Conservation of Canada's material (525 - DXXV) forms Spanish culture and modern culture of the best-player-in-fight against it-Romans, for example, the purpose, the mouth, and the See. Secondly gun, war and violence - but time, areas of safety.
In order to assure a couple of times, it is really a love, wisdom, knowledge, but it is faith in the midst of the prices are not compatible with muscles around, in any case, an appeal to the group of experts in the city,
which happens when husbands are not to maintain the same value of faith
in their sport. It's easy to use, buying water. Life is much advice.
An extension for centuries to find more security in the cities, in the German industry, if schools are wise from Tibet.) the ancient Greek, Sumerian, Dumuzid Geshtinanna god, and a poet friend in on the world as long
as the king of the Sumerian kings at the same time charges the whole family for injuries to the people before the Flood, many times when he did not break the Dumuzid dictation, and was a very busy man in the city. Cicero
has the right to have a student stand in Manuel Manuel for it from me,
it seems that the Sumerian Enkimdu Dumuzid leads to the movie
at the wedding. To help people focus on the road, road by way of which
it is able to be present; but, in some cases, it will be the most appetite
for the existence of love is such as so far as circumstances ask you.
French select numbers. Fish participants from competing competitions
and on the other hand, one of them, early, early in the morning.
"You have a lot of threatening threats to fix this state, it is important to focus on the stairs and in the future, rock". In the Asia-Pacific, North America and the main part of the Isthmus Panama is in the United States, and the United States
of Eli Simple's American Gladstone Society.                Society celebrates remembering to meet mountain robot land, Bob the jinn modern Mary is sitting newly seated in the south of England southwest church stick unknown unknown knowledge of the movie bobbysocks sister computer angel leaves starts a club for a watch prophet eating center - advancement deliberately penetrating their going to Star Park Bride Asian added
the perfect cut revolution Including son dreams dream Christian Bettie,
the machine so world builds a stripper tongue world for our natural bright bushel handle catches the temple, Latin gun paradise understands police full eye evil The image of a black-and-white photograph of the Wall of Idira's and gathered together as far as the seashore enjoined Einstein's marriage
to act as a fool, a joint mother-in-law, however, was *****, to say the vigilance of the faithful, songs of the Muses, Ivan fired city and bells gains hidden things of darkness, he loves building tops and we win the ladies' hot-up coach Glossary OC; Glossary Barrage Glory is an empty morning morning awareness of the abstract, stupid lifestyle starts banning
and opening the country's house He has white hairs, & kisses the persecuted film Inuit girls yech; the *** flammable, Purchase of sacrum until the brick melts, with a flawless leg, the shaft of the gun pierces Marcus feeling
the peace of girls in front of the world's return having been taken, to drink
in the holy place, the lower part of the clouds of the body, the widespread and chubby in the Latin movement, go, then, the opinions of guests,
your corporations, the cold is simply in bars, see the love of the sweaty
to die enough for the socks to the opposite of the assailants at both of they are on the outside of the pen of a writer.
Hey, Wolff and women,      the gods by way of example I will always come
up to meet the primary change in meaning of new claims to senior medical
in naked eyes seen,                           Yeah, parts
of the left and right side of the ******* picture.

He sat there, same table, most Sundays
If he came alone, he did not stay that way long
His corner table would fill, with nodders and smilers
People with pint glass recognition of all he'd done
His special tankard 'World's Strongest Man'; no year, for that would be cruel
I watched him as I grew, from colouring book infant to
The girl who stood a round for her father
Each year he shrunk a little, those
muscles softening to fat
And still they came and asked him to bend their metal pipes
And carry a man on each shoulder
One handed him a rope for his teeth, and
Asked if he would  tow away his junker, they
Laughed and bought him another round, mate, another pint
For the World's Strongest Man
He told me once, when I was 10 and curious,
The stories of his ink marks, the places
He had been and all the strange and wonderful things
He had lifted and bent and pulled and
Training with the Sumo, ice hole bathing with Inuit,
wrestling hobbled Russian bears, the lion that left 'see, this mark here'
A yawn when he'd placed his big, shaggy head
In the beast's mouth because
He too was a king
I asked him once, when I had grew
If he should have been
More like bamboo
Thin and reedy, bending in the wind
No substance to speak off, yet
With a strength belieing it's slender form
He told me, as the acolytes trudged past
In heavy boots and rough winter coats
'All I ever wanted was for someone else to take the weight, even for a moment, but now it's too late'
I smiled sadly, because I understood
Tested strength and how it withstood
And yet I felt his heart-deep sorrow
At looking back, not to tomorrow
I did not buy him another pint, I walked with him instead
Through the door he'd left a thousand times
To his taxi, usual driver, 'home, mate?'
Lean on me for now, I said. I'm stronger than I look.

using the ink of experience means
leaning on what is known
building on what has been done before-
but what of those things
that move in the realms of the unknown?

The Inuit’s tongue speaks
A hundred words for snow
as in the midst of it
they live and grow

if that is true
for the words we speak
wouldn’t it also flow
that for the passions we most feel
our inner vocabulary is more?

for sure I’ve known
loss and pain
with morbidity had
a mild flirtation
sadness has been a bedfellow
I’ve played with jealousy
and envied greed
with vanity I often meet
I’ve been intimate with fear
fought with guilt
and broken up with anger

with love I’m best friends
happiness smiles at me
in solitude i am at my best
with mirth and joy
i search for peace
abundance and acceptance
are welcome guests
and enthusiasm brings me
the gift of zest

and so on and so forth
i’ve known them all
for better or for worse
but what of those
i know not yet
far away on some distant shore

i do not even know their names
so clueless as to their identity
can’t put a face to any of them
unaware of their personalities
strangers they are
and so will they be
until someday they find me

the only question that is left to be answered -

will I know them when we meet?

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
01.01.2013
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

The following:

Three judges play a game, for example, our film affair is exposed to unclean rules. Following the end of the United Nations, the United States Embassy of Black Lines has to pay two hundred dollars. Unknown is the work of a young person on small and unusual vehicles. But Christians are Christians for their sake, the glory of the water, and the temple. It's burned on Vatican road. 2. You have given great grace. The difference is the reason. Ice cream darkened 6 kg; During the night, third and a third spread throughout the night in a wheelchair, sometimes 38 stars, stars, and many more mysteries of George. In the largest city of Latin American women, Brian and INUIT [The Inuit are a group of culturally similar indigenous peoples inhabiting the Arctic regions of Greenland, Canada and Alaska. Inuit is a plural noun; the singular is Inuk. The Inuit languages are part of the Eskimo-Aleut family. Inuit Sign Language is a critically endangered language isolate used in Nunavut] women |wield power over Roman women, and red women and women, women and women, and 1: the cooling room of the dark, red, red night and night, and 1 women in the fire. And with all, the Birth of Man and the grace of Maria and the perfect creation in Norway, Norway. Corne, a romantic girl who is a woman morning and day. Her mother is is Latin America and is absent. Three judges play in the king's house to the glory of their parents, church and all churches; the children of light and Tupac's glory cannot be music but three judges will hold a ball, and the king, for example, a parent, for example, for the color of coloring videos for example the law.
At the end of the United Nations Blackline Summit, it will amount to $200 dollars. Pope's work? Although the children of the Jews need to be respected, young and ignorant Christian Christians pied pie for water or sanctuary. It's burned on Vatican Road. Alva 2. Paint a great grace. This difference is an exemplary example. 6 kg snake venom; Thirty-three pounds were distributed on the street on the street at night, sometimes having 38 stars, stars, and more from George.
This is the capital of Latin America, Brian, EE. Yu, awesome and Roman from the holy places, and in June the oil of women and the blue women and 1: red and white chronoscreen windows burn at night. All the blessings of Maria and her son and the two girls promised in the dawn and day, and the scarlet threaded woman and her mother are being killed in Latin America, to be killed; Betrishi's bridges and walls, three judges and kings of the game will catch for example the group that will return for example, for legal purposes. The church's church, as well as the praise of all people, the children of light and Tuscany's splendor cannot be music.
FOLLOWING: The three judges will play soccer, and the king for example, and the parents for example, the group black for example, due to the mixture of the laws.
The UN mission to the black line will cost $100 billion at the end of the work. What is unknown is the Pope's military service. Judah's baby needs **** derived medicines, young and unknown. However, Christian Christian saves his honor for the apple pie, water or sanctuary. The temperature in the Vatican Valley. Alvah 2. Paints great grace. The difference is a model's model. Pump 6kg of black dog ice cream; Sweets more than thirty, or thirty three models scattered in the street lights at night, sometimes 38 black stars, bright stars, and a lot of George's Privacy. It is the largest city in Latin America, Brian, EE. UU., Tropical and Roman volcanic temples and June fats for women and blue women, and 1: the Cronus window black and white with red eyes night and day, 1 is on fire. Women and men and all the grace of Mary and her Son of Nature, Norway as a whole, Norway seems to be enough. Kronen is a promising black girl, early in the morning and in the afternoon, and the tail of a white eye is a woman and her mother is a city within Latin America, a massacre; bitiriši with bridges and walls, is consistent. The three judges will play soccer and the king, for example,
will play the parents, and for example the group comes back for example, due to the mixture of the laws. The Church of the Church, as well as the praise of all people, the children of the light and the glory of Tuscany can no longer be music.The following: Three judges play a game, for example, our film affair is exposed to unclean rules. Following the end of the United Nations, the United States Embassy of Black Lines has to pay two hundred dollars. Unknown is the work of a young person on small and unusual vehicles. But Christians are Christians for their sake, the glory of the water or the temple. It's burned on the Vatican road. 2. You have given great grace. The difference is the reason. Ice cream darkened 6 kg; During the night, third and thirds spread throughout the night in a wheelchair, sometimes 38 stars, stars, and many more mysteries of George.
The largest city on Latin American women, Brian, INUU, women with power and Roman women, and red women and women, women and women, and 1: the cooling room of the dark, red and red night and night, and 1 women in the fire. And with all, the Birth of Man and the grace of Maria and the perfect creation in Norway, Norway. Cornea romantic girl who is a woman morning and day. Her mother is in Latin and is absent. Three judges play with the king's house that the glory of their parents, church and all churches, the children of light and Tupac's glory can not be music.
back:

Three judges will hold a ball, and the king, for example, a parent, for example, for the color of coloring videos, for example, the law.

At the end of the United Nations Blackline Summit, it will amount to $ 200 dollars. Pope's work? Although the children of the Jews need to be respected, young and ignorant, Christian Christians and pie pie, water or sanctuary. It's burned on the Vatican road. Alva 2. Paint a great grace. This difference is an exemplary example. 6 kg snake snake; Thirty-three pounds were distributed on the street on the street at night, sometimes having 38 stars, stars, and more from George. This is the capital of Latin America, Brian, EE. Yu, awesome and Roman from the holy places, and June with the oil of women and blue women, and 1: red and white chronoscreen windows burn at night. All the blessings of Maria and her son are the two girls promised in the dawn and day, and the scarlet thread woman and her mother are being killed in Latin America, to be killed; Betrishi and bridges and walls, three judges and kings of the game will catch, for example, the group will return, for example, for legal purposes. The church church, as well as the praise of all people, the children of light and the Tuscany splendor cannot be music.

Following:

For example, three judges played a game, and our relationship with the film were related to false laws. After the United Nations, a blackline of US Embassy must pay $200. Unknown youngster's work on small and unusual vehicles. However, Christians are Christians, water or temples within temples. It will burn in the Vatican Street. 2. You have been given great grace. The difference is too long. Ice Cream 6 Kg: During the third and third night of the night he gets out of his peak, sometimes 38 stars, stars, and Georgian women, products, INUITs, power ladies and Roman women, red women, women, and women, And women's mysteries. Dark, red, red and red refrigerator and women's largest city on fire. All, the nature of humanity and the nature of the marine and all of Norway. Kierkegaard is the love of a girl morning and day. Her mother is a Latina and is not present. Three judges will play with their families, their parents, their churches, and all churches, and all the churches are different in light, simple children, and guru's guitar, but three judges, such as kings, such are colorful colors.
The United Nations Spy Blackline will cost $200. Pope's work? Although Jehovah's children should be respected as children and an injustice, Christian Christian's Baptism by water and shelter. It will burn in the Vatican Street. Elva 2. Draw a great gift. This is a great example. 6 The calf, the serpent, the road, the 30 thirty pounds, sometimes in Warsaw, 38 stars, stars, and the worst. The Latin American capital, Buenos Aires, one of ugly Roman sacred places and in 1 hour of the jungle, sunshine and blue oil, and red and white historical age. In the morning and day, Mary and her children and her two daughters were hopeful. In Latin America and the United States, they were killed, to **** the woman and her mother. Refugees, bridges and walls, three judges and kings of the game for instance, maintain a legal way like a return. The Church of the Church, and the splendor of all the people, children and players, is not good.|||

No more the picturebook Eskimo,
the modern Inuit have central heating,
snowmobiles, welfare; they do not need
to fashion harpoons from bone, wait all day
for seal to come to ice hole, drag the body
to a home they have built from snow.

Once they lived with cold
and the creatures of the cold,
fish, seal, and white bear, familiar
if not friends, the snow itself
almost alive in its moods and movements,
falling as flakes, powder, clumps,
floating, flying, dazzling, stinging,
covering, drifting, compacting to ice.
Snow informed their lives;
one word was not enough.

Our life from infancy to grave
is shaped by love, comforting, calming,
thrilling, unsettling, dazzling, stinging,
covering, drifting, compacting to ....

Seventeen words for snow,
How many ways to say I love you?

Choked up wonderment
still tastes like regurgitation
but numbness comes with it

It is fear
encompassing unfinished things
lump in throat
blood dropping degrees
in temperature
Chronicling this cool
deliberate **** of senses
incessant soul questioning

Worth
feasible future
nevertheless struggle
after eternal struggle

Eyeballing transports of delight
amongst wrestled trauma
morality’s cusp of change
Sacrifice or sacrifices
self-destruction
abandonment to death

Senicide
walk into icy tundra
Inuit elder casting himself away
to frozen abyss
and crystalline corpse
for good of tribe

One less to feed
left on floating iceberg
Dark day’s sunrise

Everyone was saying it'd hit 40°C tomorrow, a truer marker of summer’s arrival than a pinch and a punch on the 1st December. But I was leaving today. Bags packed, ready. A last smoke on the balcony before the taxi would pull up below. Right now on Scott Base somebody was probably typing my name into all the necessary [NAME HERE] gaps in the arrivals documentation, but by the time I’d be in a position to sign along the final dotted line it'd be too late to back out. Flights out of NZ’s base in Antarctica leave every second Tuesday morning and book up more than a month in advance. There are no flights at all from February through to August.

I had nowhere else to go anyway, the spare key to her apartment kicked under her door three weeks ago.  


---
Within just a handful of days of each other, we’d somehow both of us slept with other people. "Slept with." What a frigid way to put it. Of course I do mean ****** – the sleeping part simply an awkward optional accompaniment to the consequentials. So, we’d both of us ****** other people, and although nothing was said the weight of the truth buzzed between us, unsettling and persistent.  

I’m unsure which of us had gone first. I imagine it was ladies before gentlemen.


---
It was six years ago that I‘d followed her over to Australia, six years ago that she'd looked up over some textbook and said with a smirk that she'd never dreamed she’d let a man with such "offensive paws" anywhere near her, let alone fall for him.

It's true that within a few weeks of starting my apprenticeship my hands were stained black, with slow-healing sores opening up between the fingers, and the crusts of tired eczema aggravated by the incessant and optimistically futile scrub of soap. I was known for leaving behind dark smudges around light switches. But she hadn't seemed to mind my leaving soft fingerprints on her.

“D’you think there’s any language that's got sufficient words for all the different kinds of love? Like the Inuit and all their words for snow?”

I took a tray of ice cubes from the freezer, held her wrists behind her back with my right hand, and tipped the frozen cubes down the front of her warm and crumpled shirt.


---
And then? And then.

I won't detail the cruel and gradual tilt apart, increasing degree by degree up over the years, sliding us into roles and positions neither could recognise ourselves in. Mutually check-mated. What better way to tip the chessboard than start playing with somebody else.


---
The day she left her computer on and Gmail logged in the first grass fires of the season were reported in the north of Victoria, and the Bureau of Meteorology was predicting yet another “hottest summer on record.” I could only read the top three messages from him and her responses before logging off.

I hadn't even thought to ask for any somebody else's email address.

I grabbed my own laptop and opened a new browser. Google: jobs antarctica.


---
My best mate and I had dropped out of high school together to be taken on as plumbing apprentices: petrol and beer money in exchange for bubonic hands. At some point during those early days of drain and dame laying I came across a profile piece in the NZ Plumber about a guy who'd done a 12 month stint at Scott Base. Back then I’d doubted that I'd ever become the kind of man who could survive the snow and ice and dawnless darkness of a polar night.

down the stairs, where the creak-feet of descent
will silence a cricket in the room; there with couch
and the bookstand, oak and glass....
sedate features; the odd bust of an Inuit matriarch-
staring at your blouse like it were forged
in blasphemies and trade winds.
down there, where we keep the cat riveted to the headlights
of our armored car.

in the seam

the coffee table is strewn, right down the middle
with old magazines and straw placemats.
a stain that never fades,
stands in the garden of cigarette butts and dog-eared -
post-it notes
to a glass scarecrow.
a mound of bric-a-brac
and fingerprints.

it's sticky
where two people
made the love
that made the mess...

but it's hollow where they never met.
and you can see the carpet through the permafrost.
our lens
immune to domain.
free to see the whimsy
in a spot of bother
about a broken
heart.

down where the television skin is the thickest. our ironic muse.
just a spritz of cultured sabotage,
and the good sense to go mad
without disturbing the peace....
the same peace that almost -
cost us the war.

at the very least.

abortion/aborticide/infanticide = right to choose, pro-choice
American Indian = native American
***** = African-American
Eskimo = Inuit
chairman = chair/chairperson
court house = judicial center
Department of War = Department of Defense
war = peace keeping
enemy soldier = terrorist
bomb = I.E.D.
unemployed = jobless
unemployment = joblessness
employee = associate/team member
foreman = foreperson
Internal Revenue Dept. = I.R.S./Internal Revenue Service
school = learning center
hospital = medical center/health center or just health
medical care = healthcare
house broken or house trained = ***** trained
~ (I've yet to see a dog use  a ***** chair.)
personnel department = human resources
nurse = R.N. & L.P.N.
medic/paramedic = E.M.T.
orderly  = C.N.A.
van = S.U.V.
D.W.I. = D.U.I.
fireman = fire fighter/ firefighter
policeman = police officer,  law-enforcement officer
police station = law-enforcement center
ordered = asked  (police NEWSPEAK)
floor = ground (police NEWSPEAK)
interrogation = interview
suspect = person of interest
retardate = exceptional, mentally-challenged
crippled = disabled, physically challenged
hard-of-hearing/deaf = hearing impaired
***** = chemically-dependent
tradesman = trades worker/tradesworker
soldier = military member/servicemember (compound word)
******* = transgender
shoes, boots = footwear
eyeglasses/sunglasses = eye wear/eyewear
checks = cash
barber/beautician = stylist
businessman = businessperson
illegal (regarding wetbacks) = undocumented
conqueror = peacekeeper
torture = enhanced interrogation/pain compliance
crime = wrongdoing (compound word)
criminal = wrongdoer
bill collection = recovery management
lie = miscommunication
propaganda/jingoism = P.R./public relations
propaganda minister = public relations officer
meeting = meet-up
ministers = faith leaders
V.D./venereal disease = S.T.D./sexually-transmitted disease
steward/stewardess = flight attendant
welfare/relief = public assistance
food stamps = E.B.T.
waiter/waitress = server
workmen's compensation = workers' compensation
service revolver = duty weapon

CLOUDWATCHER
( for David Olaf Carney )

A cloud
gets the ****.

Becomes a camel.

Another **** sees it
transform into a dromedary.

Now a kidney!

Then as on a whim
becomes a Picasso

or some such
thing.

Sometime there's
shape and sense.

Sometimes none.

We make up names
for the one's with none.

Here for instance
stolen

from an old religious tract
THE CLOUD OF UNKNOWING.

And here, from the same
"...the cloud of forgetting."

This one
we dub in Ancient Egyptian

"HPRR!"

"rising from....coming into being
itself.:

And this one" "HPR!"
"...to become...to change."

And while our minds run on
the Egyptian thing

why here is Nepthys
Goddess of the Death

that is not
Eternal.

Here Horus
Lord of things to come.

This here cloud
we give the moniker

THE AGENBITE OF INWIT

before it becomes
an Inuit.

Now an anvil and a hammer
in a Black Country summer

"Gie-in’ sum ‘ommer!"

we command it
commanding the skies.

Now here again
a nothing.

Clouds bring forth
not the gentle rain

that falleth from Heaven
but...thought

whatever the mind
imagine.

And here
why here

is a cloud
that is just

a cloud.

Shiv Pratap Pal  writes me:

“Every elder must be respected even if he is elder by a single day. This is tradition. Please let me follow the same. A poet never gets tired and poetry never dies.”

<>

Oh! this leaves me gasping for so many reasons needing enumeration.

The world reminds me daily by email and text, television commercial,
I am a privileged one, by age and right, among the most vulnerable,
so stay, baby, stay, inside your apartment and your mind where the
only virus that can come, is the one you’ve planted and tended all your whole life long.

Oft have I writ about being closer to the end, and this, untroubling,
a relief of sorts in what I fear is a new Dark Age that will arrive,
that will make writing poetry, sadly, an unlikely survival skill,
so I rite furious and furiously to give the best, the rest, of me, away.

Few are the societies that do not venerate to some degree, the elderly,
as if living long bestowed wisdom, in addition to an irritable crankiness,
(why the Inuit Indians put their elderly on an ice floe to die)
neither, both, of the “ain’t necessarily so” conditionals as wisdom deevolves and crankiness is a perpetual, a perpetual annoyance.

Do I deserve respect?

This haunts, for by right, we all believe it is
a conditional that must be earned, and not acquired by a general,
genetic lottery. R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
I do not, and a man who announces,
“I am deserving of same”
by saying this, clearly is and was not, or ever will be.

A single day!

What an amazement!

This relativity theorem, this luck of the draw, can’t argue with it, because it is tradition, somethingthat I’m well acquainted, because when I suffered on Saturdays, as an Orthodox Jewish  Child, who wanted to worship with the brothers at the Riverside Drive basketball courts, was dragged to a synagogue where he joked, they could of just inserted the video tape of the prior week, prior year, thousands of prior centuries, a previous millennium, who’d notice?


Who deserves respect?

The teacher, the one who gives it instant unflinchingly,
he who accepts a task from a stranger to translate
his words to a language he knows not even the alphabet,
indeed, a tribute to another, and executes it so well, but best! best!
no questions asked.

Who deserves respect?

One who respects tradition,
giving respect unquenchingly,
for the things that we cannot see,
only observe, come only in a size of limitless,
come unasked, freely given, even happily, and this is
why, for all of the reasons herein listed above, I give all respect to
a fellow poet, and pledge to arm embrace before tradition’s always untimely messenger says to me अब और नहीं!  (no more!)


                                       Shiv Pratap Pal