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welcome to the fifth organic edition of dew-on-line 2002

succumb to a journey of self-exploration & poetic pleasure 148 pages and 38 artworks

no boundaries here as we walk

hand in hand

ai li

of 133dol five

6/10/2010http://www.into.demon.co.uk/dew/number_5_book.htm

original artwork copyright ai li 2002

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d e w - o n - l i n e ______________________________________________

five

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created, designed & edited ______________________________________________

by ai li

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for sky now blue ______________________________________________

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out of still

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original artwork copyright Larry Kimmel 2002

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the barefoot child finding a caterpillar with no shoes on

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ai li @ belsize park

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There is something in me which cannot stand A long poem, the way the oak apples Fall on seeding nettles, the fact That Basho went further than the rest & he travelled on foot the wind Scatters itself over the ragged stones Of Northumberland, I am Alone, it is Enough

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Graham Brown @ Bermondsey

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i will come softly in the night like a moth to your window

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Larry Kimmel @ Colrain, Massachusetts

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Rebecca Lilly @ Port Republic, Virginia

page eleven

Archive drafts... cobwebs hang from a shelf with out-of-print monographs

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WEST KENNET LONG BARROW swallow me, goddess your wound is a door

milk everywhere and the ghosts of cats

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page thirteen

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original haiga copyright Larry Kimmel 2002

page fourteen

quiet after solstice winds mountain snow

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Peter Macrow @ Sandy Bay, Tasmania

page fifteen

pleading for death in his chest the steering column

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page sixteen

moonlight on the old bridge giving every nail shadow

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Tim W. Younce @ Luray, Virginia

page nineteen

on this frozen lake ghost of your voice in cold rooms echo

lLove embroidered

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Tatjana Debeljacki @ Nemanjina, Serbia

page twenty

on the silk scarf.

lsunday school class-- coveting my neighbor's faith

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Carlos Colon @ Shreveport, Louisiana

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page twenty two


page twenty three

lEnlightenment

It comes into focus, the face of the man in the moon. Not just a disease of pock

and shadow, but the full faced caricature, the same as seen by you, unknown illustrator

of my mother Goose, fellow artist once maligned - now vindicated.

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page twenty four

Twilight fades to slate-blue... a dusting of snowflakes on the lake-mirrored moon

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shirley cahayom @ brooklyn

page twenty five

now that you are gone the realization dawns you are no longer the brother nor the friend you are the man i love

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page twenty six

empty evening fish & chips on a newspaper with headlines of yet another war

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page twenty seven

Squares of unsold plots... slabs without flowers scattered here and there in fog

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page twenty eight

TALKING ABOUT LIFE AND POETRY AND THE 1953 FLOODS

Out on that spit of land were houses overwhelmed by the sea

And we decades later

shaken in this thin space

are awash with each other's words

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Hilary Mellon @ Norwich

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page thirty one

almost up to the sill today - the snail

LEAF POEM

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(for Julie) The green Miracle, feeding

The bark with light From the darling buds

The sap descending To the veins of root

Through you we give The name of rowan

Maple, we give & we are given

O sacred Photosynthesis

O incredible Leaf, the wings

Of the seed Returning simply

By the turning Of the ordinary world

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page thirty three

Gates locked, old snowfall covers the headstones... the shadow of a shovel

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page thirty four

Wren for all Seasons

A thimble borne on autumn leaves

A snuff box filled with summer seeds

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Richard Bonfield @ Leicester

page thirty five

Tom Thumb perched on springtime's palm

A haiku for a winter psalm

a matchstick spent on formica the smell of evening

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page thirty six

weary of silhouettes I want something plump in the hand

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page thirty seven


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IN THE SKIN HOUSE There is the skin house & there is a reason for all this goo, sweaty bits, either too big or too small

It means we can walk breath, sitting ourselves into a balance, the feeling of the earth, any sentimental search

For the cliché of being human, all that is forgotten when joy goes into happiness, when the body is breathing

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page thirty nine

James Morris @ Barnsley

page forty

wasp like time-lapse photography it was in the air

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page forty one

if another chance should be given to me i will catch the time and clasp it tightly on my palm so that i can sing with you again and laugh with you and dream with you over and over again

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page forty two

broken dryer three sheets to the wind

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page forty three

Maya rainbow in the clouds lighting our path caged bird no more singing in a different key

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Felicity Brookesmith @ Broadstairs

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page forty six

glorious golden purple red sky so many flowers for the void

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page forty seven

screams across oceans now in aquamarine skies swifts

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James Morris @ Barnsley

page forty eight

caught by a leg (in a discarded web) d-r-a-g o n f l y

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page forty nine

Daisy Wheel

Suffer the daisies. Come into their innocence and forbid them not.

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Susan Taylor and Simon Williams @ Scoriton

page fifty

They are the day's eyes even now ringing a smile - I turn to garlands.

Rolling away in the slipstream of a white van - the lei of my love.

What god of the road punches a wrist full or air through this daisy chain?

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page fifty one

The rain makes tiny circles in the water, a mass of wild garlic, cuckoo flowers, seeming so hardy so shy & delicate, protected by ash

A robin flits among hazels, the rain thickens, creating bigger circles, water becoming water, the circles merge, become each other

This spring we could drink from, also the soul of this place, a thicket of willow, blackthorn separates from the field, years later, miles away

laying the scarecrow across the bonfire not without qualms

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page fifty four

Bed lamp turned low... the moon's flicker through leaves shadows the attic window

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PLATE 44, MIYAMOTO MUSAHI Reading a book about the influence of Zen on Japanese culture no poem

Looking at a picture by Niten, early- 17th century, a shrike on a dead branch no poem

How wonderful it is when the poem writes itself! it takes over, it surrenders completely, it bows to the void victorious, it is the caterpillar crawling up the branch, the colours of the black-&-white painting start to sing

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the storm rages - hand shielding the flame breasts clothed in candlelight she finds me

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page fifty seven

nebulous shapes borne of the breath of silvery metaphors prodigal liars leap into faith clouds and dancers

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Cynthia Marie @ New York The Gembun was created by ai li on the 12 June 1997, inspired by Larry Kimmel's

TIBUN. For the Gembun guidelines , please click here.

page fifty eight

packing away her cotton dresses in my autumn

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page fifty nine


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page sixty


page sixty one

OUR LAST WALK In memory of Cody, who left the earth June 15, 2002

Our last walk

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past the willow has come to an end.

Slow brushing his golden fur before we drive him to the vet.

His last meal - a lamb chop quickly gobbled.

Sun glinting off our long black car - his head bobs up and down.

From the back seat his whimpers pulling at my heart.

He gives me his paw over and over, and then his name is called.

"Such a good looking dog," even at the moment of death.

His panting stops - a year of seizures also gone.

Euthanasia - consoling me, classical guitar.

The retriever who pranced through our neigborhood now at one with the Golden Light.

Silence greets me as I walk into the house.

Cleaning up - finding his frisbee under a chair.

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Alexis K. Rotella @ Arnold, Maryland

page sixty two

tonight i'm left with departures early opening roses in the back room

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page sixty three

I must be there I looked and looked lost in other people's words and faces

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ROOTS & WINGS Become a seed the tiniest

of them all we will water you

with tears, the grief of longing

for a name we will call you

thistle archangel

willowherb you will become

a dark river, a root of fire, the wings

of the mind the wind

blows right through you getting rid

of all worry the letting-

go of self-pity for this earth

is intelligent this earth

is prayer for survival

for the glory of chaos, for love

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page sixty six

Aspens lace stone walls falling to emerald pools translucent dresses.

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Francis Raven and Carolyn Kousky @ Palo Alto, California

page sixty seven

The bed unmade must I sleep under dried rushes like a mouse among owls?

Come home, the table is set with clean linens, cattails and old poetry.

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Gray Blakenship @ Bremerton, Washington

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page sixty nine

I am a glass flower under glass hold me still

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Cynthia Marie @ New York The Intimenga was created by ai li on the 5 May 1997. For the

guidelines for the Intimenga, please click here.

page seventy

for when I break I wound deeply

then seal your wound with my knowing ruby mouth brand your soul with a jealous stigmata

this is how I love

I am a glass flower under glass hold me quiet

for when I break I injure then taste your hurt with cruel lips boasting salient promises

you adore I receive you descend I ascend you exist only through me

this is how I Love to your dreams to death

break me...

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page seventy one

and when you left the door was ajar crumbs in half-light distant thunder

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page seventy two

someday her crooked teeth won't matter old tombstones aslant

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page seventy three

fallen square boulder in the emerald pool. wish i could have seen the splash?

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page seventy four

under the spring moon we trace each others footsteps

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page seventy five

summer evening- scent of mint leaves from my cycle's basket

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K. Ramesh @ Chennai, India

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page seventy eight

catching my breath- the scent of lilac indoors against your wishes

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page seventy nine

Well, so here we are somewhere between stone and sand, rushing water bends.

POETRY is a funny thing, not really life, but more like a little world, just to the right-

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page eighty

hand side of it maybe it is like those wooden seats the old monk at Chithurst used to make, somewhere to stop for a while, where there is no wind, no rain, but often there is a sunset, or an oak tree through mist these poems were written to be poems, that is, to be judged & criticized, to be praised & blamed as poems but please accept them for the friendship of it, as a gift, something like what that scabby, gritty Welsh priest would say "Eternity/ wearing the green leaves/ of Time"

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page eighty one

Starbucks cafe: watching the snowflakes over the steaming brew

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page eighty two

this used night a suicide note the moon from empty scaffolding

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page eighty three

Heckler Like a device for dialysis, You just sat there Taking the piss.

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Jon Oyster @ Woodford Green

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page eighty five

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Peter Williams @ Watford

page eighty six

Valentine's Day on the walls of the old people's home hearts and flowers

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Carl-John X Veraja @ Fort Myers, Florida

page eighty seven

silent water a photo of a brook that foreign man she won't tell me his name

you smile at me taking a sip of the moon floating in your glass

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page eighty eight

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page eighty nine

discussing plans for the annual fund raiser painfully aware that beneath the white dress there's a woman

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page eighty nine

BUS STOP

And After

Twenty minutes The bus Came. I hope

They make Kleenex That big.

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page ninety

red lantern a room with sandalwood embroidered slippers with beaded peonies

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page ninety one

Watching Thomas

I sometimes watch you when you do not see In an armchair, relatively huge, enveloped By the words on a page you cannot understand, Yet wrapped in the arms of communication.

Almost motionless you sit in an instinctive Anticipation of a time when the key will turn Setting you forever free Showing you what it means to be Human, unique and alone.

You will grapple with ideas, When life gets too much or not enough You will escape into fantasy Inhabit for a time, another person's dreams And return as and when you choose.

You will be your own person then

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Sheila Windsor @ Stourport on Severn

page ninety two

In touch with the minds of millions Yet remote from them and me.

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page ninety three


page ninety four

middle-aged bachelor still trying to think of names for his children

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Tatjana Debeljacki @ Nemanjina, Serbia

page ninety five

The diary of love in a chinese box.

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page ninety six

UFO.

UFO UFO UFO NO

Saucepan lid In the face

Again.

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page ninety seven

So easily she forgives others, my friend with the less than perfect memory.

for Florence

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Alexis K. Rotella @ Arnold, Maryland

page ninety eight

crowded train an empty seat next to the woman who talks to herself

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page ninety nine

sickle moon of january under a haloed streetlamp your promises join the mist

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Tim W. Younce @ Luray, Virginia

page one hundred


page one hundred and one

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page one hundred and two

it is frustrating to see a blind man walking thru a closed exit and you can't do anything because you're in the train

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page one hundred and three

a thousand miles remembering one evening the car by the lake

You are my truth-friend, come in a far season O for a thousand years, tomorrow it will be Spring & together we will speak the language of flowers

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Graham Brown @ Bermondesy

page one hundred and four

snowdrop means atonement, yarrow means helping together we make music with earth & fire these oceans apart. these words are made of air hazel reconciled us, to come in a new season I am glad you call me lover, brother, friend

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original haiga copyright Sheila Windsor 2002 first published in Raw NerVZ Haiku

page one hundred and five

nouveau riche building their own snubdivision

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page one hundred and six

subway ride counting the stops before i reach you

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page one hundred and seven

suckle

honeysuckle offers bees in loco parentis a sweet enwombment

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Susan Taylor @ Scoriton

page one hundred and eight


page one hundred and nine

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page one hundred and ten

Enemas To Enemies

Remember Keep your friends close And your enemies In various bell jars Around your study.

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J. D. Heskin @ Duluth, Minnesota

page one hundred and eleven

my best one was the one she opened-- birthday present

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Susan Taylor @ Scoriton

page one hundred and twelve

silk

as far as clothes go silk is the closest texture to a flight feather

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page one hundred and thirteen

Suicide (Slight Return)

They Always Say And then he turned the pistol

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page one hundred and fourteen

On himself Sorry Didn't realise The mere rotation of a revolver Was deadly.

college journal: pressed between the pages valentine roses

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page one hundred and fifteen

nude in my garden he rakes the leaves with green eyes

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page one hundred and sixteen


page one hundred and seventeen

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when i was a child i kept a promise to myself i shall never love but one man in my life so if you fail to return i shall close the door of my heart and never love again

but if you return i shall catch the sun and hold it tightly on my palm maybe someday i shall give you the sunset tied in a white string.

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page one hundred and eighteen


Cool wisps of fog in necropolis ruins-- soft coos of roosting doves

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page one hundred and nineteen


page one hundred and twenty

lightning flash- starting to count I miss you

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page one hundred and twenty one

My Uncle's Knee.

I sat upon my Uncle's knee Temporarily Forgetting he was an amputee.

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page one hundred and twenty two

she blushes as I remove her stockings-- an old fashioned girl

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J. D. Heskin @ Duluth, Minnesota

page one hundred and twenty three

taking the onion apart

how many tears till you touch the heart?

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Larry Kimmel @ Colrain, Massachusetts The Gembun was created by ai li on the 12 June 1997, inspired by Larry Kimmel's TIBUN. For its guidelines and more examples, please click here.

page one hundred and twenty four

double glazing twice the moon

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original artwork and haiku copyright Sheila Windsor 2002

page one hundred and twenty five

water hangs from cliffs the world divided through the microscope of light.

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page one hundred and twenty six

The poem's black ink runs on white paper... through the window, sparrows sing

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page one hundred and twenty seven


one more glass of wine/evening darkening/you're not coming

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page one hundred and twenty eight


page one hundred and twenty nine

morning this day lightly lightly

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bruce roxburgh @ tea gardens, australia

page one hundred and thirty

The sumo lifts trees The woman lifts a bucket Heavy with sorrow Heavier than all mountains One drop is mine rippling

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Martin Willitts, Jr. , Norwich, New York

page one hundred and thirty one

i climb the side walk and think of the trees we hide with

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huri ergenian @ philadelphia

page one hundred and thirty two


page one hundred and thirty three

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Guy Simser @ Kanata, Canada

page one hundred and thirty four

Without a word Lanyard cold and pinging

...and numb our fingers too

holding down the service pages

flapping in November gusts:

Only the memories warming,

clinging...and then the silence

broken by the piper's elbow

and first deep breath

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Erin Cowgill @ Paris

page one hundred and thirty five

sleeping puppy out cold the purring cat cleans his face with determination

his head the size of her whole body

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page one hundred and thirty six

moon caught between rocks I gaze as I cross the bridge breathing deep sweet sage

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page one hundred and thirty seven

paradise on earth he says he loves her putting on his trousers to go home to his wife

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page one hundred and thirty eight

POEM FOR JOY, BEING A PERSON

Wood pigeons cooing into the cool of the morning Blue sky shimmering fresh between birches The details of the dew on each leaf Our daily task, to fall in love

This cutting of ragwort, bracken, thistle The annual ritual of scything An excuse to be joyful, something to do In order to be whole, "they stayed asleep

So that we would find them", this purple yellow

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page one hundred and thirty nine

Green August morning, leave a few to seed On purpose, to keep the world turning In the Summer grass, the circle round

gasping sunset I almost missed the lone lake swan

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Erin Cowgill @ Paris

page one hundred and forty


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page one hundred and forty one

Jon-Michael Frank @ Newtown Square, Pennsylvania

page one hundred and forty two

set my shoulder on fire warm your face in my flesh and marrow

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Jeff Clements @ South Africa

page one hundred and forty three

How romantic:

So I left you and now I am Here. Alone in a distant land. Distant.

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Martin Willitts, Jr. , Norwich, New York

page one hundred and forty four

I fold paper over Creased tight as age wrinkles Hatching paper crane

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page one hundred and forty five

tossing the ball to serve- birds in the sky

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K. Ramesh @ Chennai, India

page one hundred and forty six

gathering darkness - the power line crosses a pale sky

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Harold Bowes

page one hundred and forty seven

the other playground where every mother is ghost and the prams are empty

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page one hundred and forty eight

f i n i s

___________________________________________________________________

you are invited

to submit your poems and artwork for

future editions of the organic dew-on-line

off-shoot of still

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copyright ai li 2002 all rights reserved

no poems or artwork can be reproduced without the prior permission of the editor of dew-on-line and its contributors.

the editor of dew-on-line does not accept any responsibility for copyright infringements, failure to post proper acknowledgments, materials lost in the post, the views of contributors or research errors.

if you have enjoyed this edition of dew-on-line and would like to order a still anthology please click here, or a copy of moving into breath, please click here

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