the stolen poem, winter issue version 2

1the stolen poem winter issue

yolanda mora * stacey l. welsch * john rossi

leeza coleman * maggie * robin * mat gould

mystic lady * word.mind *carlos caamiña garcía

n 4winter issue

the

stolen poem

2 the stolen poem winter issue

page

6

page

72

page

60


the

stolen poemwinter issue

page

72page

28

page

44


edited by yolanda mora and susanamartinez

published by susana martinez

please send your comments [email protected]


maggie * cover pictureyolanda mora * p6john rossi * p28leeza coleman * p42ms.art * p44mat gould * p48word.mind * p52carlos caamiña garcía * p54mystic lady * p56robin * p60stacey l. welsch * p72yolanda mora * p92

contents

©all works showcased in the magazine arecopyrighted by their authors

please write to [email protected] for anyfurther information



Hello again everyone. I t is with a particular affinity held within me that Ipresent to you our featured guest. Having had the good fortune to travelto Spain on a few occasions (my sobrinos' were born there) and actual lywalked and breathed in it’s rich historical significance. Fascinating it wasto see the architecture, especial ly those of the massive cathedrals and

museums that are found there, as well as, venturing down severalnarrow brick layered roads with it’s old world appeal. Just an enrichingartistic culture to observe. I ’m very excited to introduce you another of

Spain's fledging talents, poet and painter Yolanda Mora.

Traveling the cities and smaller towns of

Spain I discovered a flourishing local artistic

community. Certainly a result of, and

influenced by this being the birthplace of

world famous artist’s who’s legacies wil l l ive

on into infinity. As happenstance placed

Yolanda’s poetry before me, I was curious to

see how closely her expressions reflected

those noted influences.

Indeed within her writing I discovered the bold

emotions, spontaneity and surrealism. The

passion and subtle contrasts of realities that

comprise the artistry known as being born

from such. However, as it should be, her style

is uniquely her own. As I communicated with

her in preparing for this presentation, initial ly I

found her surprisingly modest and yet came

away even more intrigued. I share now with

you our conversation;

Rory: Hi Yolanda, How are you?

Yolanda: Fine, thank you! ! How are you?

Rory: I 'm doing just great

Yolanda: You make me smile, he he. I smile

easily

by Robin

yyooll aannddaammoorraa

an interview with


yyooll aannddaa mmoorraa

Rory: Well thank you Yolanda. You make me

smile too!

Especial ly when I read your poetry.

Yolanda: . . .and thank you for your smile when

reading my poems. ha ha, they tend to be so

murky. . . to me.

Rory: You write and you paint. When did you

begin to take your art, both writing and

painting seriously?

Yolanda: Excuse my English. I use to write

and speak in Spanish but poems come in

English. Weird!

Rory: Ha ha, your English is just fine. Tell me

of the art that resides in you.

Yolanda: I thought i was a writer at 1 4, when I

wrote my second novel. . . .ha ha

Rory: I t appears that you were a writer. . Two

novels by the age of 1 4. That’s an impressive

accomplishment for such an early age. Tell

me of them. What are they about?

Yolanda: (smile) Yes, I am a bookworm, or I

was a bookworm, daydreaming and all that.

"it’s l ike a feverat 6 in the morning,

you have to get up

andwrite down some lines"

"Yes, I am abookworm,or I was a bookworm,daydreaming and all that."


The first novel, unfinished, at the age of 11 ,

was about Egypt and the mystery of the

pyramids and a group of teenagers that

resolved all the enigmas, just l ike Enid Blyton.

The second one was about a red-haired

teenager named Norma jean, very much like

the author Katherine Patterson, you know, I

didn’t want to grow up, I wanted to write for

children and teenagers, I thought those books

were more interesting than books for adults.

Rory: Was it about this time also that you

begin writing poetry or did that come

sometime later?

Yolanda: Writing poetry is an odd thing, they

just come or don’t come to my mind in years,

the words, I mean. I always loved English

language. I read a lot of poetry and novels,

essays in English. I don’t know what to say,

it’s l ike a fever at 6 in the morning, you have

to get up and write down some lines or

whatever.

Rory: When did the drawing and painting start

for you?

Yolanda: At preschool?? Yes! Oh, it’s just an

awesome experience! You can release all

"it’s l ike a feverat 6 in the morning,

you have to get up

andwrite down some lines"

1 0 the stolen poem winter issue


your fantasies, al l your demons, genii , and all

your thoughts. And the subconscious speaks for

you. For me, a painting is l ike a poem. a vision.

BOOM! Of course there are historic paintings that

are entire novels. Velazquez/Tolstoy etc. . .

Rory: Interesting the artists you mentioned here. I

have visited Madrid a few times. I found that

there is quite an artistic community there. Of

course this would be, seeing that this is the

birthplace of Salvador Dali . I t appeared that many

local artists were influenced by him and emulated

much of his abstract and symbolic painting style.

Were you influenced by Dali



Yolanda: Oh Dali . I love surrealism, I feel I am

influenced by surreal drawings and writing,

especial ly Leonora Carrington and Lorca and

Unica Zürn, but Dali , I don’t have anything to

say about Dali . Sorry if I hurt your feelings

about Dali . I prefer Picasso! !

Rory: Oh no my feelings won't get hurt LOL!! .

That’s what this is about. Learning more about

you and for the l ife of me, how could I have

forgotten about him. So what is it about Picasso

and the other artist(s) you mentioned that

captured your attention.


Yolanda: Velazquez painting soooo well ,

effortlessly, apparently. He wanted to be a

philosopher maybe? I love LAS

HILANDERAS, so sensual, and yes of course,

the atmosphere, the air, the colors and that

Old God in Decadence. Those silvers and reds

and blues. Picasso, another one, one of my

"teachers", he always pushing his different

styles to the l imit! ! I learned you must go to the

l imits in art.

Rory: You’re influences are quite interesting I

must admit. When you sit down to write a

piece, what typical ly has inspired you to do

so. Listening to music perhaps or ????

Yolanda: Who knows?? I was thinking right

now of the movie THE HOURS, 3 women I

suddenly say 3 hours and maybe I start

writing. Dreams, they always help me with the

subconscious part. ha ha, maybe I am a

surrealist woman after al l . I let the

subconscious flow. A memory, a trauma,

namely, a change in my life al l that trigger

writing. Anxious to know the why of events.

Art is healing, I bel ieve. I started myspacing

and posting writings as a need to be listened


" A memory,a trauma,

namely,

a changein my life

al l that

trigger writing"

1 3the stolen poem winter issue

to. I have so many notebooks, writings,

drawings Oh, there’s another one of l ittle

paintings. I manage 3 notebooks at once right

now. Oh, my!! ! That’s amazing! ! ! ha ha ha ha.

I was sick of keeping all that raw material only

for myself. And no, I don’t want to see my

work published or do more exhibitions. I give

my drawings for free now, ha ha. As a gift.

What am I saying? I speak too much! ! ha ha

Rory: Which leads me to this question. As you

are aware, many if not most writers DO want

their work published/exhibited. You have just

said that you do not and yet you have a need

to be "l istened" to. Can you explain this need

and how it developed within you.

Yolanda: ohhhhh. . . . if my work could be

exhibited without ME, the person, the artist,

the show and all that, I ’d be delighted. I hate

to appear as the "star", I am talking about the

openings of exhibitions I have been invited to.

ohhhh It’s a total fight of egos, many artists

there. . . . ego, ego, ego. . . if I could disappear.

The 2 exhibitions I did at the museum Reina

Sofia (I used to work there and all the workers

who were artists could exhibit their art in a


" A memory,a trauma,

namely,

a changein my life

al l that

trigger writing"


corridor, near the toi lets, oh, so funny, yet

depressing). The 2 years I did that THING, to

expose my work to the public, oh I blushed,

embarrassed and all . I couldn’t bel ieve it.

There is always the need to be listened to, I

know, but why the body must be there??

Maybe it’s a wrong feeling. I am shy, but I

don’t mean that. I hate show business.

Myspace listens. who knows what wil l come

next? I am a total chaos. a workaholic--- how

do you say that, adicta al trabajo? The ego

thing, I was there, in the museum, among

artists disguised as artists and I didn’t even

know what to wear. ha ha ha ha. Pathetic. I

am too ambitious. I want everything, I mean,

I want to be talented but my body shouldn’t

appear. Can you understand anything I have

said? oh, my!

Rory: Yes Yolanda I do understand you,

absolutely. Apparently the ego that develops

in many people troubles you. So let me

move away from the arts briefly and ask,

what about our global society that gives you

the greatest concern or that you have the

deepest passion for.

Yolanda: This society needs to love. This

society is sooo selfish. I hate wars,

obsessions, fanatics, madness, I need more

intimacy,but I think the human beings are

devil ish inside. We are wrongly made, if

created by someone or something. I am

Christian, but hate rel igions. I hate madness,

sadness. Once I was obsessed with

someone, a boyfriend, Myspace helped me

so much, I mean, writing here, yes , I was

final ly l istened to. Someone was there to

read my poems or be critic with my ideas. I

love arts, they are healing. And I love l ife, I

think it’s wonderful to be alive, even if you

are sick or in a war I learned that from my

Grandparents, who lived the Spanish war.

They used to say, l ife is wonderful,

wonderful, don’t be so sad! I don’t know if I

answer your questions, just letting myself


" if my work could be exhibited without

the person, the artist, the show and all that,

I ’d be delighted"


go. . . . fly. . . a l ittle, but hey, I am here, in this

world. I apparently look like self-centered,

just in order to survive.

Rory: I love your country and have lasting

memories from my experiences there. Have

you been to the United States and if not is it

your desire to do so. Also tel l us of one of

your favorite places that you have been and

why it is so.

Yolanda: Oh, thank you. Yes, I love Spain

too. And Madrid, nice sky, pure blue. I wil l go

to the United States one day. To California. . .

or Montana. . . or Seattle. . . or. . . . . who knows! I

have myspace friends there, very close to

me, they are poets, he he. One day. Oh, i

need money right now, ha ha. Yet i´m afraid

of planes, but I ´ve traveled a bit.Tunis,

London, France, Portugal and every corner

of Spain. I loved Paris, because I wanted to

see the Bateau Lavoir, the place where

Picasso painted Les Demoisel les d´Avignon.

I am always fol lowing the tracks of the artists

I admire. I want to go to Austria, Russia. Oh, I

want to visit Emily Dickinson’s house! ! ! !

Rory: Well I do certainly hope you come to

visit Seattle one day. Quite beautiful it is

here. On your Myspace profi le it says Heidi 's

role playing. What is the significance of that.

Yolanda: Oh, I ’d love to travel to the States

but the planes. Heidi is for Heidi Julavits, the

"new" American author and role-playing is for

her book which I love so much, "The effect of

l iving backwards". I love her writing, her

metaphors and her oceanic prose, l ike waves

, l ike poetry. and she’s beautiful . So she wil l

be more famous one day. . . ha ha ha. Role

playing because I love to photograph and

disguise myself a lot. In that book, the

characters role-play as the good person, bad

person, in a plane, al l stereotypes---- say if I

my English is ok, oh, my god!


" if my work could be exhibited without

the person, the artist, the show and all that,

I ’d be delighted"

me



Rory: ha ha, Your doing just fine with your

English.

Yolanda: . . .as an artist I have to role-play, in

this interview as a poet or something. When I

go for a walk I am the walker. In the museum

where I worked for 3 years I disguised myself

with the uniform and I role-played as the

watcher, taking care of the paintings, I was the

"master" of the room, the people. We have a

mil l ion of personalities inside of us don’t you

think?

Rory: Well there are many facets to our

being I would say, yes.

Yolanda: We are not only absolute good or

bad. there’s a lot of nuances, we are all a

l ittle devil ish inside. . . . he he.



Rory: Yolanda this is quite an intriguing

conversation and I could continue on indefinitely,

but we do sti l l have your poem also to present. I

want to thank you for being such a gracious

guest, spending time with me and sharing your

thoughts . I wish you only the best in al l that you

do.

Yolanda: Thank you so much! ! I t’s been an

interesting conversation. My poem, written in

2007, after a nervous breakdown. I t’s

about l iving on edge, for good or for bad,

push ourselves to the l imits, l iving,

absorbing l ife, we must be bold and strong.

Love and I wish you the best too! ! !

"as an artist I have to

role-play,in this interview as a poet

or something.

When I go for a walk

I am the walker"



missing girlMe echó mal de ojo- trimestreDe larga duración.Red cardboardVoodoo sexy doll

I waste my blonde hairIn bad pil lows.The Persian carpetAll reds and greens,Wrong retozar al lí.I cut in hexagons the carpet,The mirror recorded all .I was so old.En el fotomatón, en las fotos

Perdí mi dinero.I used her digicam to recovermy soul.He was gone. He left me aloneWith the photographs. He leftmeAlone. He did voodooWith my long lost white hair-I am missing. Dead, dear, how imiss you-(i need you, sister)Hexagonal pieces of textures,woolAnd dust into the open box


missing girl

Open boxHexes! Self-centered l izard:Who are these people walking tothe sea?Humans. (i am a human too)He sent me hexes long-termFrom so far awaySo many no-onesIn hexagonal coffins, or minimalbuildings-The mapboard, reds and greens,he´s here!(And he comes, how he comes!)Smash the boxesOr for courierTo my dear sister.



I dreamt i was Heidi jay-Who wrote this book- soserious?i. i am not that lugubriousi never met bonnie parkershe met bonnie parker,you are a genius, dear.I am funny, gipsy, blonde, thatgirl .I am more than 30 years oldI am immature i am not immatureStrong ego—I hide under the table afterMean, bad, ugly review—I crunch it´s so cold.The table is square. Out of a rootOf birch tree. I am Russian.The Persian carpet- oh, i makemyOwn bread, to sel l—I dreamt about my past sufferingStrong obsession—i couldn´tbreatheBreath now. Cold, scary breezenow.I go out from under the table.We are married.


i dreamt i was heidi jay


i dreamt i was heidi jay



And i dreamt, i dreamtAbout al l books, my whole l ife,Maybe i was dying. I am dying.Lying, always lies. Can you roleplayA hijacking, Jackie the slut?And she loves my Books- now.And she is infatuated with me.I am trying to get pregnant.That Russian lady threw theTea cup to mona lisaAgainst the protecting glass.To the gas chamber!Off with her head!I ´m alice.Alice out of the table.I am big. Tall . Blonde andMarilyn.Are you roleplaying edith or lorina?Are you ada or ardor?Are you Katherine Patterson?Or bonnie dead?I am not dead, my dear,We are married.I sel l bread and booksSecond hand bookshotI photoshop books.That is my life in the cold weather.Elm trees. And the graveyard.







Waters. Green, turquoise bathroomMy muses evergreen every timeI concoct them.Happiest—

I read Bonnie´s love lettersI read her poemsI roleplay Bonnie ParkerI drink pot teaI am healthy—There is a strike but i make more breadI´l l be arrested and shot

Rat-tat-tat.

But i don´t have a car.I don´t have my babyLocked in the car with this heat.Self-hatred, angst-ridden, table-riddenHappiest—Happiest—i am pregnant of my secondgirlAunt, aunt, she looks so much like you.

Turquoise house.



Sandals, Japanese socksMy big toe separate from neighboringI try to befriend my neighbours:Sad, cold, won´t say a word to me.Pot tea. To paint the house again.To take care of the baby and the farm.To take care, dust off the shelvesBooks, books, books.Go to the zoo. There is no zoo.There is nothing in the northern stateNear the arctic darkWe make our own bread.We are writers.We sell out our bodies,Youtube interviews and readingsSell out yourself, husband, my Bonnie,Edith, the sluttest of the three sisters.I come from east Europe,I come from the light,The tables, the table, Alice´s tableI muse, i rol l out,Roll to him.I ´m going to write right away.But i am nor Bonnie Parker.Who wrote this damn book?I was 29. I am a woman now.

Yolanda Mora ©2007

Más información:

http: //blogs.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view

&friendId=202434494&blogId=539454461 #ixzz1 36VBbjEk





II NN MMYY OOWWNN WWOORRDDSSJohn RossiI THINK

WHAT GIVES ME BLANKET VALIDITY

IN THE arts worldis my lifelong pattern

ofreacting to what is around me

…in a free creative way…without barriers.

This means I think

– without thinking about it much.

The stimuli trumping thetoo commonly restraintive

brain in other words.


Maybe this is why ‘barriers’are a common theme in my visual work?

I just have never cared much to belaboractivity – or maybe cared is not theword…maybe I ’m just lazy and go thecreative route of least resistance? Whileinitial ly studying art history…often common threadson non-correlating works or artists caught my eye.


Paul Klee seemed to sum upeverything for me…to make a long story short…his work was effortless in itsexecution and playfulness – while aesthetical ly beingbri l l iant – almost every time.

Vermeer’s use of color and clarity and control…knowing when to stop…therichness and darkness – in one….subdued joy.

Carravaggio – the use ofchiarascurro…Mondrian…compositionalawareness…Lascaux…what you saw is what it is…no more– no less.

Overall body languagetranslation… that is the

beauty of simply translatingwhat we don’t instantly see –

unti l i t’s revealed….Cezanne did this…and Van Gogh and Warhol….

Plus…

The use of red….

The use of surprise…

The use of obvious energy…

Or – as is over said today….just do it.

I was never on a mission – sti l l am not…

my list of creative artists I respect is long….

jj oohhnn rroossssii






FFOORRMMAALL EEDDUUCCAATTII OONN

The Ohio State University – Columbus fal l 1 968 through spring 1 977.

Degrees included BA’s and BFA’s…I hung out unti l they kicked me out.

Concentration was studio arts but also art history, l iterature, sociology, etc.

There was no studio I didn’t have the key to.

Ohio University – Athens 1 978/1 980. MFA in multi-discipl ined studio arts. I

was a painting major – my two shows there were based around instal lation,

printmaking and the written word.


BB II OOJohn Rossib. Youngstown, Ohio USA

June 1 5, 1 950 (it was snowing)





I had jobs sincethe age of 1 2 to

pay for everythingsave a studentloan or two…

Grad school thank god was free –plus they paid me to teach

classes…! While an undergrad atOSU I primari ly ran a Levi’s shop atan upscale mall in Columbus. I alsobecame an accomplished waiter oftables and a bartender – both skil ls

that paid off later in l ife.



I founded the companyROSSI PASTA whiledeciding what to doafter grad school– which sti l l is active – sans myself at rossipasta.com. Ilearned about real l ife while running the business from 1 981unti l 2000 – and to my way of thinking easily earned an MBA,psych and culinary degrees – plus enormous stand-upcomedy credits. At our peak we had 30 employees.

In 1 986 I marriedinto two very small

kids and theneventual ly fathered

four more– no –

there was no plan .

I enjoyed parenting immensely andthough chaotic as you can imagine – itbecame an achievement/experiencethat highl ights my life to this moment.

My youngest are now 1 6 and 1 7.





The decadeof the 2000’swas my‘brutal ’ period… enough said. But we’veall survived – except one.She is highl ighted in muchof my recent work however– a spirit never dies. I workdaily – as you’l l see if youfol low me at MYSPACE –

I simplycan’t stopmy creativeenergies…and see very l ittle reasonto…it sustains me. I lookforward to a ful l gal lery showat THE PARKERSBURGART CENTER in May of2011 – and also hope verymuch to create other formalshowing relationships withthe emergence of this site.



You can– if you desire –

read my lifehistory (basical ly)

at the MYSPACE blog

– it scrol ls back to May 2008 – sure – do a few a day –

they are very short usually and encompass pretty much of the

gamut of an artist’s l ifethat absolutely does…

wing it– much comedy also.




I f you are ever in the Marietta, OH area of our country –my studio is at:

1 04 Front StreetMarietta, OH 45750

Directly adjacent to the Lafayette Hotel at the mouth ofThe Ohio and Muskingum Rivers

Hours are by appointment but I ’m there most of thetime….Marietta is a quaint l ittle town.

Best to you…April One - 201 0



leezacoleman

All I want to sayto ID myself

is that I'm aNew York City

nativewho is a vegan.

leeza coleman


Hell HoleFrom bright sunl ight she stumbled and tumbled deep, deep, deep into

the old wellAbandoned for years, rumor had it that it was the entryway to Hell

One minute, she had been alive, heard birds, felt the sun’s heat andtalked to friends

Was she dead, was a fal l into a cold, dark hole indeed the way lifeends?

Her big brother was schizophrenic ~ as a child she’d been afraid of himHis conversation made no sense and his personality had grown dim

She heard him have conversations with individuals she could not seeHer fear became hysteria that she would one day be the same as he

Could this be what had happened to her on this ordinary sunbright day?Did DNA step in, as she long feared, and steal her sanity away?

She was overcome by a pure manic thri l l of dark anticipationHer head thrown back she laughed wildly as she entered Satan’s

ghastly nation

No one would ever find her body - and it is interesting to ponderIf she died and went to Hell , or madness took her first ~ I shal l long

wonder

Leeza Coleman, 09/201 0

44 the stolen poem winter issuetthhee ssttoolleenn ppooeemm wwiinntteerr iissssuuee

ms.artms.art

45the stolen poem winter issuetthhee ssttoolleenn ppooeemm wwiinntteerr iissssuuee

ms.art

46 the stolen poem winter issuetthhee ssttoolleenn ppooeemm wwiinntteerr iissssuueetthhee ssttooll eenn ppooeemm wwii nn tteerr ii ssssuuee

ms.art


ms.art


mmaatttt ggoouu ll dd

mmaattttggoouu ll dd

is currently bunkered in on the other sideof a mountain in Western North

Carolina,U.S.A.He has been delving into the verse for over20 years, enduring rapture and the rule ofa ruined kingdom ever since. He has not

read his work to a public forum for tenyears, citing ritual and not needing thevalidation otherwise for his reason. His

new book "The Fire Is Breathing On Me"wil l be available Oct. 29, 201 0. . . it is his 4thchap. He can be reached via The Luxman

Empire on that myspace gig or throughBeasley Barrenton at

[email protected]


who I am"it was you" they said

well

I doan nah who they are

or

who they were

orwhom they wil l ever be

but

it was me

and

it is me

so that wil l have to be all this ever means-



a well kepthard onin the earlycoldwith very l ittle to saypeer outsee one of the cats crossing the roadthere is enough of it al ltoday suggests to stay up here awhileaway from the scampering beastsunder a brass skywhittl ing the season to a blunt endonly the l itany survivesthe cock wil l sti l l crowbroom doan move nah stonethe wind serves a gesture of the coming conditionsIpush outastiff chestthen I sl ightly give inbutnot so much as to shiveronly going back in to put on some sleevesthere is a solidarity of sortsan appreciation for the shrewd iron wil lbeating existence into a horny hush-



getting our bones tattoedat the boardwalk

between the dry creekand the high rise

everybody wants their own rock-n-rol la ship in the bottle up on the shelf

a shoe shine machine under the tablelook at me

doan I look the parteverything is tight its so hard to breathe

I chew on my teethand

sweat at the kneesthere are pictures of me in another city

up against another wallwith a bummed cigarette

andtired open eyes

singing the songs for pretty things to decidedo I look good in black and white

orspread out in color with al l the dirty others

point out to the shorethere it is to discover

the virgins never werea rite of passage beyond being born

come crying into this worldful l of heart and pain

jes to get us a name for the fight we give-

Mat Gould is set to release his fourth chapbook

"The Fire is Breathing On Me".



Nac8 debajo de la luna negra, buscando la v8a hac8a la luz deamistades eternales, de mentes brillantes que podrianiluminar las tareas de la vida mas importante que solomenteganar dinero, entre ejemplos de la belleza de la alma,paisanos en la inundaci:n de las posibilidades invisibles,pescadores de las nubes de los tama9os incredibles, pero que sepueden ver en el cielo, por cierto, creaci:nes del tiempo, comolas bromas de la historia de seu9os.

Trabaj7 en el Cuerpo de Paz, depues de la asascinaci:n dedictador Trujillo en la Republica Dominicana, y con el grancampi:n de la gente de la tierra, Pancho Botello, en lasfincas de Arizona y California, y en las calles de Nueve Yorkcon Gloria Cruz Fontanez para la salud de la gente de laChina y del Puerto Rico, y se v8 las paredes de Madrid en unano cuando, cerca de la univers8dad, se aparecen la palabra"libertad!"

El Arte. ?Que es? Espejo de la vida en las fronteras depercepci:n del artista.

Presidente del Concil io de Asuntos Mundiales,

Seattle, Washington, USA 1 985-1 988.

Presidente de la Compania Onadime

Fabrica de Software

Seattle, Washington, USA 1 995-present

En el espiritu de la carta suya:?es bastante profesional? ...es que, ?se puede serprofesional, el arte? ?Segun a las reglas y expectaci:nesde quien?---quizas, Goya. Si Goya. Para mi. si. Las reglas yexpectaci:nes de Goya, si necec8tan algas....

wwoorrdd ..mmii nndd


made up memories, from a good time with friends

Lupe Restaurant, Avenue of The Americas and Watts, NYC, Aug 2009

-for Jack and Gloria

Broken English dreamers in the Caravan of SyllablesTrucking to the far side of a paragraph, to the epitaph

of domineering impositions, to the end of conformityfeigning freedom, and on on on con las palabras de pajaros

Making canciones to the Sun -lleno de la esperanzade bailar en la musica del tiempo, entre nubes y viento-

With fascination a melody from the tuba of desireThump thump thumping down the Grand Concourse,

Con violinas que cantan del sabor de aguacates,de las brisas de la isla, del agua de azules brillantes,de la pobresa de la gente y las almas lleno de amistad.Ay Ay ay ay, cantas no llores, on Avenue A, or el Clint:n.

Bajo de la Houston, habia un mundo distinto, ayer, ayer,Egos and ids, beauty and hunger, mixed like the music of time…


CarlosCaamiñaGarcía((MMaaddrrii dd ,, SSppaaii nn ,, 11 996677)) ..

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eenn ll aa UUnn ii vveerrssii ddaadd CCoommppll uu tteennssee ddee MMaaddrrii dd ..

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I am 40, l ive in North Yorkshire Uk withmy husband of many years and 3gorgeous boys. I love to write poetry &paint for friends & family.Self taughtartist and published poet. I bel ieve inacheiving WORLD PEACE,preservingnature, recycling everything! andabolishing global poverty. I sponsorchildren in the third world and respectal l races rel igions faiths andcultures.Have been In the jewellerytrade for many many years. Art, poetry,rel igion , l iterature,nature are just a fewof my hobbies.

Read more:

http: //www.myspace.com/allthingsmystical#ixzz1 33McuFOI

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YYoouu tthh&&

bbeeaauu ttyyYouth beauty and determinationShall inherit the earth whilstBitterness wisdom and regrets shall inherit the graves

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The little girlShe was shunned,MisunderstoodAn outcomeof somethingThat had lost its purpose,So she was neglected,RejectedIgnored,Pushed asideUndervalued


It was as thoughShe wasn’t thereThey didn’t care.When no one was lookingShe was thrown awayCast aside,like a piece of chessHow unblessed,Oh but she crawled back slowlyBut surelyCunning little” she devil”VengefulResentfulShe climbed fasterFurtherReaching up to the daylightShe survivedAnd laughed longestLaughed loudest.Memories of yesterdayBecome the Ghosts stories of today.Desperate

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Oh it’s an opportunityFor your youth and originality,When nothing else seems so worthysell yourself artisticallyIts limelight and a glitter ballHear the applauseOh theres nothing to substitute the ovationsSo loose yourself,abuse yourself,Amuse yourself,prostitute yourself,become someone else for a whileIts entertainment,Nothing moreHear the cheers and the roarsAnd stand for your ovations,AppreciationsDon’t forget to bow,Your Like the phoenix nowTo Rise and then only to fallBecause He lost control.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

written & copyrighted by Mystic Lady October 201 0

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ssttaaccyy ll wweell cchh // ttrrii xxyy

Stacy was born in Clinton, MO, onJune 25th 1 973. Although shenow lives on the outskirts ofKansas City, she has lived in manyStates and Cities therein:

Llano, TexasSan Antonio, TexasDenver, ColoradoMiami, FloridaHuntington, West VirginiaSpringfield, MOWindsor, MOHallsvi l le. MOAir Force Base, I l l inoisArmy, KansasWarrensburg, MOThe specifics are many more

includingWomen Abuse Shelter

Diversityis a strongtool to gainany boldintel lect.

Both l iving in so manyremarkably different places and eightyears of College were goldenadditions.

A week after she obtainedher Doctorate in Law, a severe wreckalmosttook her l ife. She had a 1 7 percentchance tol ive, and even less to be in thecondition shecurrently is in. She suffered 7 brainbleeds,skeletal fractures, spinal fluid leak,brokenneck, re-broken collar bone, leftlower backbroken, pelvis broken and vagina.

Stacy is a Mother of two children,HaileyRenae Welch, age 11 and CodyDean Hawken,age 1 6. Suffering issues such asbackincluding moderate Scoliosis, AVN,Kienboch’s, Stacy sti l l excels in l ivingthe l ifegiven to her.


stacy l. welchtrixyDiversityis a strongtool to gainany boldintel lect.

Both l iving in so manyremarkably different places and eightyears of College were goldenadditions.

A week after she obtainedher Doctorate in Law, a severe wreckalmosttook her l ife. She had a 1 7 percentchance tol ive, and even less to be in thecondition shecurrently is in. She suffered 7 brainbleeds,skeletal fractures, spinal fluid leak,brokenneck, re-broken collar bone, leftlower backbroken, pelvis broken and vagina.

Stacy is a Mother of two children,HaileyRenae Welch, age 11 and CodyDean Hawken,age 1 6. Suffering issues such asbackincluding moderate Scoliosis, AVN,Kienboch’s, Stacy sti l l excels in l ivingthe l ifegiven to her.

Perceptionschange upongreeting death,

andStacy has chosento focus on Writing

and Artrather than Lawwhich is deadly in

and ofitself.












Sandals and Sands

Sandals mimicking a shouldercross freely foreign sands

to the Bays of Spain.

Exes, exes, exes, exes,hexes – all fucking hexes.

Let me touch your flaked tonguewith cold fingertips, warmedin the exfoliated white waterswashing over our high hips.




For our Pink flaming Fairies –they are our boxes opened,continuously donating skulls

and six sea dollars for a pence.


Dried within the cobwebswe are truly our hexes

and no one really Victors.

Copyright 2010 Trixy

Stacy L. Welch, J.D.





Our Children we would rather play hide and seekwith our Cucumber/Porcupine looking dildo dongsto find by their Easter Baskets after The Amen,than see the real nipples of their Mothers’ Beautythat nursed them into this Pornographic Worldwith Subliminal Vaginal Cues dancing and dancinginto Oscar’s lid in Sesame Street Alphabets,the titties they will be suppressed under for life.Father, don’t you think i looks like your dickey dooerect cleaning the toilet paper from Mommies Ass?Yes, I caught you faggot not for liking poobut for the fear you have taught me in being Honest,the World is a World you cannot hide foreveror I will learn stupidly how to be your testicleshiding underneath the Clouds of Historical Hooch.Copyright 2010 Trixy/Stacy L. Welch, J.D.




85the stolen poem winter issuetthhee ssttoolleenn ppooeemm wwiinntteerr iissssuuee







StoneI live Painwearing its’ fickleConstant Chalk Shadows.Daily Masks Never have an Endin confined configurations.Why’d you Want More?What left do I Haveto Give?My Gravewill be Our Shadow,the Permanent Post Mask.My Constant Shadow is Yours’!No, you can’t throw it away!The Indispensablehas No Grave,onlyStone

Copyright 201 0 Trixy



The BlackPearlThe Black Pearl....

Your saliva drips down my window ScreenScreaming to be caught –just catch me,not in new plastic Disney tea cups,collapsible glass.The Porcelains from Englandwill soothingly roll me aroundin your aromatic green recipewrit in Ancient Japanese scrollswhere we began.



The BlackPearlThe Black Pearl....

Your saliva drips down my window ScreenScreaming to be caught –just catch me,not in new plastic Disney tea cups,collapsible glass.The Porcelains from Englandwill soothingly roll me aroundin your aromatic green recipewrit in Ancient Japanese scrollswhere we began.

The Consumptionists beginquenching thirsts for tomorrowladen with white leavesof Black Pearlbetween Our teeth.A Forever was always Impossible,if an Always has been a preferencein the inevitably insaneConception of Time -the Plausibility of a Yesterday.

Copyright 201 0 Trixy/Stacy L. Welch,

J.D.



yolanda morahallowen pictures



yolanda morahallowen pictures


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the stolen poem, winter issue version 2