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“Pan Monster” by (Chef) Pete Solomita

1

CCOONNTTRRIIBBUUTTOORRSS SE’QUINCE Aiken, ppaaggee 2200

Andallann, ppaaggee 1111

LINDA Benninghoff, ppaaggee 55

STEPHEN Caratzas, ppaaggee 1155

MARY Clancy Mango, ppaaggeess 44,, 88--99,, aanndd1122--1133

CAMILLO DiMaria, ppaaggee 22

RUSS Hampel, ppaaggeess 1166 aanndd 1199

EVIE Ivy, ppaaggee 2200

EVELYN Kandel, ppaaggee 1199

PHIL Mango, ppaaggee 77

JACKIE Post, ppaaggee 1177

MYKE Rock, ccoovveerr

FRANK Simone, ppaaggee 1100

d.f. skinner, ppaaggeess 11 aanndd 22

PETE Solomita, iinnssiiddee ffrroonntt ccoovveerr

CHERYL Welch, ppaaggeess 33,, 66,, 1144,, 1155,, 1188 aanndd iinnssiiddee bbaacckk ccoovveerr

Selfies, bbaacckk ccoovveerr,, Mary CLANCY MANGO,

Lysa GORDON-WALTON, Ally MEANS, Jessie PATRICIA,

Cheryl WELCH, Roy B. YOKELSON

CCOO--EEDDIITTOORRSS MARY Clancy Mangoand CHERYL Welch

Copyright Notice: Articles and Illustrations with by-lines are © 2013 by their creators. Unsigned material is: © 2013 by The Wormwood Press.

No part of this publication may be reproduced without permission of the contributor responsible for the work.

the SELF PORTRAIT issue #17

This issue is dedicated todd..ff.. sskkiinnnneerrwhose sudden passing hasleft us terribly saddened.

d.f. (David) had submittedhis work—featured on this page and page 2—to The Wormwood Pressseveral months prior to his passing. Werespectfully include hisbeautiful poems in ourpublication as he hadintended.

Just prior to his passing,David and his friendPatrick Parker wereputting the finishingtouches on a book of d.f. skinner's works. You can read and download the PDF of his book of poetry attinyurl.com/kundalinimarinara

Please join us on FFaacceebbooookk at The Wormwood Press, and online at TThheeWWoorrmmwwooooddPPrreessss..ccoomm

the point

poetry should be dangerouspoetry should seduce us,

like singing backup for the sirens’ song,and playing marco polo with medusas.

d.f. skinner

2

remembrances of things past, 1978

some incendiary blond

gives me a kansas city lookout

as the benzedrinas rattle in tongues.

sweet leeches and diplomat queens

made up like faust

recite the same old rosary, and me,

well, like an angel with a dirty face,

i sip my long, long wine and i just float

i float like ivory soap.

d.f. skinner

Would you like to accompany me shopping?

Your presence will deflect my anxiety. I think

it’s beautiful that you haven’t gotten back to me.

I like to think that I transcend my ethnicity.

I don’t like the tone you’re projecting.

I have them committed to memory;

braised running board, commerce cruciform,

and a platonic lobotomy. Clean singing

of a heldentenor intends to release

the spasms as an acute focus escalates

the timbre in your voice

while remora are in the way.

Camillo DiMaria

3

4

5

I’ve Been Up All Night

I've been up all night

leaning on the windowsill.

In the dark, sound carries,

the questioning of an owl,

the punching chatter of raccoons.

I cannot move, ask,

what if things could be different?

I would sleep the blessed sleep

Odysseus slept on returning home,

the color green always

punctuating my dreams. But now

it is garden-dry August,

the leaves slice off aquamarine

and pink, and I cannot move,

thinking of your ghost,

how you swam in late August,

giving away nothing with

your slow movement, everything so

supple and connected, still.

Linda Benninghoff

6

26by Cheryl Welch

The boy leaned in and kissed the shoulder pad of his grandpa’s old tweed jacket.We sat

in perfect rows, not knowing if we would hold ourselves together or fly apart as fine dust

shimmers in the candlelight. Some looked up—some looked down—all searched their

personal perspectives for something to believe in.

The tenor sang Ave Maria and broke our hearts into a thousand sad shards, piercing

through the dark and becoming entangled in the thin strands of his perfect pitch.

It was the night of the shooting.The church holiday music absolved the hundred hearts

pounding too quickly in our collective body. Huddled together, or seated alone with

straight backs, we tried to make our hearts quiet among the beautiful voices, the hushed

voices, the horrific violence that ended the lives of the twenty first-graders and six

teachers as they began their busy school day.We prayed for the victims’ families whose

futures would forever reverberate with the sound of gunfire.

Most of us were made different on that day. Some were made hopeless as others were

made strong. Some became more resolved in their beliefs and some stopped believing.

Some cried out for more guns while others demanded fewer.The cacophony of varied

thoughts rang through as we struggled to find hope in our hymnals.

“Sleep in heavenly peace,” we sang out of unison,“Sleep in heavenly peace.”

There will be no peace for the parents who, the next day, would trip over the toys their

child left in the middle of the floor that morning. Nor for the families of the six adults

who gave their lives trying to protect the children from a madman with a semi-automatic

assault rifle.We all, in our own new versions of ourselves, wished eternal peace for the

twenty children who were killed.The small, happy sons and daughters who went to

school that morning wondering what Santa might bring, or how to make the stick on

their letter “b” a little more straight.

7

Phil Mango

8

9

10

Eye Drowned Inn

the smoky hazeonly to be saved byYou’re kisses that are a long coiled amatoryrecordwith pops and hissesyou teeth on my applehave a bite,then throw what’s left overinto my wooden hearthagain my love afirethat ministers the flame,your amber eminence grise,is my golden gracethat wields the power in our embracerenders affectation, of no pretensemy fingers in your hair adduce, the number of sparrowsto be sacrificedwithout youThen heaven is rent, and out of spacethe soul vacantand the stars tooFallleaves, all eternity can decaysave me stay

in the rake of you’re warmthto meone dimly lit place-d bulbthrough ash and dustdoes returnan upward tulipplanted on my rapture you’reskipped beatsand my longingnot to breathefor even a second to escapeis far to long do they departfrom your kissesthat again starts the snareto trap my heartas a willfully mounted trophyyou,slightly pushed back against the wall.

Frank Simone

“Prin

cess

”by

And

alla

nn

11

12

13

14

Some of My Parts

Broken and pasted,

First tears, then fears

Glued and then shaken,

Through days, then years

The shatters matter,

Arranged, aligned

Reclusive, reckless,

A confused mind

Is sometimes pretty

to me

Cheryl Welch

REAL HEROES KNOW THEIR MASTODON BONES

What are you saving yourself for

strong legs strong arms

faltering pride

so dear

keep a hand free for a suitcase full

of dance cards

arriving at ghostly and looking noon

such displays lack

proper respect though can

often be

seen as suitable

via a series of satisfied coughs

I can see your point clearly

who would want

a jet-lagged (though dignified)

goddam monster

with nothing on the horizon

when only a kiss

is called for

Stephen Caratzas

15

16

That Summer

That summer was all blank canvaswaiting for an artist’s brushlonging for azure, roseand burnt umber

His life was long on passionbut light on pastelHis unfinished masterpieceand undiscovered fatelay somewhere betweenMontauk and Manhattan

With great intensityhe pursued his dreamsWas it destiny or delusion?He blindly rowed his boattoward an unseen shorebut there was no shortageof inspirationin his perspiration

Two mistresseseased his sleepless nightsCassiopeia, with her zigzag stars,reminded him he was a child of the universeand part of a grand schemeLuna, with her full moon radiance,reminded him he was also a child of Earthby playfully casting him in long shadows

That summer was fullof expectations of a better life,a life with resources and opportunityHis goal was to find the doorway, the pathbefore the arrival of the crisp September airand the first fallen leaf

Russ Hampel

17

Jackie Post

18

19

On East Seventy-Second Street

This sudden moment of joy

in a long tedious time.

Wind blowing briskly

scented with sunned river.

Flattened silk against my body,

delightfully seductive.

Breezy caress on calves,

wind’s stroke on trembling arms.

Warmed by a splash of sun

thrown through a sturdy city tree,

I stand in the ordinary August day

aware of a fleeting blessing.

Evelyn Kandel

Duality

OhHow I loveThe waterFreedomWeightlessnessIn the waterI’m fasterI would like To stay underLongerBut I can’tNeed airLife giving airThere’s all I needOn landTerra FirmaHas it’s ownQualitiesGravity Holds me in placeAs I sleepUnder a warm sunI am rejuvenatedAs I bask in itAnd dreamOf the waterI am vulnerableOn landI retreat Within myself

When I am threatenedI live in two worldsCan’t stay too longIn eitherIn my edge-worldI am liquidAnd solidMy earthly designIs strongI am oldI am wiseAll I need To be happy Is some waterAnd some landI don’t knowHow to beAny more thanI already amSomedayI will be a spiritBut for nowI am a turtle

Russ Hampel

20

Dancer Makes Her Costume

The dancer creates her own costume,shuts all out. Her thoughts flow within, with the choreography of her needle.

The needle moves with colorful beads -reds with blues and blues with greens,and greens within green. She can

create flowers, leaves, and stars.She works with a treasure ofpearls, golden and silver beads.

Earthy or surreal patternsto move on her hip band and top,to flow on her skirt and veil.

1001 designs will float in the mind. Who could create and wear them all?A floral design done, now one

geometric patterned in silver or gold.Light dances on beads and shinesback. A hum on the lips

and a bead on the fabric.The design emerges . . .a fringe falls complete.

A sequence of sequenceson the yards of the veil and skirt.The dancer choreographs

her design trimmed in gold orsilver. Hold it up and think - allthings should emerge so beautiful!

Evie Ivy

Breaking Free

Don’t listen to what they say

And let your fear of failing go

Don’t just smile on the outside

Spread your wings and it’s your time to fly

You’re worth more than you know

Se’Quince Aiken