September Issue Word Catalyst

The September edition of Word Catalyst is up, and it is one of our finest issues, including a moving tribute to 911, lest we forget. All is not doom and gloom in this issue, however, lots of columns, poems, essays, stories, artwork, and photography. Don't forget to read my column, Tales of Whisper Gap, this month entitled "The Lady in Green."

The Lady in Green

She pursed tiny skittish lips, painted scarlet to join rebellious forces with her luxurious auburn hair. White gloves cloaked the lady's long curved fingers--one could imagine screeching red nails under the cloth; and she wore a green satin dress, shining, shimmering, wrapping the girl in sumptuous folds that insisted, nonetheless, on clinging to her curves. With one shoulder laid bare in defiance, a wide-brimmed hat bellowed her uniqueness to the world. In quiet contrast, it shadowed half her face. But when one eye peeked out, it shot tragic bullets. Read more.

Life Undisciplined

Jungle Sunset - painting by Henri Rousseau


Life undisciplined
Unruly, punctuated
by serene moments
dressed with soft flower buttons
sewn on green woven
noisy jungle platitudes.

Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

In the Sphere

Hands with Sphere by M.C. Escher

The psychic's leathery hand lifted her crystal ball high, suspending it above my face. Her charm bracelet jingled as it slipped down toward her elbow, and that lady's thin, veined arm trembled under the weight. But I barely noticed as the vision in the sphere shot electric bolts to my psyche. The old man was there.

Just as I remembered, his eyes glared straightforward as if recognizing me through the vapors. Those orbs pulsated with insane gestures, fire, wind, a host of biblical plagues. But I left him behind years ago. Nonetheless, in the glass sphere he blared larger than life. The shoddy, wrinkled brown suit remained the same; the same old ugly beard brushed against his chest and his brow still made furrows across his forehead with each fevered breath.

He sat in the usual place, surrounded by dusty old books, the ones he said gave him superiority over other humans who were not so well read. I could spy the day's soft light powdering through a faraway window. No doubt it would soon feel out of place in the esoteric cauldron he called home. What purpose did light and life serve in those dingy surroundings. Surely the sun would gather up its ballerina rays and make a hasty retreat soon.

"Ach, the ball, it is too heavy," Helena the psychic said, snatching it from my view to lay the globe on a cloth-draped table nearby. She rubbed her wrist and stared at me with childish eyes. "Did you see what you wanted to see?" she asked.

"I don't know," I said. "I saw insanity-personified. I saw... ." I paused. No, I could not tell her. I could not tell her I saw myself. I was supposed to be cured now. That old man was supposed to be gone. But he lurks, waiting. I know that now.


Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

That Package

That Package from Easy Street Prompts


That package
arrived wrapped with brown paper
soiled with abstractions
in screaming shapes and forms,
an abomination of masking tape
criss-crossed in confusion.
The whole thing
left me breathless
because I knew you wrapped it
cursing my name.


Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

The Loner

People in the Sun by Edward Hopper



The Loner

I went to sunny climes
and ignored the light.

In my worn satchel I carried a book,
an old tome
I had since high school,
its leather cover scarred and tested
like me.
I'd never read it
merely carried it as I traveled through life,
and it got knocked and bumped along with me.

We sat on rickety wood chairs
and faced the sun
white-skinned and lacking flavor.
Our chairs were lined up
likes pews in church.
Hopeful faces pointed upward
to the preacher man sun
hoping he would fill souls
by coloring faces,
making them beautiful people,
tanned, vivacious,
people of verve and grace and wonder.

I stuck my head
in the book instead
since I'd brought it
hoping rather to find enlightenment
among chapters and verses
describing other people's lives
as if it would rub off on mine.
I thought it could.
I read
and found the book merely reiterated
where we'd already been together,
this book and I,
same lessons, same life, different colors.

My face burned anyway but unlike the others
I saw no value to it
and it hurt.
That was when I decided
to stay home next time
and read my book in the shade
alone.

Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

Dreams Gone Black

Fanned Out by Charles Dana Gibson

Dreams Gone Black

Thunder faces, hearts in despair
it's over, no more games to play.
So lost, so sad, pure angst laid bare
Earth spins out an unnoticed day
as we sit, motionless display.
Fanned out, our field of dreams gone black.
Waiting for another game day
Sitting here until it comes back.

Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

A huitain contains 8 lines, 8 syllables per line
Rhyme Scheme ababbcbc

The Nooning

The Nooning by Winslow Homer



The Nooning*

Ants run
on dirty plates
tossed on summer green grass
while Mom's wash fans boyish rumbles
at noon.

Copyright 2008 JO Janoski


*Nooning -- a rest or meal at noon

Two Strikes

Two Strikes by Charles Dana Gibson


Summer heat, good old boys, two strikes in the ninth
peanut vapors, gritty vibes, cacophonous uproar
beery stenches tickle fate, sweat forms on the brow
Cross your heart, clench your fists, come on bring it home!
beery stenches tickle fate, sweat forms on the brow
peanut vapors, gritty vibes, cacophonous uproar
Summer heat, good old boys, two strikes in the ninth


Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

Empty

The Music Room by Vilhelm Hammershoi

Empty

Empty of dulcet chords of love
fast drawn curtains deny day's light.
Clouds roam kissing edges above.
You've gone and thus defines my plight.
Music transformed to filmy night,
a sad crystallized existence.
My whimsical heart closed up tight
awaiting with love's persistence.


Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

A huitain contains 8 lines, 8 syllables per line
Rhyme Scheme ababbcbc

Kicking Up

Image credit: Rick Mobbs - my four sisters


Kicking Up

Storms gather
with tides nipping shore
but sisters know how to swim
dancing in rushing waves together
kicking up inspiration
that way sisters do
holding hands.


Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

Trapped

In the Black Circle by Wassily Kandinsky



Trapped

Trapped in your circle
smoked by nihilistic doom
abstract emptiness
loaded with discordant sounds
of obtuse hunger
while fragmented splotches roam
gruesome moving forms
plotting to seize my being
smothering ego
total assimilation
ignominious defeat.

Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

Blinded

The Night Window by Edward Hopper


Blinded

I lie sprawled on concrete
like an alley cat
looking to the stars
my body iced
by frozen concentration
and Jack Daniels
eyes zigzagging the skies
like jet rockets
looking for recognition.
But my supine image
is cast in darkness by your glare
of normalcy
blasting from an electric high tech tower
hovering above me.
I'm nullified by your bombardment
and Technicolor grand-standing.
While in the meantime
I'm amazed by your oblivion.
Are you're blinded by your own bright lights?
I wish you'd keep them to yourself
so I can enjoy the stars.

Copyright 2008 JO Janoski