
TABLE OF CONTENTS 29:1 Febuary, 2014		LYNX A Journal for Linking Poets with Symbiotic Poetry



		COLLABORATIVE POETRY FOUR X TWO Peter Newton Kathe L. Palka PN what we are capable of flying squirrel KLP offline for the weekend watching eagles on the river ~~ KLP summer vacation packing what I can't live without PN arm in arm my only carry-on ~~ PN waking to the loon whether to laugh or cry KLP miles away still I reach for him ~~ PN September the kids fall back in line KLP a tinge of blue in the chalk dust of each eraser clap PADDED FOOTSTEPS* Angela Terry Cara Holman Julie Warther wind howling through the mist Neverland calling the lost boys Angela padded footsteps down a labyrinthine hallway Cara ready or not a creak of the wardrobe door Julie begging the wizard for a heart and a brain Angela ruby slippers I count the mileposts until home Cara birdsong — climbing out of the rabbit hole Julie WHITE NOISE Angela Terry Cara Holman Julie Warther all the things we no longer believe in... seashells without sounds Angela the steady drip of rain from the eaves Cara Thanksgiving alone snap of the wishbone in the disposal Julie breaking the silence smoke alarm cheeps Angela white noise bare branches covered in moss Cara the letter stamped return to sender Julie THE OLD 45 Julie Warther Cara Holman Angela Terry we try it his way — a rocky path in thin-soled shoes Julie digging my toes into warm sand Cara summer heat — even her string bikini too heavy Angela spreading aloe on the sunburn Julie blackberry bramble the old 45 full of scratches Cara under a new moon pencil dancing Angela WINTER SUNSHINE Julie Warther Cara Holman Angela Terry black Friday a mothball stuck in Santa’s beard Julie wool mittens hung on the heater to dry Cara holiday dance in the high school gym Brylcreem Angela planting kisses on peanut butter blossoms Julie winter sunshine a crate of oranges from grandma Cara caroling party the eggnog spiked with rum Angela CATS IN THE FOG Giselle Maya *Jane Reichhold* yearnings of the species survive what do they see the amber eyes of the cat gazing from her grass nest a tiger cat named Anise makes a globe summer nest in high grasses bent low by turning turbanwise at the edge of the garden where she hides from summer heat and intruders such as the stray cat Snowdrop, wild boars, foxes, hares and the sound of a distant tractor. She naps and greets me when I walk by with a questioning meow — comes forth when summer air cools with the sound of cicadas world white veils in wind stilled fog the sea rises on the way to heaven brakes squeal in the curve It is August and on the other side of the coastal mountain range it is as hot as any stove. That makes our flow of air from west to east come to a halt to turn into fog. Some people like it and others do not. What they all like are the cooler temperatures that we enjoy. It is amazing to see the prices they pay to vacation here without the sun, under dripping trees and gray skies. an exultation of papillions wild flower meadows never seen by those who ever cut their grass white queen anne’s lace and blue chicory speckle the meadow together with insects of many species — a habitat for wild things to gather morning dew and pollen yet there are those who cut this splendor all summer long — even though there are signs up by the roadside saying ‘cut the grass less often’ purple dusk the fragrance of iris increases as another bud unfolds reality of growing older refusing to give in to pain, darkness, my heart lingers among the tall weeds of the flower beds. No wonder we call them ‘flower beds’ – what a perfect place to park our souls over night. To sleep among the flowers as fairies do; head cradled by the curve of a petal. These days that I am only partly human as the bonds to earth grow slender are such a joy! velvet folds of oak and pine mountains in a near village a painter’s still lifes and landscapes his work not forgotten I visit a castle where Serge Rippert’s wife and son have organised an exhibit of his best work on the vaulted stone walls — an apt gesture of homage to the painter. Cezanne was one of his favorite artists who lived in Aix-en-Provence — the same intimate sense of the painter’s presence felt when visiting Cezanne’s studio evident here. The oil paint has not faded, bright greens and blues, an eggplant’s deep purple, pears and apples, jugs, a teapot, a guitar. the landscape with the perched village of Caseneuve. lichen patina on the stones in the garden, mountain views all around, geraniums, white balloon flowers among stone tables and benches, chairs in look-out spots, to sit all day cloud-watching moonlight itself in a cloud in me a glow is always reaching past the momentary thing The brochure is done! On-time with a day to spare. Suddenly there is a vast openness in my day – a wide empty space that was not here yesterday. I know that within a few hours other jobs and obligations will reform themselves into a different reality – the cat’s abscessed scent gland will have to be seen by a vet, that answer to a renga partner will have to be written, I will have to correct and resend the text of the new book. But at this moment, the air coming in the open window is made of morning, scents of blooming grasses, and the sound of whistling. Still I am thankful for the night when sleep also pushes aside even these pleasant concerns and obligations. cucumber soup we pick elderberries and hazelnuts this friend whose house is anchored on rock Now and then we visit to walk in our gardens, speak of our brothers -- mine who taught me the Greek alphabet to recite for guests when I was a child ‘ look what my sister can do’ we share a simple meal drinking freshly picked rosemary tea, look at trees, the cat Fez joins us, disappears along stone steps among fig trees. the jade Buddha with half-closed eyes serene not seeing the soap opera on the TV of my life A friend loaned me a book that has meant very much to her. It is all about how to stop that voice within that comments, judges, and irritates constantly with unwanted monologues. As I read, though, my small voice within tells me that I need this voice. It is the source of my poems, my ideas, my will. If I could be disciplined enough to turn off this voice, the author of the book claims I could access perfect bliss. What would happen if the voice went silent! Would I be happy in a constant state of bliss? Or is bliss like happiness – it has to come and go the way an alternating current makes a vacuum cleaner roar with its work? utamakura land of dawning sun a narrow trail through oak and pine balanced chi rising I speak to my son on the phone: California — Provence about our lives, what we do and think, a weekly contact of voice mind heart I am grateful we are able to share. Color pencils for my grandson, a trip to Yosemite for his family, our talking refreshes this long friendship, keeps alive our connectedness. I would like to see him more often, go camping with them, cook breakfast together, swim in Mirror Lake. started August 9, 2013 completed August 18, 2013 STREET PERFORMANCE Owen Bullock Patricia Prime busking in the market playing “Blind Mary” on the whistle the fire siren goes off When they were teenagers at university, my son and his friend played their guitars and sang their own compositions on Queen Street in the heart of Auckland. They made plenty of money but also received buttons, foreign coins and abuse. Sometimes they were moved on by shopkeepers or the police but mostly they enjoyed their time performing in front of a crowd and a cold beer afterwards. how hard it is to stop people in the street the busking couple with little musical ability can surely tell you the audacity reading from The Godfather I feel compelled to give him a dollar I’ve always felt that money should keep moving. It’s shuffling now through its own silent universe and some of it drops into my slot. There’s also the thought that we sometimes need to keep it. Most of us have received so little education on the subject of money that we often haven’t known how to manage; it’s probably more taboo than sex. outside a sex shop in the red light district of Karangahape Rd a man drops a handful of coins into a battered guitar case Strains of music lead me to cross the street where a young boy and a man old enough to be his grandfather are playing: the child on a set of bongo drums and the man a Fender guitar that has seen better days. They resemble the typical down-and-out: straggly hair, unwashed clothing and grime-encrusted faces, but it wasn’t so bad listening to their music against the backdrop of city traffic. HOVERING IN SUNLIGHT David Bingham Frank Williams to see snow fall I tap a sapling with my walking stick on entering the house feeling the fire’s warmth while we were out a picture fell from the wall along the top of the hill a thin line of walkers bonfire night rockets outshone by the moon dew on a cobweb sparkles in the sun last of the apples gathered and pulped for a barrel of cider we all raise our glasses and toast the bride & groom pearls for his lover, a vacuum cleaner for the wife a pair of swans swim silently past at the wood’s edge the stillness of a viper soaking up heat the end of the pier show is tonight a bright moon Jekyll & Hyde, his demeanor turns on a sixpence even a monk can’t make this mad dog sit after a long flight a two hour wait at passport control a hand and a pentangle alike yet not alike so much change, they don’t make them the way they used to again we check and oil your vintage lawn mower pink cherry blossom and the sound of a stream under the moss hovering in sunlight a swarm of mayflies Composed: via email Started: 4 March 2013 Finished: 26 October 2013 FLAMES Claudia Brefeld Heike Gewi Walter Mathois at the camp fire – flames flicker, delay the dusk HG warm rain washes the beach chair WM carried home a straw hat full of blueberries CB stillness ... lost in sock holes HG the silver sickle becomes softer – Autumn Sonata CB dragons smile from heaven picking chestnuts WM * out of nowhere a yellow leaf wafts over ... Brynhild's rock HG in the wind chime notes of Wagner WM well hidden the folder “03-07” conceals passion CB Cupid's arrow shapes blood drops on his arm tattoo HG giggling male hands pet the butt WM Don Goyo – a cloudlet soars from the crater CB at last, snowflakes! everything dances in the moon ring HG ice scrapers – carefully the skids conclude the circle WM zoo attraction: peeping out of mother's pouch koala baby CB the magnetic field vanishes the pupils' excitement, too HG open window tulip tips lure the brush into the red CB asparagus harvest – the ground raises WM * night veils lay gently on trees ... first green HG food truck the scent of foreign spices CB sitar sounds sandalwood-oil flows through her breasts WM out of order – taking the stairs with a broken heart HG hypertension the cat jumps to the monitor WM sunbeams quiver in the roaring of maize combines CB the innkeeper brings more cool beer … half-shade HG bomb scare – everywhere cries and splinters CB silverfish next to the tub rhinestones lie WM omg! news fills with emptiness HG Luna shines behind a heap of leaves cellphone tunes WM squeaking gate ... last asters bow their heads CB * picture hooks left stranded on bare walls light streams of october HG hesitantly the comb touches his baldness WM over the crest – her look gliding with a sailplane CB rooftops thaw ... father drinks in deeply HG meditation – Sakura blossoms rest the bare shoulder WM a lark's trill reaches the firmament CB FOUR SEASONS IN THE GARDEN Rafa Zabratyñski George Swede cherry blossom rain just a few heartbeats from the ground first basil and sage leaves their deep breaths on my hands from a rose bed straight toward the Perseids cricket chirping a flaming sunset through the bare maple trees¬ the crackle underfoot a rook shakes the silence off the hoar-frosted walnut boughs the pergola chimes frozen together ... the wind's a cappella Fire in the Shrine Michael Kowalewski & Sonam Chhoki** WAANZIEN / DELUSION Jacques Verhoeven Silva Ley clean spectacles new wallpaper every day open the curtains ceilings, floors block painted walk into wonder rooms The Daily News is sailing everyone the leading man each floor tile a stage search the shocking boarders launch startling reports thousand days and nights continuous exposure floodlights not used drama, smoke the last stub daylight on naked bodies ^^^^ wear printed shirts to hide behind publicity change every day language on skin and hair games of reality collection pieces full shopping trolleys series complete manners to stroke and flatter fresh designs in 'Grand Hotel' computerized child to grow an image - thinker to play his way icons of 'upward thumbs' one minute of fame ^^^^ kaleidoscopic flashes of spinning prints fashion seems endless eyes as burning torches I want it all - I want it how open internet fiercely lightning signals mass marketing tricks with gaudy photo's carnival of the fiddler words simplified abc of pictograms new norm: rapidity astronauts and dada - ism no character arrived ^^^^ presuming in fear Fortunes wheel in action a grumbling drone meanwhile in dark soil the seasons change in your two fists communication's happiness a 21 inch tablet hummingbirds in a rainforest butterflies on flowers watch 'Lucky TV' read slogans on floor tiles 'the world is going on' share text at the horizon a cinema of 'Delusion'. (Waanzien) Location: Written in the Museum Of The Image) in Breda, The Netherlands in connection with the exhibition WAANZIEN (seeing delusion).Visitors find answers to the questions: How to make sense out of today's (media) delusions? How to spot image tricks in our visual culture? Is our brain fooling us or are we fooled? 21 - 12 – 2013. See: http://www.motimuseum.nl/en/exhibitions/current/waanzien/2185 WILDE NARZISSEN - WILD DAFFODILS Claudia Brefeld Helga Stania weiter Morgen das Land bis zum Fluss trägt Vogelgesang von wilden Narzissen löst sich der Tau Mit jedem Schluck Tee die Skyline gewinnt an Konturen Aufbruch zum Kailash und die Götter schweigen a morning wide open the land down to the stream holding birdsong from wild daffodils dew drops with every sip of tea the skyline becomes clearer departure to Kailash and the gods remain silent HEISSER ASPHALT - HOT ASPHALT Claudia Brefeld Helga Stania Pfirsiche reifen am Mittagsufer das Spiel von Schatten und Licht Siesta – im Kreuzgang zwei dösende Tauben als Garry Cooper siegte — man drehte schwarz-weiß vom Brautstrauß nur Blüten auf heißem Asphalt peaches ripening at the bank of noon the game of shadows and light siesta – in the cloister two snoozing doves when Carry Cooper triumphed ── they shot monochrome from the bridal bouquet only blossoms on hot asphalt UNSICHERER GRUND – UNSTABLE GROUND Claudia Brefeld Helga Stania Spätes Licht Im roten Wald verliert sich eine Herde Rauschbeeren pflücken auf unsicherem Grund weitab ihr Klagen die Fähe wieder und wieder rastlos Wind jagt ums Haus der Junge schnitzt einen Totempfahl late light A herd dissolved into red woods picking mossberries on unstable ground far away the vixen's wail again and again restless wind whirls around the house a boy cuts a totem pole ZUM HOHEN MOND – TO THE HIGH MOON Claudia Brefeld Helga Stania verschneites Tal ... taste mich dem Innern zu jeder Eiskristall ein Kindertraum Sonnenwinde grün lodert die Nacht überm Fjell Zum hohen Mond Küßt mir aus der Brust das Leben snowy valley – feeling my way to the inside every ice crystal a child‘s dream solar winds the night's green flare beyond the fell to the high moon Kiss the life from out my breast **MT.MERU: Michael Kowalewski &Sonam Chhoki AM FLUSS** Helga Stania Ramona Linke Mittagsläuten den Kreuzweg entlang wandert Nebel des Ahorns farbige Pracht rauschender Raum der Stille am Fluss hangaufwärts pflücken sie Holunder MONDENSCHATTEN Helga Stania Ramona Linke Der Tintenfleck in Luthers Schreibstube verblasst einst tanzten Elfen am Fuß der Teufelsmauer* vom Brunnen Silber abschöpfen es zieht ein Mondenschatten * http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teufelsmauer_(Harz) RIVERSIDE Helga Stania Ramona Linke noontime bells misty shrouds on the way of the cross / HS the maple tree's colorful splendor / RL a space of rustling silence / HS uphill from the river elderberries being picked MOONLIGHT Helga Stania Ramona Linke the inkspot in Luther's scriptorium faded away long ago elves danced at the base of the Devil's wall* skimming silver from the fountain ── “a shadow cast by the moonlight” A MYRIAD TALES Marilyn Humbert Maria Encarnacao Amelia Fielden Merle Connolly Keitha Keyes Lois Holland Dorothy Walker each night in my dreams I dance while he strums rivers of moon-glitter mh restless seas windblown clouds reaching for island shores and new experiences me largest island smallest continent Australia flooding one summer in flames the next af to go or to stay and defend our home … still undecided when the bushfire hits kk home a family's joys, sorrows within a myriad tales to tell, walls have no tongues mc tempting aromas warmth from the kitchen squeals and laughter from the cozy lounge room the music of childhood lh this house once filled with children now empty except for memories of lost loves dw alone in this wilderness with stars above and grass beneath my feet I seek a way forward mh rainy streets grey-sky grumbles — boldly I rush out at the hint of sunshine me Monday morning Sydney city roaring with energy I pick up the pace on hot asphalt footpaths af trapped in the clutter of the city a man works, sleeps, works years creep into decades kk from the headland I gaze down at the sea as spume sprays rocks the rhythmic song of the waves soothes me, slowing time lh hand in hand we walk the shoreline our steps in time with wavelets dancing on the sand dw **FELLED OAK: Michael Kowalewski &Sonam Chhoki THE RUMOROUS RAIN** Sergio Oritz Puerto Rico Sonam Chhoki, Bhutan cave temple — lighting butter lamps for the new year the blue pines sough echoes of past mantras balancing the moon on my head... a gentle surf song under what I think is laughter and here I am writing on blades of grass in the scrim of dawn . . . it seems hope, like despair is an addiction each indiscretion passes through me like a gallstone. . . this urge to surface from my shadow no longer enraged at the crushing blow of time I now embrace the slow discoloring of names and shapes in the blue time of a lilac there was a gap— I rubbed my eyes and thought, “she’s lost” a moth stutters against the pane in drizzling dusk . . . she nurses mute longings born of a fear of words alone in the moonlight a woman rakes in the shallows. . . her silence filled with tern cries leafing through the pages of her past she laments the grim pride of their unbridgeable dreams the flowers of the city are death-like at times . . . my sorrow stems from a song full of lonely nights unremitting rain yet with what reckless joy birds sing at dawn . . . such sweet insinuation how to live with your absence silence is rain with the sound turned down, echoes memories that die . . . life is nothing but a dream Polonaise Fantasia on father’s old gramophone rain drips from the plum he planted from a seed in beads of notes the concert room forged inside my brain hammers a prelude of its own . . . tree ferns frame the ocean view with the moon in its hair, the willow listens to creaking prayer wheels . . . I have learned not to speak of your unexplained silence LEAPING YEARS Giselle Maya Patricia Prime out of a tea jar the story of a man who loved his friends sculpted frogs of stone his poems untranslated for thirty years I’ve had in my possession your notebook morocco-bound and red in colour where you wrote your lyrics fukiyose wrapped in autumn leaves the mountain chain my roots try to find their way to the origin of the spring we mark my youth on the photocopied maps with blue circles these are the places you’ll visit on your overseas trip the shepherdess her granite tombstone revisited my haiku engraved yellow roses for Toussaint now Mahler plays and the contralto wheels through his lieder when she spread her wings and flew a husband’s hand played with a ring from Kyoto a kakemono with two birds on a maple branch lit by autumn moonrise they are my friends for life scalloped satin clouds with breezes from the ocean in the morning light where we breakfast in a beach café before a walk over the dunes years leap in a whirling dance Swan Lake a new generation of dancers a new perception of the tale watching the old film ‘Casablanca’ in black and white with a group of students I wonder what makes them laugh at some of the serious scenes a constant struggle to recall the vagabond mind to this place and time it tends to wander beyond the limits of this planet I wish I knew how to hold the sorrowing body how to ease its pains what to say to one who still mourns the love of a dear one passions evoked by our genes shadows recur as frequently as the golden light of the sun when I was twenty I had a long way to go in the beginning was the motorbike with a pillion when we travelled Britain a young woman standing on a stone bridge glittering ice river a charming man holds her where might he be now how many times has spring gathered itself to return to us as we look back at the past and the way the past remains BACK TO TABLE OF CONTENTS
	COLLABORATIVE POETRY FOUR X TWO Peter Newton Kathe L. Palka SEASPRAY Elizabeth McFarland Tzetzka Ilieva PADDED FOOTSTEPS Angela Terry Cara Holman Julie Warther WHITE NOISE Angela Terry Cara Holman Julie Warther HALO SUN Elizabeth McFarland Tzetzka Ilieva THE OLD 45 Julie Warther Cara Holman Angela Terry WINTER SUNSHINE Julie Warther Cara Holman Angela Terry CATS IN THE FOG Giselle Maya *Jane Reichhold* STREET PERFORMANCE Owen Bullock Patricia Prime VANILLA BLOOMS Elizabeth McFarland Tzetzka Ilieva HOVERING IN SUNLIGHT David Bingham Frank Williams MATRYOSHKA Elizabeth McFarland Tzetzka Ilieva FLAMES Claudia Brefeld Heike Gewi Walter Mathois FOUR SEASONS IN THE GARDEN Rafa Zabratyñski George Swede Fire in the shrine *Michael Kowalewski, UK, haiku: Sonam Chhoki, Bhutan* WAANZIEN / DELUSION Jacques Verhoeven Silva Ley WILDE NARZISSEN - WILD DAFFODILS Claudia Brefeld Helga Stania HEISSER ASPHALT - HOT ASPHALT Claudia Brefeld Helga Stania UNSICHERER GRUND – UNSTABLE GROUND Claudia Brefeld Helga Stania ZUM HOHEN MOND – TO THE HIGH MOON Claudia Brefeld Helga Stania MT. MERU: Michael Kowalewski, UK, haiku: Sonam Chhoki, Bhutan AM FLUSS Helga Stania Ramona Linke MONDENSCHATTEN Helga Stania Ramona Linke RIVERSIDE Helga Stania Ramona Linke MOONLIGHT Helga Stania Ramona Linke A MYRIAD TALES Marilyn Humbert Maria Encarnacao Amelia Fielden Merle Connolly Keitha Keyes Lois Holland Dorothy Walker **FELLED OAK: Michael Kowalewski, UK, haiku: Sonam Chhoki, Bhutan THE RUMOROUS RAIN** Sergio Oritz Puerto Rico Sonam Chhoki, Bhutan LEAPING YEARS Giselle Maya Patricia Prime



Back issues of Lynx: XV:2 June, 2000 XV:3 October, 2000 XVI:1 Feb. 2001 XVI:2 June, 2001 XVI:3 October, 2001 XVII:1 February, 2002 XVII:2 June, 2002 XVII:3 October, 2002 XVIII:1 February, 2003 XVIII:2 June, 2003 XVIII:3, October, 2003 XIX:1 February, 2004 XIX:2 June, 2004 XIX:3 October, 2004 XX:1,February, 2005 XX:2 June, 2005 XX:3 October, 2005 XXI:1February, 2006 XXI:2, June, 2006 XXI:3,October, 2006 XXII:1 January, 2007 XXII:2 June, 2007 XXII:3 October, 2007 XXIII:1February, 2008 XXIII:2 June, 2008 XXIII:3, October, 2008 XXIV:1, February, 2009 XXIV:2, June, 2009 XXIV:3, October, 2009 XXV:1 January, 2010 XXV:2 June, 2010 XXV:3 October, 2010 XXVI:1 February, 2011 XXVI:2, June, 2011 XXVI:3 October, 20111 XXVII:1 February, 2012 XXVII:2 June, 20 2XXVII:3 October, 2012 XXVIII:1 February, 2013 XXVIII:2 June, 2013 XXVIII:3 October, 2013 Submit your works to Lynx Who We Are		Materials Copyright © designated Authors 2014. *Next Lynx* is scheduled for Jume 1, 2014. Deadline for submission of work is May 1, 2014. Send your submissions to: Werner@WernerReichhold.com**