Ginosko #23, ONLINE.Wps

1 Ginosko Literary Journal #23 Summer 2019 GinoskoLiteraryJournal.com PO Box 246 Fairfax, CA 94978 Robert Paul Cesaretti, Editor Member CLMP Est. 2002 Writers retain all copyrights Cover Art: D Hug 2 ginosko A Greek word meaning to perceive, understand, realize, come to know; knowledge that has an inception, a progress, an attainment. The recognition of truth from experience. γινώσκω 3 The writer feels dead as bleached wood, dry as a riverbed in drought. For a way out, search the depths of the soul for a spirit; beg, if need be, for a sign of life. The dark inside of the mind lies hidden; thoughts must be brought like a child from the womb, terrified and screaming. − Lu Chi 4 C O N T E N T S Songs for the Penny Man 11 Kathleen Lynch FIRST JOB 13 Robert Julius Two Part Inventions 14 Terese Robison Extinction 17 Constellation 18 To Blow Away Like Mist 19 The Ghost Trees 20 Starting from Sleep 21 The Horses 22 Big Bend 23 The Hike 24 Michael Hettich Her Eyes and Ears 25 Robert D Kirvel 12 31 17 32 19 33 Patrick Duggan The Old Man & the Sea 35 X-Ray Impression #6: End of the World 36 Portrait of the Body as Phantom Limb 37 Joyful Poem, with Creation Story 38 First Song 39 Susan L Leary Vic 42 Elizabeth Laborde Dance Partner 50 Gregory Davis 5 A POEM FOUND IN AN AD AND DESIRE 52 WILLEM BLUE 53 MOUSE 54 William Snyder the boy in the basement 56 Corina K Skentzou FOLLOWING INSTRUCTIONS 71 Paul Tarrago I Am From Miles Back and Got Miles To Go 73 Jim Meirose were my hair dandelions & my heritage a poltergeist orgy 75 Tinctures for bottom feeders 77 Carcass Somnambulism 78 Phantasm & Turtles 79 Landscape of the Wounded, in Red 80 To the Land of the Hunter, Dancing 81 If only my father was Earth’s molten inner core & my mother the very waves receding 82 Pareidolia as a Coping Mechanism for Hurting and Dread 83 terra incognita (or, “comfort” as MACS1149-JD1 receding) 86 Nicholas Alti SHAME 88 Mark Walters Mutables 98 Tone Poem 99 Tumbrel 100 Brink 101 Elana Wolff Tips 102 Deidre Jaye Byrne Her, deconstructed 110 John Ellis The Magic Lamp 113 Richard Risemberg 6 Faded Photo 118 Karen Barr Grey 120 Gill James What We Are Given 122 Jean Ryan How the Cookie Crumbles 126 Beach Colours of the Tuscany Coast 128 Hawks in Sudkreuz Station, Berlin 129 Late February Evening in the Bavarian Alps 129 Hurry Away 130 Only or Without 131 Sniffing Death 132 Something Better to Do in Olomouc, Czech Republic 133 Matthew James Friday Sleeping in Beds 134 The Straightest Line on Earth 136 To His Coyote Mistress 137 The 45 Degree Angle 140 BS Train 142 E. Martin Pedersen Origami 144 Mauricio Palazzo, Translated by Toshiya Kamei Geodes 154 Brian Kirven 12.17.18 4.08 p.m. 30 degrees 156 John L Stanizzi It Began 166 Clara Luna Rue des Indigents 169 Jim Ross 7 Fever 177 Truth Is 178 Humidity 181 Borrowing the Sun 182 Extraction Poem 183 Scraps 184 Michel Steven Krug The Quiet Hours 185 A.M. Gwynn Failure to See The Stars 191 Our Wings Held Steady 192 Leaving the Path 193 A Discovery 194 Breathing Freely 195 Joseph Murphy HAVEN 196 Kilmeny MacMichael Nights 200 Soft Refusal 202 Gregorio Tafoya Murder in a Very Fine Restaurant 204 Attack of the 50-Foot Woman 205 Whatever Happened to Joe Romano? 206 For the Love of Man 207 Aisle of Bras 208 Sacré Coeur 209 La Mia Famiglia 210 My Mother Amends Her Story 211 Trouble 212 Bobby’s House 213 Lenny DellaRocca SIX JAZZ-RELATED POEMS 214 John Menaghan 8 Immanence 224 Via Negativa 225 Imagine 226 Tao 228 Anthony Watts Womanhood 229 Mubanga Kalimamukwento On Monet Drive 234 Someday I’ll Love Ally Schwam 236 I Sleep in the Fish Tank 237 Orange Slices 238 God Owns a Carwash in Iowa 239 Ally Schwam “sweet surrender” 240 “Is it not you daddy” 241 “arsenal of pills” 242 “Holden” 243 “Junior’s dream” 244 “Crossed over sleep” 245 “limited body expressions” 247 Uzomah Ugwu A Stranger In Moscow 248 Mary Jane And Winter 250 Young Poet 251 Black History Month 252 A BBW On The Cover Of Cosmo 253 Erren Geraud Kelly Love 254 War 255 Monkey 256 Thom Young 9 White Lies 257 Jargon 258 To My Love 259 Near the Exit 261 1947-1962 262 Blind Strike 263 Shh 264 School Days 265 David, April Calls 266 Cambra Koczkur Six Days on the Mountain 267 Andrew Jason Jacono My Date With Marc Chagall 269 Robin Gregory Letting Love Happen 270 Lisa Alletson I Promise Gentleness 272 Sheila E. Murphy C O N T R I B U T O R S 10 Songs for the Penny Man Kathleen Lynch “Sometimes what almost happens but doesn’t, shapes us as much as what actually happens.” - Serena Pichou He was forbidden to us because he lived alone and looked strange. His was the worst yard in the neighborhood—two broken cars, weeds, trash, gaps in the fence. But I went to him. The big kids said he gave a penny for each song they'd sing. Most of them were sneaking behind their parents’ backs for the money. Well, I was too. It was the July before I started second grade—I wasn’t a “first grade baby, born in the Navy” anymore. I felt brave enough to go alone. So I went to him. He did scare me a little, but I didn’t know why. His face didn’t smile or frown, but just stayed flat, His eyes pierced but tried not to look into mine, so I had to catch him looking. He was standing in his garage near tools hung on a board with a lot of holes in it. It seemed he was not doing much, just looking at magazines. I said, “I came to sing for a penny?” Mostly, I knew hymns. The first time, my voice came out like wires, like chalk breaking. He gave me no coin. My face got hot and even in the dim garage I knew he could tell I was blushing. So, he stood, quiet, looking at me. Then he said, "Just talk tell me tell me about your family." I didn't understand. Then I thought of my mother. It was as if I saw her face leaning in on me, her rust-red hair draped over one eye. "My mom’s hair is naturally curly and and her own color," I whispered. One penny. "Her arm got mashed in the washtub wringer once. She had to wear a sling." Another. The summer took on a shape the way a drift of clouds can look like nothing, then a lion. The sound my coffee can made changed as the pennies rose. One day I told him, "I want to be a ballerina when I grow up." Nothing. A stretched silence. Then I began to understand. He wanted to hear about real things—about stuff that happens in our family: my father drunk and cursing while the cement set too fast on the botched patio, my brothers dragging a wagon of scrap wood for a fort. He wanted to hear how one sister helped the other apply a tiny Avon lipstick sample, and showed her how to wipe if off fast with cold cream before our 11 mother caught them. He paid to hear about my parakeets, Sunshine and Moon, who clung to my waist- long braids while I did the dishes, and about our disappeared dog, Taps—how I walked up and down the block a whole day crying for him. How I dried my tears with my loosed hair, thinking I was like Mary Magdalene. One time the garage seemed darker than usual. He had pulled the hinged door mostly shut. I wedged in. Without saying anything, he lifted one of my braids. It lay across his palm like a bird fallen from its nest, and he looked at it that way. His hand trembled a little. His face seemed damp and I could smell his breath. Whiskey, like my dad’s sometimes. "What?" I asked, nervous, because he stared extra long at my braid resting in his hand. I felt something was turning into something else. He stepped back, shaking his head hard as if saying NO NO NO. He drew a deep, shaky breath, dug into his pocket, pulled out a fist of coins. "Take it. Take it all, and go," he said in a rough, rushed voice. I did, and heard him push the garage door all the way shut while he was still inside. After that, he was hardly home at all. Once I saw him going from his garage to back porch and I waved, but he acted like he didn't see me. I bought Jujubes, jawbreakers, and nickel rainbow note pads, where I practiced cursive, drew horses, or pretty ladies in profile like on matchbook covers. That summer I got roller skates, from my next door neighbor. I’d told Mr. Aperson my dream in which I could skate really, really well. By the next week, he got his only daughter’s skates, out of storage. She was a grown woman now. Somehow he made them look new and shiny and gave me a key. I fell down over and over, not like in the dream, but finally I could skate like the big kids.

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