Footsteps On Mars

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John Rhodes

John Rhodes has published 3 books. One of them is in the process of being published. His first book was a poetry book called: “Spirits of Bondage and Inherent Transcendence”, his second was an avant-garde textual/podcast novel called: “Little Bird Told Me”, about the tragedy and triumph of a hip couple. His third book is a complicated mystical poetry book entitled: “Mystic Babylon Revisited”. He also runs a public access TV show which he also runs as a podcast. He has many web sites, but his ring web site is: http://rhodespoetry.com. The first poem in his new poetry book is dedicated to Jan Kerouac, the daughter of Jack Kerouac, who he lived next to, when they both were runaways and lived on the beach in Yelapa, Mexico, in the 60′s. All the papers read: “Jan Kerouac disappears and is nowhere to be found!”
Here is the poem:

The Ghost of Jan Kerouac

(Haunting divinity or random order)

Just as the truth is cloaked in mystery, you are a mystery Jan.

You are a mysterious query into tangled beauty.

You, that delicate jigsaw piece of the “One Mind”, have seen through the glass darkly, yet astutely.

Our brains, even though separate, are one in mirror mind.

Shattered glass doesn’t keep us from seeing our own symmetry beyond the, ego’s material bind.

We swept the broken glass under the rug…we kept our transient selves in our hats.

The clown mirrors that our fathers look at us with, reflect the delusions of an older generation.

We are to them like clowns who suffer indignation.

I can still see you in your peasant hippie dress.

My mind touches your mind… there is no need to confess your frustrations to your breast.

I feel your love, even as the memory of you blurs.

I can still see your demure face…and when your mind

desperately whirs, I can see in your eyes the connection between us in our rapport, as conversation manifested, and heated debates about life occur.

        Why does the ego sever direct connection to the “One”, why is the “One” so glaringly pure?

        We know the significance of us being a piece of the big puzzle but we don’t see all the pieces together melded as one demur picture…we seem so separate, but so cock-sure.

        “Things slip by,” don’t they Jan?

        My memory is flashing…this wheel is on fire!

        I trusted you more this time around, a little less afraid of the distant look in your eyes.

        I wasn’t afraid of you because in your eyes I could see the home-fires there that burn away the lies that burn so bravely as we both beseech one another for truth, while our small egos are judged and tried. Om.

“Don’t Ask Why is the Sun Yellow!”

It was one single ray, on that bright day of indescribable

beatific beauty…that left my fragile mind-body sense-less and my connections withered.

           The voice of my soul became mute, because of the stark reality of the magnificence of that day, and the insignificance of my small and minute self.

          On that day, private youthful feelings of extroverted expression of enjoyment were censored by vacant senior stares that were ominously acute as these elders gazed with a type of comprehension that was indecisive and dilute.

          Sometimes I stared at that Yellow Sun above in fear, because I wasn’t permitted the intuition to know why things were the way they were, and the nihilistic searing of the Yellow of the Sun, was overwhelmingly awesome, and something beyond comprehension;  it was something I could not compute.

          There was no reasoning in that Orb, which was sometimes morbidly foreboding in its silent omniscience…foreboding it was, much like an unfeeling adult.

          Persons posing as coy friends shared with me breathlessly, but without intimacy, as I tried to remain graceful.

          I had a mysterious Picasso smile on my face, that I tried to erase, because I thought it lacked grace.

          I don’t know what unknown authority we saluted in the form of that burning indolent Sun; it was as if there was a silent coup to cover up truths, and keep the young ignorant of what the wicked had sown, as muted horns stifled our consciences making us murmur half-cowering in seared obedience, to a strange hymn, that we didn’t really know the meaning of.

          The double negative of the denial of social blindness, to the beatific one, was the denial of the body itself and the denial of even the rays of that unthinking Sun, as if life was itself an insignificant beatitude, and the blessing of the poor in spirit was a delusion of passion; a forbidden fruit.

Natalia Kulabochova

Truly cosmopolitan spirit, world traveller, workaholic and a multitalented artist: Natalia Data’s rich background has contributed to the formation of a very unique and diverse musical identity. She focuses her sound around techno and breakbeat, uniting a large spectrum of sub-styles and variations within the electronic field.   Natalia made it into the 10 finalists of the famous Cream Resident Competition run by Cream and supported by Muzik Magazine by winning the heat in Leeds in August 2002. In DJ Magazine’s Top 100 for 2003 James Zabiela mentioned Natalia as one of the best undiscovered DJs. Natalia has invested masses of time and effort into DJing, promoting parties and producing. The last few years Natalia has performed all around Europe and as far as Moscow, US and Argentina. For 2 years she presented Qaraj Radio Show on Ministry Of Sound radio and also maintained a career of a journalist reviewing music and events in the trendy web based magazine 365 Around The World (Amsterdam)   Natalia’s first release The V.I.P.  with remixes from SCSI 9, Walter Ercolino and Rhythm Code  came out at the end of 2005 on label Jukebox In The Sky. It received very good comments from James Zabiela, DJ Linus, James Holden and John Aquaviva as well as got 4 stars out of 5 in DJ Mag reviews. Working under two monikers, Data and Last Amazon, Natalia is concentrating on a full length album to be finished in 2009. It will be incorporating various styles of electronic music, from chill out to acid techno and drum and bass. In the mean time aside from performing live sets of crazy electronic music and promoting events with Digital Music Underground promotional venture she is lecturing electronic music technology at Southampton Solent University.

My first Acid Trip

It was a gloomy saturday

We decided to try IT

Clear Drops Of Liquid

Were mixed with a fruit juice

He said:

It will be an hour before anything happens,

So I tried to go to bed

But my eyes weren’t closing.

Soon I got up

And found him staring

We looked each other in the eye…

Have you fed the fish? I said.

No. You?

I haven’t.

Why don’t we feed them?

Oh No! Wait!

What is we forget later and we feed them again?

The solution was found

We created a sign

It said:

FISH HAS BEEN FED!

And then there was an Apple

It was round and while

In the middle of the screen

With liquid fluid lines

Changing, merging, tripping…

And then it was gone!

What Happened? We  panicked

Apple, it abandoned us!

Left us there, helpless.

And just like that

It came back

And the trip went on…

You know you deep into it

When you start thinking

Is it a big trip?

Or a small trip?

I said:

The reason we all gonna die

Is because of free radicals

And he said:

I never heard of such political party

An attempt to explain the chemistry followed

But I could only feel it

Getting words together was unthinkable!

Step into the sound

Come with me

To the big blue cloud

Of my 7th trip

Lets go on together

Never mind the rest

You’re stuck with me forever

Until the end!

www.myspace.com/nataliadata

www.myspace.com/lastamazon

http://www.last.fm/music/Natalia+Data

Michael Kelly

Born, Fort Dodge, Iowa 2 Oct 1946 Wens. @ 3:06 PM.

Educated; 13 years of roman catholic education  Black Hawk College: Moline Illinois 1968 AA  University of New Mexico 1972 BA   Education, Philosophy-English   Graduated Studies; Philosophy

Presently I am a Registered Nurse;   Certified Medical-Surgical Nurse  Trauma Nurse Care Coordinater  Critical Care Transport Nurse.

I am also vice-president and board member  of  a Church; the Fellowship of Humanity.

The Most Reverend Doctor Michael Thomas Kelly, DD,DM

I am the author of half a dozen books of poetry.

Anthologized and published.   I give readings publicly several times a year

and am looking forward to retirement with my wife.

I can be contacted at mikellyrn@sbcglobal.net

i live in San Leandro, CA, the east bay area.  At present I am studying; Buddhism, Vajrayana Nyingmapa

Siblings’ Rivalry

Selene Steese

When I write a poem, I hear music. The sounds write themselves first, and if I don’t want my poetry to rhyme, I must make a conscious effort to keep it from doing so. My poems have their own cadence, along with internal rhyme, near-rhyme, and alliteration. Not surprisingly, I often find myself performing my poems as spoken word, and I am a regular participant in many San Francisco Bay Area slams. I am jazzed to have one of my poems set to music by Footsteps on  Mars! Feels like being discovered and—more importantly—like recognition. I’m thrilled that someone else hears music in my words. To me, that means I am truly heard, and for this writer, that’s everything. The biggest reason I put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard is to be heard.  Thank you, Footsteps on Mars, for listening.

I am also a singer/songwriter, novelist, and short story writer, as well as (more recently) a teacher. I decided in the last couple of years to come out of the closet as a Word Shaman. I feel I create magic when I write, when I teach writing, and when I perform. If you would like to read more of my poems, check out my blog, or experience my magic up close and personal, I invite you to click on one of the following links: http://www.matchlessgoddess.com/index.htm (my website); http://wordshaman.wordpress.com (my blog). On my website you’ll find information on my writing playshops, as well as my writer’s bio and other tidbits. You can also reach me at selene@matchlessgoddess.com to request addition to my mailing list.

Thank you for reading, and may the magic of words touch your life in glorious ways. Blessings on your path, and may you shine divinely in 2009.

STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS

In a moment, the path
will bend, and in a moment
I will see
the stand of bamboo
by the road, across
from the needled, fragrant trees
awash in light
from the burnished moon.

I come here, mostly,
in my dreams. Walk
this brambled path above this stream
of rushing, rushing, rushing, splashing,
leaping, swirling, blue-black blessings
touched and tipped with silver dripping
from the drifting, damask moon
and edges of the mica stars.

This is not where the words
lie waiting. Not where my
next poem lives.
This is where the silence dwells
that comes before
the words creep in.

I make my way along this path
when I’m unquiet, or in wrath,
or feeling shamed,
or grieving deep.

The bank beside the stream
is steep, and I descend
into the sound of rushing,
splashing all around
and drink
from the pure waters there.

Then comes the impulse
toward the words.

Then I ascend
to where the waking world
lies waiting
and once again
I place the pen
upon the page.

Richard Ivanhoe

I live in the Haight Ashbury in San Francisco and am involved with the local community.  I regularly perform at a few open mics in town.  I have had a few poems published in the 2007 Poets 11 Anthology (Published by the Friends of the San Francisco Library).

“This poem was written for the second annual “Poem-Dome” in 2007.  Poem-Dome is an annual event in San Francisco, although it only began in 2006.  April is National Poetry Month.  There are a number of events in San Francisco to celebrate National Poetry Month.  At the end of April there is a city-wide open mic poetry reading in San Francisco’s City Hall.  City Hall is topped with a large dome.  Although the poetry reading itself takes place in a room off to the side of the dome, there is an opening ceremony that actually takes place under the dome (an eight and a half minute video of the 2006 ceremony is available on You Tube).  Poem-Dome also has a website, www.poemdome.com, although it apparently hasn’t been updated since last April.

“Since part of my poem is about the dome in San Francisco’s City Hall, I gave a brief introduction, asking the audience to imagine that we were actually under the dome.  I did actually receive a bulk e-mail from the Mayor’s re-election campaign site.”

I’m on Facebook as Richard Ivanhoe, and part of a group there, “Poetry San Francisco,” but otherwise don’t have any links to myself or to my work.

POEM-DOME TWO / CITY RANT

Poem Dome Two,

Here again with you,

For the remaining few,

Here is something new:

Poem-Dome

Bemoan unknown windblown gravestone;

Condone homegrown halftone trombone;

Dethrone ingrown hotzone cologne;

Poem-Dome

It’s not the pleasure dome in Xanadu,

The Pantheon, or Dome of the Rock,

Not the Taj Mahal, St. Peter’s,

St. Paul’s, nor the Blue Mosque

Not Geodesic, Millennium or Astro

But still a wonder, this rotunda we’re under.

A dome higher than the U.S. Capitol,

Built just nine years after the

City was left shaken and burning.

Medallions at the four corners, for

Equality, for Liberty, for Strength, and for Learning

“Glorious City of our Hearts that Has

Been Tried and Found Not Wanting”

Your people and your streets

I always find quite haunting.

The Mayor sent an e-mail asking for my pet peeves

So here they are, before everybody leaves:

Why asked in a campaign site, and not by the mayor’s office, I contend?

Why are important city meeting mostly held during working hours,

when working citizens can’t attend?

Why isn’t “affordable housing” defined by what someone earning the

City’s minimum wage can afford?

Why are the homeless harassed instead of given consistent room and board?

Why don’t “quality of life” crimes include incessant car alarms,

or parking that blocks wheelchairs and strollers?

My guess is that it all depends on who has the dollars.

http://www.facebook.com/people/Richard-Ivanhoe/1628377765