A Magazine of Many Arts

Weaving nettle shirts was easy enough –
pulling the stinging threads across the loom
only leaves my skin feeling torn and rough.

The silence: that stings. In my quiet room,
I hunger for words, as my tongue stays trapped.
Pulling the stinging threads across the loom,

I try to forget, to keep myself wrapped
against laughter. My fingers burn. And yet
I hunger for words, as my tongue stays trapped

in this seven year silence, this rough net
of freedom and spells, where I must still hold
against laughter.  My fingers burn. And yet.

I pick up a dark feather, not consoled,
thinking of whispers in a lover’s ear,
of freedom and spells. Where I must still hold

to my rough weavings, where each voiceless year
only leaves my skin feeling torn and rough,
thinking of whispers in a lover’s ear.
Weaving nettle shirts was easy enough.

Walk east of the sun, and west of the moon,
they said, as if I cared for directions,
or anything else. I walked pathways strewn

with broken starlight, on rose tipped oceans,
watched crimson winged doves sip rage.  “Follow me,”
they said, as if I cared for directions

when my heart bled stones. An old willow tree
cradled me; I wept my dark distress,
watched crimson winged doves sip rage. “Follow me,”

whispered the moon, handing me a soft dress
bound in a nut.  The moon’s tender shadows
cradled me. I wept my dark distress.

begged the sun for news. He draped my sorrows
with forgotten dreams. Following commands,
bound in a nut, the moon’s tender shadows

seized me, until I did not know my hands
or anything else. I walked pathways strewn
with forgotten dreams, following commands:
walk east of the sun, and west of the moon.

The berries are not red.
They twist in our hands,
struggling to remain on their vines –
the very best in sentient horticulture,
genetically engineered for that astonishing flavor,
dense and luminous
taste after taste blooming on your tongue.

It is the taste of their dreams.

Unconfirmed, I know.
But a legend among us nonetheless.
We, who wake the berries from their dreams,
yank them away from the only home they’ve known.
They have enough intelligence for that, at least –
for the desire to stay.

They twist.
None of us have unscarred palms.
You know a harvester by the network of fine pale lines across hands, arms.
We bandage our hands silently at the end of the day,
unable to look at each other.

The wine is exquisite.
So we are told.
All the dreams of a new species,
blooming.
Not with a year’s wages could I afford it.
But every night, I bring home one berry.
One small taste of dream for myself.
I place it on my tongue
and close my eyes.

The longest night of the year… by some old calendars, this was the middle of winter because the long nights are halfway over and the days will start to get longer again.  In our family, we celebrate this night by having a birthday party for the sun, baking cookies for him and exchanging presents and asking him to please rise in the morning.  So, happy birthday Sun, we’re glad to see you coming back again even if the cold and snow has just begun.

Next week, a special poetry issue.

Carl backed away and the growling intensified.  The male wolf lunged at him but the she-wolf jumped between them, knocking her mate to the side.  Carl jerked himself back, yowling as he whacked his head on the cage door.  The door slid down with a crash and Tammy grabbed the pin off the floor to lock it down.

“What the hell were you doing?”

Carl looked into the cage.  The she-wolf stood inside, looking out at them, while the male paced back and forth in front of her, still growling.  Carl looked back at Tammy.  His mouth opened but as usual, words eluded him.  His breathing was erratic and tears flowed down over his cheeks.

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Mixed Media and Metaphors

by Michael H. Payne

Love Puppets #1 – http://www.topshelfcomix.com/ts2.0/love_puppets_ch1/1
Love Puppets #2 – http://www.topshelfcomix.com/ts2.0/love_puppets_two_ch1/1

When I first read Polu Texni’s mission statement, the part about “the intersection where different media, styles, crafts, and genres meet” made me think immediately of the webcomic Love Puppets by Jessica McLeod and Edward J. Grug III.  I wrote to Editor Dawn and asked if she’d mind me popping in here to let folks know about the comic, and she said not at all.  And so here we all are!

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“Beautiful.  Absolutely beautiful.”

Carl McGowan leaned over the railing and stared down into the pen as the she-wolf strutted back and forth, showing off.  The bitch’s mate hunched down, lowering its tail between its legs, and growled at Carl, who just smiled.

“What’s the matter, Boy?  Jealous?”  His smile faded.  A group of elderly men and women made their way down the path toward the pen, led by a young girl he recognized from his Senior English class, though her name escaped him.  She looked very uncomfortable, dressed in the brown and white polyester zoo uniform.  Carl backed away, trying to blend in with a tree.

“And to the right we see our wolves,” the girl said.  “Wolves are the ancestors of domestic dogs.  They are highly intelligent and their remarkable endurance is legendary.”

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STORYTELLER UNBOUND: GARY BRAUNBECK and COFFIN COUNTY

Gary Braunbeck, Coffin County(New York: Leisure Books, 2008). $7.99
Review by Jason Ridler

In 2004, award-winning writer Gary Braunbeck penned an essay known as “Storytelling Unbound” in his essay collection Fear in a Handful of Dust: Horror as a Way of Life. The essay was a trenchant argument for writers to read widely and deeply across genres. Braunbeck, most closely associated with the horror and dark fantasy, began to notice a genre myopia amongst both readers and writers of horror fiction, a desire for trope over substance in the outlaw form of fantasy fiction. Braunbeck disagreed with this development. The more he read across genres, the more he saw them as not enemies or competitors but schools of learning where many of the fundamental lessons were the same, even if some of the tools were different.
To get back to this ethos of possibility over limitation in any form of fantasy, Braunbeck suggested writers try “storytelling unbound.” What, exactly, is this approach to fiction?

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The last installment…

They stopped to eat and sleep, when the crescent of the sun came to barely skim the horizon. The Northern sun never truly rose or set, knew Iliss, but in her wildness of heart, she had not kept proper track of the seasons, and was not sure if it was true Summer or Winter. It mattered little to her single-minded purpose.

“Who follows us?” Waevan said, as he fed the dog pack. “I don’t understand.”

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It’s been two months since I started this magazine.  In that time, we’ve posted four excellent pieces of short fiction and pointed you towards some interesting artists.  We’ve also tried to encourage some interesting works of new art, and I hope that will continue.  I’ve been busy trying to publicize the quilt challenge, and I hope I get a lot of takers on that.

Since I’ve started, I’ve been working on defining my vision for this page better.  You may notice that the wording in the sidebar has changed. (There is also a new dedication page that describes my goals in this project more.)  My goal is that same space as one of the better art shows at a science fiction convention — ideas, artwork, discussion and arguments sparking all around.  And of course, the artwork is grounded in the stories and books that created this literary genre. Often, it seems that fantastic artwork consists of illustrations, or even cover art created only to sell a book.  But there’s a lot more than that… you can find visions of other worlds in there, stories told without words.  Fiber artists, sculpters, and costume artists bring textured fantasy into the world around us for us to interact with.

In the two months since this has begun, there have been 17 entries.  We’re getting new registered users regularly.  In September, we averaged 250 page views a day and now we’re up to 450.  We’ve been linked to from Locus Magazine among others.  We have a Facebook page — we’d love to have more people link to it.  I’m particularly pleased that we’ve maintained a regular schedule.

We’ll be adding ads and merchandise soon — hopefully, for cool things that you will be happy to discover so it adds more than just some income to pay the writers (did I just say ‘just?’)  We have more publicity to go — now that we’ve got enough content to show what we’ve got we’re going to kick off a marketing campaign.  I’ll be pleased if you let me know when/where you see our name.  And, of course, we’re working on more art and stories.  Let me know of anything you’d like to see here.