January 2002Café Society's Poetry News Update
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An Interview With  J.P. Dancing Bear

J.P. Dancing Bear is editor-in-chief of Disquieting Muses, the host of "Out of Our Minds" a weekly poetry program on public radio station KKUP, and the owner of Dream Horse Press. J. P.'s poems have been published in hundreds of journals including New York Quarterly, Clackamas Literary Review, Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, Rattle, Midwest Poetry Review, Cedar Hill Review and Mid-America Poetry Review.


Poetry L & T:What first inspired you to start writing poetry, Bear?

Dancing Bear:I started writing poems when I was seven, the first one I wrote to commemorate a day I spent with my grandmother traveling from San Francisco to Los Angeles and we stopped at a beach. I wrote poems from that time on. They were usually poems to honor some event. At some point in my teens, I lost interest in poetry and was writing fiction with the dream of being a novelist. My renaissance in poetry came while attending college, I took a course in poetry because I needed the units and it was the only thing available at the time. About halfway through the class I read James Wright's "As I Step Over A Puddle At The End Of Winter, I Think Of An Ancient Chinese Governor" - I was blown away, and each time I read it, the same. I knew I had to write poems. That was twenty years ago and that poem remains one of my favorites.

Poetry L & T:Who are your favourite poets?

Dancing Bear:Did I mention James Wright? There are so many of his poems that just wow me. I have a huge list of favorites and it grows every day it seems. The mainstays of my favorites would be Pablo Neruda, Randall Jarrell, Robert Frost, Federico Garcia Lorca, John Berryman, Georg Trakl, C.D. Wright, Arthur Sze, Anne Sexton, Anna Akhmatova, Mina Loy and C. J. Sage. There are some writers I currently enjoy reading: Sydney Wade, Nick Flynn, Robert Bly, Roddy Lumsden, Jane Hirshfield, Lucile Cliffton, Cid Corman, Dorianne Laux. There are more but this is off the top of my head.

Poetry L & T: What began the concept of your Disquieting Muses Website?

Dancing Bear:First off, I want to point out that we are a magazine, not a website. We have a full editorial staff. Everything that gets published in the magazine is juried.

I began DM because I felt there was a true void in on-line publishing that hadn't been filled. No one was taking advantage of the medium to present visual art and poetry together. At the time there were plenty of webzines that were displaying poems on a page. Some presented visual art, but it was usually only a table of contents, or they segregated the work to a "gallery." It seemed so obvious to me that poems and visual art could occupy the same page. We wanted simple pages, no annoying, busy pages or flashy hyperlinks. We wanted a tasteful display of visual art and poetry. We decided that it should look like a paper magazine, starting with a cover. It seems pretty common now, but at the time no one was doing it.

Poetry L & T: What is your criteria for the poetry you choose, as editor of Disquieting Muses?

Dancing Bear:An immense amount of work goes into editing DMQ. We get a lot of submissions. Sometimes there are huge conversations on a piece where we debate its merits. Once in a while one of us might see something that the other ones don't (could be a good thing, could be a bad thing). All three editors have to agree on the piece before it goes into the magazine. If one of us feels strongly about a poem they will try to convince the others. Once in awhile the hesitant one will give in out of trust and respect for his or her colleagues. We have to write a lot of rejections. Sometimes we have to reject friends; that's never an easy thing to do. But if all three editors can't be persuaded, it's what we have to do.

When C. J., D. E. and I read our submissions, we have to keep our readers in mind. The criteria is excellence. We look for finely crafted poetry that is interesting to read. Good imagery, lyricality and memorability help. We like metaphor. But potential contributors should read our full submissions guidelines before submitting -- we cannot read submissions that do not follow them.

Poetry L & T: What kind of poetry would you definitely not accept, or consider to be bad poetry?

Dancing Bear:We would discourage submissions of prose cut up to look like poetry, one word lines for no apparent reason, writing that seems like journal entries or reports on one's life (e.g., things that would be better taken to one's therapist or priest) without considering whether it makes good poetry. We try to avoid confessional work. Linearity can be fine if the logic remains intact. Some poems seem to forget where they started or what they wanted to be. The work we accept has to make some sense; even if it's a surreal piece, it needs to make sense within its own context. And, though you wouldn't think I'd have to say this, we do not want to be grossed out! Don't send us work about "pissing" or "puking". Don't send us work with "farting", "belching", or crude elaborations of bodily functions.

Poetry L & T:Your poem "Canaries" (published in Snow Monkey, Vol. 2, 2000 as well as featured in this issue) is very moving, your description of her hands reminds me of the frail hands of my own grandmother before she died. Do you often write poems which are tributes to particular people?

Dancing Bear:The pantoum form with its repetitions lent itself well to writing about the aftermath of a stroke. I'd say I write tributes to moments shared with someone, rather than tributes to someone.

Poetry L & T:I particularly like your poem "Dali and Plath Make Love on the Edge of a Cliff", which you had published in Conspire. Was it inspired by one of Dali's paintings, a whimsical dream you once had, or none of the above?

Dancing Bear:It comes from a connection I've always made between Dali and Plath. Whenever I read a Plath poem, her landscapes and images always remind me of Dali's paintings, and whenever I view a Dali painting I am reminded of Plath's work. I thought about the two of them together in real life and came up with this poem.

Poetry L & T:Gods and goddesses often feature in your poems. Do you think that poets can play an important role in getting people interested in the history of these ancient legends?

Dancing Bear:I think that poets can turn people on to the ancient myths, but that's not the reason I work with them. Often poets rehash the legends and myths, adding little to the retelling of the tale. This can tend to be overly academic and boring. I don't want to do that. I'm interested in human behavior and characteristics -- the gods are archetypes for that. Not just in the obvious way, like Aphrodite merely symbolizing love. In one poem, Hades is a stalker. In another, Bacchus is a Hollywood producer. In another, I wrote about Orpheus being happy to turn around. And it's not just Greek gods. I write about pop icons, famous people and Shakespearean characters as well.

Poetry L & T:Is there anything in life which you find very hard, emotionally, to write about?

Dancing Bear:In the year 2001, my sister, my grandmother and my father all died. It left a huge void and I tried to write about it, but it just comes out so bad to read. When my brother died ten years ago, it was at least five years before I wrote anything about it. These things take time. Eventually, I will be able to write about them, the loss, but for now it's too soon.

Poetry L & T:What is the next thing you would like to achieve with your work?

Dancing Bear:Books. I have two completed manuscripts, working on a third and am currently seeking publishers.

Poetry L & T:If you could interview any poet in history, and ask him or her anything you like, who would it be... and what might you ask them first?

Dancing Bear:James Wright. I'd want to know what was the thing that made him change from rhyme and meter to free verse. I've had my own theories on this, but I'd really like to hear what he would say on the subject.

Poetry L & T:Finally, Bear, what advice would you offer to someone who wanted to improve their poetry enough to be taken seriously by top publishers?

Dancing Bear:I can think of a number of things. Read poetry, read poetry, read poetry, then read some more poetry. Have favorites, lots of them, draw from them and reread them. Keep your ears open, listen to everything. And keep in mind: you cannot listen while you are speaking. But also consider from whom you are getting advice. Do you respect their work, not just their name? Before submitting your poetry, read it aloud. If it doesn't sound right, don't send it, keep working on it. Keep your humility. I've corresponded with editors who really do want to help. Be kind and polite, even if you don't agree with them, and save their comments. The mere fact that anyone comments on your poem should warrant gratitude on your part. They bothered to actually read and think about your work; if you can't be humble and appreciate the feedback then say nothing. And maybe think more about your goals and your actions - do they match up?

Poetry L & T:Thank you for the interview, Bear.

CLICK HERE to read poetry by
J. P. Dancing Bear


Dear Poets,

I hope 2002 will be a good year for all of you and for the world in general.

This issue features an interview with J. P. Dancing Bear, Editor in Chief of Dancing Muses ezine. I first noticed his poetry on the newsgroup alt.arts.poetry.comments. He was featured in Poetry Life & Times last year.

Featured Poets this month include Val Magnusun, Jerry Jenkins, Barbara Quanbeck, Richard Vallance, Angela Hadley, and Jan Sand. The Vallance Review explores the sonnet "Sharps and Flats" by Jim Dunlap.

Any comments on this issue or back issues can be emailed to me on the link at the bottom of the page. Please indicate whether you would like the comments to go into the Letters section. Announcements are always welcome, you can also promote poetry books here.

Poetry submissions should be in plain text in the body of an email, with a small jpeg author picture attached, also a bio, with the URLs of any ezines mentioned, so that they can be shown as links. This increases the chance of inclusion, especially for late submissions. Pictures are best at a maximum of 520 pixels across, otherwise they take ages to arrive by email, especially in bitmap or TIFF format. Further submission guidelines are available on request.

Happy New Year to all our readers. Best Regards,


Click title below for this month's Vallance Review feature

Richard Vallance reviews sonnets, both classic and modern.

Featured poets this month are Featured Poets this month include Val Magnusun, Jerry Jenkins, Barbara Quanbeck, Richard Vallance, Angela Hadley, and Jan Sand. Many thanks to all contributors.


Born in Detroit, Michigan and lives at Bush Lake in historical, Holly, Michigan and occassionally at the Gulf of Mexico in Dunedin, Florida. Val has a BA from Wayne State University and an MBA from Central Michigan University. Magnuson is a member of the Michigan Bi-Lateral Trade Team Canada and is a noted stained glass artist and collage artist- Magnuson has had her work exhibited in the Royal Ontario Museum, Toronto, Canada and the Corning Museum of Glass - Val has been awarded many prizes for her poetry and is the author of "Destiny" published by Poet Works Press.

Click here for Val's virtual home, also the Poet's Porch. Val's poetry is featured throughout the world and the internet.

Five Gates of Poetry is an anthology featuring some of Val's favorite poets-and Val's writings- Val's work will also be featured in, "The Company of Women." A new release by Poet Works Press-Val's poetry is also featured in "Silhouettes." Val's childrens' stories are featured in the Dachshund Annual.

© Val Magnuson

When all the world is sky
And every cloud unchained
May, long crested as a harbinger-
To some, somber discordant bay
Every summer song stilled
Scattered to iced woods' dreams-

The hemisphere no longer clear
Dripping wind and rain
Stardust suspended
Like evening shadows
Against timeless winter days-

The Gray Lady's palette is unpacked
Bristled tools and mixing knives
Monochromatic tones arrayed
Intermixed in dreary ways
And, how, she stays-

The captive audience held in chains
As the colors from the world are drained
Her work the only piece displayed
"Winter Still Life in Shades of Gray"

published In the Company of Women
by Poet Works Press

© Val Magnuson 2000

She slipped silently in
Stepping flamenco whirls
Tambourine sky ribbons trembling
Clicking her heels
Dancing taffeta colors across the heavens
China tea cups shattering
with castinet rhythms
Glazing the firmament with patches of light
Captivity captured with masterful flight
Eager, trembling audience, I
Attempted creation remembering her
From nowhere to nowhere
Along these thin, gray lines
Of her majestic dance
Across the sky-

(published Silhouettes Poet Works Press)

© Val Magnuson 2000

As dappled silver
I descend from Paradise
Nourish the earth's fields

I am the jewels plucked
From the cosmos' coronet

I sigh
The mountains sing
I delight earth's blossoms
With my mantle

I am the bearer of compassion
Born in the clouds
Kissing the fields of eternity

I appear with a storm
Take leave with arco iris light

I caress transoms
With a whispered song

Mankind is attentive to me
Only the enlightened

I am the moan of the sea
The mirth of the meadows
The firmament's mists

I am the memory of eternity
I am
The rain

Published in Destiny
by Poet Works Press

© Val Magnuson 2000

Between the forboding of the night
And the perils of the day fear is shed
The voyage to the crest begins

As our companion, Fate arises
The pathway is lit
We follow no one but splendor and rapture

Gazing into the visage of the sun
Heeding the call of the sea
Trembling before nothing but time

In its metamorphosis
The metamophosis of time, we unfold
The odyssey proceeding step by step
Moment by moment
Within its essence the face of time is disclosed
Trembling, We discover elation

In last night's moonlight
Time was a cocoon of comfort
We quivered with disquietude in its passage
Presently, we ascertain
Time is our passion and we honor it

The plan, the Spirit and the mystical rites of time
Are revealed in the odyssey of life
We are encircled in its flight-

published in Silhouettes
by Poet Works Press

© Val Magnuson

You are an island
In a sea of wilderness
and separation

Deciduous trees,
the visions
the desires
gathered from timeless coasts

Vessels are conveyed
To far off shores
Occassionally seek
Refuge by yours

You are an island
Set apart
Far from the bosom of tenderness
Concealed in
What is unrevealed
Cloaked in obscurity

Your spirit
is enclosed
Within your island
It is your being
I am my island too

Islands in a sea of wilderness

Were we not so-
I would hear your call
and only whisper
Your countenance
Would appear to be
My mirror

(award winner Poetry Downunder)
published in Destiny by Poet Works Press

[email protected]


Jerry H. Jenkins' poems have appeared in periodicals such as The Formalist, The Lyric, Piedmont Literary Review, Mandrake Poetry Review, The New Formalist, Mobius, Pirate Writings (featured poet), Dream International Quarterly, Pablo Lennis, JEST, and Poetry Monthly (U. K.) and have been anthologized in several collections, including the Rhysling Anthology of the Science-Fiction Poetry Association, and most recently 2001: A Science-Fiction Poetry Anthology (Anamnesis Press). His poems have also appeared on leading-edge poetry sites on the internet, such as The Able Muse, The Susquehanna Quarterly, The New Formalist, Terrain, Poetry Life and Times, Pyrowords, Eclectica, Octavo and La Petite Zine.

He was a finalist in the 1994 Nemerov Sonnet Competition sponsored by The Formalist, and his poems have been nominated for the Science Fiction Poetry Association's Rhysling Award. His poem Charmed Baryon won the Editors Award in the anthology 2001: A Science-Fiction Poetry Anthology by Anamnesis Press.

He has co-authored the book-length collection The Weird Sonneteers with Keith Allen Daniels and Ann K. Schwader (Anamnesis Press), and the chapbooks "Avian" (Anamnesis Press), Candle and The Garden of the Sun (Helionaut Press). He edited the Compuserve Poetry Anthology, 1999, has written reviews of poetry collections for various publications, and is contributing editor for The New Formalist.

He resides in Louisville, Kentucky.

Barometric Prescience of Hermit Crabs
© Jerry H. Jenkins

Waves were slapping on the coral sand;
ragged clouds flowed over kunai grass.
A thousand hermit crabs, like wave-worn glass,
collided, clicked and clattered on the strand.
They clustered in their clacking stalk-eyed band
and waved their castanets at me en masse
as if to say "Hey, human, save your ass.
Tsunami's coming - better head inland".

I looked out on the gray South China Sea.
The far horizon rose, a bulging swell.
By now, the crabs were scuttling frantically.
I figured then they probably could tell
that what was coming wasn't good for me.
I thanked them, turned inland, and ran like hell.

Jack the Zipper
© Jerry H. Jenkins

My name is Jack the Zipper.
I'm the terror of the town.
and all your best technology,
will never pull me down.

I irritate my victims
and I like to make them dance.
Though they redden and they fight me,
I'm the master of their pants.

Sometimes my weapon's nylon
and other times it's steel.
You'll know me by my snaggled teeth
when my lips unseal.

I hide within a winter coat
and make you tug and curse,
Sometimes I'm in your freezer
or disguised along your purse.

I am slippery and I'm slidey
and I'm tight as superglue.
You can run but you can't hidey

© Jerry H. Jenkins

I come before you to write of a creature
exotic of visage, astounding of feature,
a gentle-eyed oboe, a player of scales
(of which he had plenty - thereby hangs a tail),
modest and meek and a model of shyness -
a hadrosaur with an elongated sinus.
When lonely and looking to locate a mate,
he hummed and he made all the land resonate.
Like a ghost in the forest, his song rose and fell
in a long moan of longing, a reptile rondel.
He was ugly and warty, his skin mottled red,
and his Cyrano nose was in back of his head.
We suppose that he prospered, this ancestral gecko,
and when we hear French horns, we're hearing his echo.
He's gone to his heaven, or maybe his hell.
Wherever he is, let us all wish him well
and hope he's still making his music for all of us.
Honk if you love him - the parasaurolophus.

Palden Lhamo
© Jerry H. Jenkins

My beauty made me famous. Everyone
desired me: demiurges, gods and men.
I wed a king unworthy of his throne -
arrogant and lacking discipline.
He sacrificed the young without remorse,
but lacked the will to offer up his own.
I pled with him to spare them, but of course
he didn't. In protest, I killed our son.
Consumed with hate, I fled the king, defiled
myself in charnel ash. Now, stark and thin,
and filled with fury, I redeem my child
by killing other demons. Pilgrim, when
you seek your own salvation, understand:
you cleanse your soul by bloodying your hands.

(Palden Lhamo is the tutelary divinity of the Dalai Lama)

A Walk In The Sunset Woods
© Jerry H. Jenkins

You always loved the autumn woods, and so
when it was time for you to say goodbye
it seemed appropriate that we should go
among the umber trees. The sunset sky
was filled with floating leaves whose whispering
assured us they'd be back again in spring.

Something moved invisibly in the air.
The squirrels stopped their squabbling, to wait
within their high domains of twigs and cones.
The twilight glowed in incandescent flare
and kindled sudden gold fires in your hair.
Through lucent skin, your silhouetted bones
burned brief and black. I saw your eyes dilate,
then you were gone, and I was standing there.

Where you had stood, a filigree of gold
lay on the ground, its minute tracery
and brittle fretwork all you left for me,
this leaf whose thin fragility I hold,
trembling in my palm, alive and warm:
the forest's gift, and your eternal form.

© Jerry H. Jenkins

gothic and hump-shouldered,
fledgling in still morning,
fluttering wings
on a roof gable's peak

teetering awkwardly,
loose weather-vane, an
irresolute starling
unready to fly

learn of the uses
of panic and fear
as you tumble from height
with a terrified squeak

and plummet toward earth
to discover, astonished,
with sudden delight,
that you fall into sky.

[email protected]


Residing in a rural area of Montana, Barbara Quanbeck has always had a love of language. Playing with words in poetry and prose is one of her favorite past-times, although she takes such play seriously.

She believes language is the clothing of life as well as a gift containing the archives of history. Language is complex and simple, concealing and revealing, pliant and rigid. Its sounds and appearance are legendary, a record of our past, a staple of our future. Words are powerful conveyors of our experiences, thoughts, and emotions, and Barbara believes we should utter them with the utmost care and pen them with precision.

Lightness of Being
© Barbara Quanbeck

Ethereal thoughts haunt my restless sleep
Like a whisper on a pillow
Softly muffled by forgotten dreams, heavy
With the weight of hopes unrealized,
The yoke of reality a ballast 'round my neck, tight.
A cloud of visionary hindsight, melting
A snowflake on my tongue
Into transient murmurings silently vaporizing,
Blowing like chaff on the delicate wings of a breeze.
Elusive thoughts playing an illusory game of tag
Where no one is "it" and my mind is the mist, enshrouded
By the wisps of vapor seeking to bear its weightlessness
A spume that plays upon a ghostly paradigm
Of airy nothingness, intangible buoyancy
Which seemingly sinks and surfaces, bodiless,
Faceless, unencumbered by form, void of sensation
A breathless kiss upon my neck
From an imaginary lover whose shape I once knew
But can no longer find within dreams, fugitive
The fleeting remains of something I once could grasp
Now a fragile desire that has no name.

Between Fireworks and Fireflies
© Barbara Quanbeck

Jettisoned fireworks, the initial thunder of passion,
Lovers blinded by exclamation points of color,
Caught in the spiraling ascent of volcanic emotion
Ellipsis'd by the passage of time, but not opaqued,
Enveloped in the glow of radiant self-indulgence,
Impervious to the sting of others' venomous envy.
Life, a comma, undying belief in always more to follow,
Expounding of love beyond the limits of expression.
Time softens passion, fireworks fade to fireflies
Punctuating the dark with silent glints of light,
Dot-to-dot letters in the heavens, split-second beams,
Reminders of molten, liquid flames of budding love
Cooled by the touch of time to embedded lava love-rock,
A life sentence of love with no need of parsed parole.

La Mar del Amor
© Barbara Quanbeck

Thy chestnut locks lie soft upon my neck,
I twist a strand between thumb and forefinger
as thy lips softly murmur stanzas of love
in harmony with the rhythm of my heart.
And thus, thine eyes close, and thee sleepeth
while I search for waves to wash away the saltwater
of tears that flow unbeckoned from my soul's depths
as a flood of emotion waxes, wanes in the glow of the moon.
Oceans of pent-up sorrows are released, one-by-one
and those blue feelings submerge for one forever moment,
my soul quenched by that rare find, the once-underwater gem,
now the shore pearl, thee, radiant jewel of my nights.
And on the shore, the tumbling waves whisper
Sleep, restless one, you've come home.

Natural Eternity
© Barbara Quanbeck

First snow wielded by wintertide, flakes of frigid, feather'd rain
untouched expanse of pure powder cocaine
Raw, biting cold feeds on warm, pulsing body fluids
Trees yield, creaking, as fingers of wintry wind intertwine branches
and hold them locked in icy clutches
Distant sun caresses cryogenic turf, no visible penetration
Blood stains spread red under Jack Frost's nose, hare finds self food for fox
Piercing scream of airborne raptor claiming roadkill
Melodious strain of bull elk's bugle, stiletto a capella in frozen silence.

Nature's wand fans Spring's spark into verdant flame
Return of redbreasted robin, first herald of new season
Antelope fawn nuzzles mother's flank, searches for sustenance,
suckles with ecstatic glee
Cow moose stumbles, hits her knees, won't see summer this year
Leaves emerge silently from their buds, squeaky-clean
Coyote executes first kill of season, wool-clad newborn lamb
Sol arises, a shade nearer true east, a touch warmer in new phase
Walden's Pond's waters lap thirstily at their shore.

Sun at zenith, burning with passionate intensity, like that of forbidden love
Grasses wave gently in summer breezes, like horse tails swishing flies
Doe fawn lolls in lush meadow, foal frisks warmed by whims of sunbeams
.22 steel breaks through epidermis, shell-shocked skull savors sensation
one last convulsion,
one less gopher
Quaking leaves of aspen quiver in orgasmic delight
Wings blur at seventy-five beats a second, fanning sultry air
Half-ounce hummingbird body hums in suspended animation
Moose calf muses at own mirrored reflection in marshy waters.

Painting with the precision of Picasso, fall conceives in color
Necks swell with premonition of musky scent skimming along Zephyr's breath
Squirrels chatter incessantly, harvesting, getting it together,
won't remember where they put it
Bearish thoughts turn to forthcoming slumber, glut on slugs and honey
Antlers stream with strips of tired flesh, prelude to hardened, honed horn
Does flaunt sleek bodies, playing waggy-tail, bucks remember rush of rut
Chlorophyll gives way to the onslaught of Technicolor tint treatment
V's of ducks and geese zig and zag against a field of blue eternal migration.

Of a Passionate Nature
© Barbara Quanbeck

'Neath moonbeams molded into ebony sky,
I lie. Naked and aloof.
Lightning's gleaming rod pierces
the white radiance of eternity,
licks at the shores of my soul,
and suddenly, I crave.
In desperation,
I need consummation. Demand
without manipulation.

It begins, deep in the region
of my mind
so adverse to penetration,
an upheaval of revelation, warmth
stealing into each stunned pore,
punctuating each seductive advance,
with a rush of visceral recognition.
Body arches to meet
my nemesis.
I beg.

Palpable tenderness
washing in waves
of pacification
across layers of
epidural insensitivity
waking, yes, waking,
dormant cells of desire.
Rivulets flow across
skeletal tributaries,
brimming on my breasts
trailing tides between my thighs,
tactile torrents streaming
in a rush of release.

I plead. Please, Mother,
touch me again.

Unjust Lover
© Barbara Quanbeck

I bleed.
My veins twist in agonizing betrayal
of my heart's need for steady supply
of life-supporting fluid without
injustice swimming between corpuscles
seeking to equalize the pressure
of my soul sinking beneath the weight
of injustice and the faltering beat
of my pulse slowing to a standstill.
I bleed.

[email protected]

Click here for January 2002 Featured Poets page 2 --> link for second half of featured poets....

Welcome to the WEB's newest bilingual Canadian poetry E-Zine:

Bienvenue chez la toute nouvelle revue bilingue canadienne portant sur la posie sur l'Internet:

Poetry in Emotion
la poesie s'mouvoir

Volume 1, no. 1, Autumn, 2001
of this Quarterly E-Zine is now online (See link following parallel French text):

Vous pouvez enfin lire le tout premier numro de cette revue trimestrielle (celui de l'automne, 2001).
Pour vous y acheminez, vous n'avez qu' cliquer sur le lien suivant:


The featured artist for our first issue is the American poet, Mykael-Eagleton Mize.

L'artiste en vedette de notre premier numro est un pote amricain, qui s'appelle Mykael-Eagleton Mize.

Should you have any comments or suggestions,
please feel free to sign our Guest Book.

Si cela vous pique de nous faire des commentaires ou des suggestions,
n'hsitez pas signer notre petit Livre d'or!



anthology, by Kedco Studios Artist Profile Press.

An exciting collection of award-winning poetry and short stories.

Enquiries to Elaine Davis at [email protected]

THE PERILS OF NORRIS cartoon, #18 - second in the current story, where Norris is still trying to find out Oscar Wilde's secret of success. Spot Reginald The Rat and win a prize! Email [email protected] and say where he is and what he is doing...

The Perils of Norris started in August 2000. To catch up on past episodes, click the links below, then your browser's Back button to return.

#1  #2  #3  #4  #5  #6  #7  #8  #9 #10 #11 #12 #13 #14 #15 #16 #17

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Mail me on: [email protected] with poems, letters or poetry news,
by 24th January (latest) for February 2002 issue.

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