The Beach (Poem for Ali) by Christina Osborn

Someone dropped me off by the ferris wheel
And I stayed there all day
Until a policeman told me,
"We have help for people like you."
So I cleared off the boardwalk
And sat with an old clown
With feathers and beads
And a circus of teenagers
All drinking in broad daylight
We talked over the waves
And smoked cigarrettes
The opium haze of 75 degrees
And rim to rim sunlight
Settled like plastic wrap
And I looked down the shore
Half sea and half sand
Thinking
Beyond here is a vast land
Filled with fishes and barges
And lonely sea dogs
And hurricanes and sandbars
And the music of the shells
But here we have rock n' roll
And old dudes in vans
and the lives of ten thousand bums
And the inexorable wait
For the setting of the eternal sun.

Winter 1966 by Christina Osborn

I had none of that trap
Only two suits and a notebook
And a splintered toilet bowl
And a rattling whistle
Of the New York street wind
It was everything I wanted
The grease tasted like gravy
And the girls were all geniuses
Cupping their empty hands
I seemed to them kingly
An old world tycoon
A stranger to each at every moment
And I felt my weight
Shaking the cobblestones
As they whispered to the earth
Here is a great man


It was raining when I called
With a note from a friend
And a few old things
I'd been showing around.
Her curtains were clean,
They brushed the wooden floor
And the afternoon waned
As we drank to the city,
Our mutual lover.
When the sun filtered through
The cracked western window
It caught in her hair
As she paced, straight backed,
Laughing like a lioness at lunch
Her eyes two blue roses
In a gray tangled wood.

No Name #2 by Ryan Rutkoskie

The walls of her room are alive and pulsing with reminders

the obsessive pen renderings

a reminder of a long gone relative

and I wonder what substance accompanied the cracks of his mind

on his journey through the countless carefully connected lines and the colors that leap about them

in the far corner

a marker board reminder of Buddha

an erasable placement of permanent wisdom

mirrored doors present written reminders of who she is

and I realize

who we are is often the easiest thing to forget

regardless of how sharp we think our memories to be

volumes stacked by her bed

collect up every quote to ever touch her

conjoining in her own open ended bible

they provide her with a roadmap to a god more

internal than eternal

She reads me her short story

it regards the storm swept wreckage that clutters her existence

she illuminates it in a way that's so bright and beautiful

I want to gather it all up and carry it away with her

and I see us together in that mirrored door

crowded with all its revelation

and I feel as if my reflection has never been clearer

it finally shows me that part of myself

that allows me to feel this way about somebody

without fear or pretense

without the weight of expectation

without the adornment of some foolish mask

we're not trying to complete each other

but we help make each other complete without trying at all

and the walls

so totally covered yet so naked

reverberate and sing to me

and I already know I've never known such a complete person as her so completely

and all our time and experience

all we've learned, accomplished and become

it's encircled us, pulling us together into this moment

where we can be truly be perfect for one another

The One True Church by Michael Jurgensmeier

Basic Guidelines for Missionaries of The One True Church

Welcome to the Mission Training Center and congratulations on your decision to help spread the truth of our prophet’s plan for salvation to all the Godless heathens of the earth! Let us begin by first making it known that your dedication and service to the lord will not go unnoticed to us here at the One True Church and ultimately our prophet who has joined the great spirit in the sky. As you are reading this a lagoon style pool is being erected in your honor in the highest degree of heaven and will be completed and ready for you to enjoy in the afterlife as soon as your two years of service are finished! Constructed by master-craftsmen, who are the souls deceased Christians who almost picked the right religion, but just barely missed it and as a result have been granted the privilege of being our servants beyond the veil! Your fun and stylish lagoon style pool will be the toast of the afterlife as you invite your friends and loved ones over to your celestial mansion for virgin Shirley Temples and games of Marco Polo! Your lagoon style pool will come complete with a white marble plaque displaying your years of service and a tally of all the souls you will save through baptism on the journey you are about to begin! So let’s get started mmmkay!  

Dress Code 

Remember, a well groomed missionary is an obedient tool of the lord and prophet and thereby a happy missionary! Our required missionary dress code here at the One True Church has been referred to by Vogue Zealot magazine as the fashion standard for heathen convertors of the world and as a result we here at the Mission Training Center find it imperative to follow our renowned dress code with same diligence and bloated self-righteousness the One True Church has become known for! 

Now you may be saying to yourself, “Golly jeepers! How am I ever going to maintain the high-standard of dress and grooming One True Church missionaries are known for? Until I decided to serve a mission for the prophet I was one of those ratty American teenagers walking the earth looking like an unmade bed!” 

To that we here at the Mission Training Center say, “Now calm down Brother Smith/Young/White/Whatever, let’s make this as simple as possible and relieve any sort of pressure you may be feeling about our dress code. Just remember, if you can’t follow our standards to neurotic perfection you will be sent home to your family, community and church where you will spend the remainder of your life labeled as “that guy that got sent home”. People will avoid you, employers will not hire you, women will not mate with you and, of course, there will be no lagoon-style pool for you waiting in the highest degree of heaven. So shut your mouth and calm down silly-billy and listen as if your livelihood depends on it, because it really does! 

As far as grooming is concerned there will be no facial hair of any kind. No five o’clock shadows, moustaches, sideburns and certainly no beards! Hair will be trimmed and parted to the right. TO THE RIGHT! Our barbers will make that beautiful blonde head of your shine on the mission-field sun with our years of experience giving everyone the same haircut. And don’t worry if your hair-color is the devil’s brown –we will cut your hair as well! 

One True Church missionaries are required to wear the whitest of white dress shirts and thin plain black ties. ONLY BLACK TIES! Let’s not be a rebellious-riley and wear ties with designs and certainly nothing with cartoon characters. We here at the One True Church enjoy having a good time as much as the next prophet/God-fearing zealot, but we are here to work not make any kind personal statement. We do not wear loose-fighting clothes and robes at any time; rather we wear black slacks and plain black belts. 

As far as foot-wear is concerned sandals are forbidden, instead you will be issued white, Nike sneakers that are to be worn at all times including times of rest and relaxation. The sneakers are necessary, along with the packets of drink mix, in case the time comes when the comet Zothar returns to the earth from the celestial planet Kolib to return us to our maker! --but let’s not go into that right now. Oh, listen to us, we’ve gone and said too much. 

By following our dress code you will go from being this guy…

into this guy…

Mission-Field Basics

The rule of thumb for One True Church missionaries is simple. We don’t understand the word “no”. In fact we aren’t exactly clear on, “I’m sorry I’m not interested” or “Please leave me alone and never come back here”. Just remember, everyone wants to join the One True Church, they just haven’t realized it yet! Don’t give up! No matter what!

Should you come across a person who’s heart has been hardened against the truth we are offering just know that the more angry a person gets with you the closer that person is to accepting the gospel of our prophet. It’s not that they aren’t interested. They are just testing you! So let’s pass that test with flying colors and continue to harass them until they finally give in! 

It doesn’t matter if you are simply getting doors slammed in your face, things thrown at you by passing traffic or people start suggesting you go back to where you came from and begin fornicating with your mother once you get there. The world needs your help! Keep at it! (Unless the police are involved, in that case you are on your own and we have never heard of you.) 

Should a person be rude to you while attempting to share the gospel with them, act deeply offended. Disregard the fact that you showed up on their doorstep on their private property and basically mocked their religious beliefs by declaring that you are right and they are wrong. Let them know how deeply hurt you are by their candor. Then cheer right back up bucko and try again! 

In Conclusion

There will be days when you feel a little blue and you may be asking yourself, “Why don’t I stop bothering strangers and assuming I know what’s best for them and go get a real job?” To that we here at the One True Church Mission Training Center say, “listen you little punk. You will do as commanded or so help me I will fill in that lagoon style pool with manure. We are working very hard for you in the after-life so stop you sniveling and get back to work.”

That being said, best of luck out there gentlemen! And remember, we know what’s best for everyone! 

Beating Life by Marianne Hales Harding

When you’ve alphabetized the books on your shelf, Life pulls them all out into a pile on the floor.

When you’re busy making dinner, Life steals the permanent marker and draws on the kitchen table.

When you’ve put away the vacuum cleaner, Life dumps cereal on the carpet and holds a dance competition.

And you wonder why Life (who is billions of years old instead of just two) doesn’t know better by now.

Why Life doesn’t give you a freaking break.

Yes, Life inspires you to halfway swear.

Life is getting on your very last nerve.

Life is flitting about the room, giddy, because you’re realizing, yet again, that you can’t force it to do anything.

This is the point where even the most mild mannered, peace-loving person would beat the living snot out of Life.

You’d ball up your fist and feel the crack of your knuckles against its jaw.

It would hurt like hell and you’d just keep hitting.

Preferring the stinging of muscles and bones and skin to the smug grin on Life’s face.

Because Life is not a child.

Life knows exactly what it’s doing and it is enjoying it.

So civilized people must rise up and say, “That’s too much!  You’ve gone too far, Life!”

And Life laughs and Life sticks out its tongue and hotwires your car so it can drive it off a cliff.

And you shake your fist and cry out, “You’ll never get away with this, Life!”

Because, like parents of toddlers and teenagers, you have SO MUCH power over this little imp who is so bent on defeating you.

Unseen Fire by Robert Ennis

Merely a gate;

I've become an

infiltrator.

Not quite floating

until the right

moment arrives.

Not my doing:

but plans of a

mind far greater.

I must ignite

souls like flame with

supernal light.

I Prefer Girls by Sky Flower

I will not claim I'm straight

Nor will I claim I'm bi

Pansexual is rarely used

Asexual takes too much time to explain

I am not gay

But it seems that way because I simply prefer girls

Not to say I couldn't be with a man…

I've been with a few, more than I can count on one hand

I guess

Sexuality is such a mess

But they just expect you to tie yourself to a label

I feel like I'm lying if I claim any as mine

My sexuality is evolving all the time

It's fluid

Like a river that runs down my cheeks asking "is this me, is this me?"

A question that gives my not so accepting distant family a hope

That I will go back to men and stick with them but I won't

Because I simply prefer girls

I don't need to go into my libido

Or my sexual past

Abuse I've had

Relationships that made me mad and still effect me now

I do not need to tell you how I cam to this place

I just am who I am

And if you ask me again, I'll repeat what I said

No, I don't need a scale

And I'm not just confused

I simply Prefer girls

Playing School by Darren Edwards

Let’s talk about education.

Let’s talk about the power of knowledge

and the desire to learn.

Let’s talk about the hundreds of thousands

of schools Oprah didn’t buy

new computers for,

or the millions of African kids

whose school house didn’t just get

a new roof because they don’t have

a school house to put it on

and how we pat ourselves on the back,

fluff our pillows and drift to sleep

thinking happily about the lesser half of these

equations.

Let’s talk about desire.

and the returning student

whose fifty plus years

have taught her more than her twenty-eight-year-old teacher

could write in a hundred books

and how she still shows up to class

because of a belief that even this young arrogant shit can show

her something new.

Let’s talk about how she shows up to class

despite sickness and shakes

despite struggles with bi-polar disorder

despite memory loss

caused by the electro shock therapy

Harvard doctors put her through  

in the sixties.

Let’s talk about the day

she suffered vision loss

and shook in a way that only those

who’ve had their concept of reality

spun on a top can understand,

the rush to the emergency room,

and how she cried as her son guided her to the car,

because all she wanted

was to learn.

And what about the single mother

reading “Good Night Moon” to her daughter

dreaming that the inner-city school

the girl will attend could get more funding

or the upper class high school quarterback

whose pockets should be filled with vending machine

change, but are filled with the pills

he needs to keep up with the pressure

of expectations and ideals thrown on him

by parents and teachers and a society that only

cherishes the individual in success or distress.

Can we talk about these things?

Or, do they slide past our fingers,

touching only briefly,

only in passing

on our way to the video store

to rent “Empire Records”

or “The Breakfast Club”

because it’s been a long week

and I need to fall into

pop culture like the oversized cushions

on my living room couch

because the walls of my skull are still

reverberating,

still vibrating,

still trembling with the image of this

woman being helped out of my class

the class where twenty kids in their twenties

listen to one kid up front pretend

his thumb can

pins the worlds knowledge

to an overhead transparency. 

No Name by Ryan Rutkoskie

Am I Afraid of Silence?

Honestly

I couldn't be.

Already I've spent so much time wrapped wonderously up in your words and unmentionable time typing wildly to riciprocate but

what do I say to a sigh so lovely it sais everything?

I want words to circle and shape the suns magnitude

but sometimes when your breath trembles in it's own

iambic pentameter all the poetry

just wants to shrink down and listen in wonder

sometimes

it's like I'm tethered to the shattering beauty of that heartbeat

tapdancing 

on the nape of your neck

so words can't be everything all the time

but for right now

I just want them to rise up

and celebrate the silence with

and help us to unravel all that meaning

wound into 

it's every

moment

What Could Have Been a Child by Christina Osborn

Red rivulet like ribbon winds through muggy water
Slowly, giving bulk back to the body of the daughter
In an oily tub of green and silver visions of the flood
And a rich and rosy residue, thick rubber-wriggling blood

And Look! by Christina Osborn

Shorter and shorter runs the connection
Faster and faster wraps the perfection
And then stop
Cut around the holes and you find a series of
Tunnels under wax paper stretched over styrofoam
Climb in and down to the blackness out of which
We each and collectively arose
And stop
Rest there in the limbo between emptiness and
All your things
Given by others and your nature and
The sting of dreams
Now drop
Your hands are built for grasping even when your
Eyes forget to look
And so the sin of asking punished only
If you believe the book
So feel
The grip that rips your hands
Will dig beneath the flaps and drink the blood
Forget the things you thought you knew
Switch off the engine, throw up the hood
And look!

U. S. Dollar, The Tied Down Damsel by Ryan Rutkoskie

America's back bone writhing

hotly burned by our worthless struggle in the bound places

our sense of progress stifled

then

stagnant

we simply stiffen with fear

when the tracks begin ringing at us

physics claim the train

can move now

only toward us

as a disaster hauled by stubborn steam

our position

is fixed

roped down with a pemanence

the world has reserved only for Washington ideologues

it's that persistance we admired

the desired die hard partisonship grip

defined and hard-wired by party line whip

that

for which they've all been hired

and as train cars crack on our nerves set fire

and our little helpless hearts retire

the tracks

sing us to sleep like a righteous choir