Halcyon
Halcyon - Fall 2015
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Halcyon Magazine fall 2015 Inside... Monique Berry 3 A Word From the Founder Carol Hamilton 4 Autumn Christopher Woods 5
Photo “December Road”
Tempest Brew 6 Crisp Scott Thomas Outlar 7 Kaleidoscopic Wonderland
Jane Blanchard 9 Haiku Susandale 9 Autumn Snippets David Sermersheim 10 Descent Lorna Pominville 11 Autumn 2015 Norma West Linder 12 October’s Children Joan McNerney 13 This Autumn Sara Etgen-Baker 14 To Oz? Yes, to Oz!
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Halcyon Magazine ISSN: 2291-0255 Frequency: Quar ter ly Publisher|Designer: Monique Ber r y
Contact Info http://halcyonmagazine.blogspot.ca Twitter: @1websurfer monique.editor@gmail.com
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Special Notices Halcyon has one time rights. See website for subscription details. No photocopies allowed.
From the Founder The fall edition of Halcyon is here! And three new contributors join the Halcyon family. Christopher Woods, David Sermersheim, and Tempest Brew share their talents. Christopher submits a gorgeous photo, David writes about the feathery descent of a falling leaf, and Tempest takes you on a crisp, rattling autumn walk. Your talent is appreciated. I hope to see more of your work in subsequent issues. And thank you to the readers who spend your precious time browsing the pages of the magazine. I will have contests for the next issue. Prizes include free print editions, gifts and more. Visit the website October 15 to see the details. Keep writing. Monique Berry Founding Editor
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MONIQUE BERRY is the founder of Halcyon, Perspectives, and Twisted Endings. She has published stories and poems in Quills, Personal Journaling, The Sitter’s Companion, Searching for Answers Anthology, and Rock Bottom Journal. Monique is pursuing a career in photography and is working on her first novel The Dream Machine.
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Autumn By Carol Hamilton Past the roll of golden dice which scatter on the hills, the sky has such a blue device for conquering night’s ills. I seem to want to shout and sing as sun does on the leaves. The angel air has taken wing. Its promise now deceives. The rattle of all brittle things is dancing on bright light. The clear-cut day its music flings to dappled, whirling final flight.
Carol Hamilton has published 17 books, most r ecently, Such Deaths. She is a for mer Poet Laur eate of Oklahoma and has been nominated five times for a Pushcart Prize. She was August Poet of the Month on Songs Of Eretz Poetry Review. Her recent and upcoming publications include Poet Lore, Gingerbread House, Outrider Review, Haight Ashbury Literary Journal, Hubub, Blue Unicorn, Broad River Review, Iodine, Rathalla, Main Street Rag, I-70 Review, U.S.1 Worksheet, Reed, Cold Mountain Review, Two Cities Review, Albatross, Plainsongs and others. Š Pilat666 | DollarPhotoClub
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Christopher Woods is a wr iter , teacher and photogr apher who lives in Houston and Chappell Hill, Texas. He has published a novel, THE DREAM PATCH, a prose collection, UNDER A RIVERBED SKY, and a book of stage monologues for actors, HEART SPEAK. His work has appeared in THE SOUTHERN REVIEW, NEW ENGLAND REVIEW, NEW ORLEANS REVIEW, COLUMBIA and GLIMMER TRAIN, among others. His photographs can be seen in his gallery at http://christopherwoods.zenfolio.com/ © Christopher Woods | “December Road,” taken in Washington County, Texas.
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Crisp By Tempest Brew Air begins to smell like the cider bottled in the refrigerator, walking sounds like rattle instead of sinking and sometimes, early, even the clump of hard earth, stiffened by freeze, a time of reading and academics, of matriculation and fresh new syllabi.
Tempest Brew is a someone. She enjoys reading, coffee, and wine (too much).
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Kaleidoscopic Wonderland By Scott Thomas Outlar The slightest subtle hint of chill in the air, heralding the approach of Autumn. August is not quite ready to give up the ghost of Summer, but the new season is gently poking its nose in. Soon now the imagery of brightly colored leaves will splash upon nature’s beautiful canvass. Always such an amazing spectacle to witness how the death of green foliage can be so stunning. Red, yellow, orange, purple, and brown hues will hang limp before falling back to the soil. Reabsorbed into the dust and ash from which they emerged to continue the cycle of life in perpetuity. There is no ending in sight, only glorious new beginnings born afresh each year. Naked branches will stand stoic in the storms, collecting snow and ice of majestic crystalline forms. Each flake a microcosmic world unto itself – special, unique, and individuated from the source. Reflecting the power of human consciousness in those whose soul signature has been activated. We have all come from the same Logos inspired Word of God, breathed into the physical world to experience each season in turn.
Scott Thomas Outlar spends the hour s flowing and fluxing with the ever changing cur r ents of the Tao River while laughing at and/ or weeping over life's existential nature. His words have appeared recently in venues such as Dissident Voice, Yellow Chair Review, Poetry Quarterly, and Harbinger Asylum. His chapbook "Songs of a Dissident" is scheduled for a January 2016 release through Transcendent Zero Press. To find links to all Scott's published work, please visit 17numa.wordpress.com. © porbital | DollarPhotoClub
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October’s poplars are flaming torches lighting the way to winter. ~ Nova S. Bair
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Haiku by Jane Blanchard the back of the front cooler by twenty degrees time for a sweater Jane Blanchard lives and wr ites in Geor gia. Her work has appeared previously in Halcyon and recently in Lighten Up Online, Poetry Salzburg Review, The Rotary Dial, and U.S.1 Worksheets. © TravelCoffeeBook | Pixabay.com
Autumn Snippets By Susandale The burning beauty of autumn Ardent afternoons Shimmering in gold dust With rainy eyes And slippery feet Does autumn come
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Susandale’s poems and fiction are on WestWard Quarterly, Ken *Again, Penman Review, Inner Art Journal, Garbanzo, and Linden Avenue. In 2007, she won the grand prize for poetry from Oneswan. She has two published chapbooks on the internet: Spaces A mong Spaces by languageandculture.org and Bending the Spaces of Time by Barometric Pressure. Halcyon - Fall 2015
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Descent By David Sermersheim drifting with the ease of a leaf descending parting air with wings extended embracing the grace of the wind soaring through azure vistas playing on season’s rhythms with hardly a ruffle of feather or dip of wing glancing at a view meant for a few skimming on edge of random zephyrs playing on moments unfolding infinite variations of timbre and hue gliding into infinity’s embrace spiraling downward through the vortex into its end
David Sermersheim taught at The Hotchkiss School for thir ty-three years, has been a MacDowell Fellow (1977), and has had poems published in at least one hundred journals and quarterlies. David writes verses for the pleasure they give him. © Photoxpress.com
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Autumn 2015 By Lorna Pominville Mother Nature is changing her dress again. Bored with various shades of green, she dons a multi-coloured gown of golds, yellows, rusts, browns and reds. When she tires of these hues, she’ll thrust them aside for something new.
Lorna Pominville is a retired nurse living in Sarnia, Ontario and attends the writing group, WIT (Writers in Transition). While
traveling to various parts of the world working as a cruise ship nurse, she wrote monthly travel articles for an on-line magazine for eighteen months. In 2011 she wrote and self published a book of short stories titled, "Alpha! Alpha! Alpha! Tales of a Cruise Ship Nurse." The recent publication of WIT's anthology, And a River Runs By It, contains two of Lorna's short stories about Sarnia. She also dabbles in poetry. Contact Lorna at lornapominville@hotmail.com. Š Photoxpress.com
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October’s Children By Norma West Linder Pumpkin candle is flaming a welcome Near a bowl filled with chocolate bars Big black witch silhouette on the window Is sailing up towards Mars Small Raggedy-Ann doll comes calling Just as the sun’s going down Then vampires, ghosts, gruesome skeletons Two mummies, well- wrapped, and a clown Winds buffet each scurrying figure Clouds hide the blue face of the moon Jack-o-lantern gives one final flicker Trick or Treaters are gone all too soon
Norma West Linder is a member of The Writers’ Union of Canada, and WITS (Writers International Through Sarnia). Author of 5 novels, 12 collections of poetry, memoir of Manitoulin Island, two children’s books, biography of Pauline McGibbon, and short stories, published internationally and aired over CBC. For 24 years she taught English at Lambton College. Linder wrote a column for The Observer for seven years. Her latest poetry collection, Two Paths through the Seasons, with mate James Deahl, was published in Israel. © Devist | DollarPhotoClub.com
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This Autumn By Joan McNerney A flying carpet of sugar maple leaves unfurls along my road. Just enough light to glimpse silhouettes of yellow trees against the dove grey sky. Tenacious…one ragged leaf clings to the bough. Stopping to see the shape of a snowflake. After evening showers, gardens of bright meteors blossoms. Amazing how many stars fit inside my windowpane.
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Joan McNerney’s poetr y has been included in numer ous liter ar y magazines such as Seven Circle Press, Dinner with the Muse, Blueline, Spectrum, three Bright Spring Press Anthologies and several Kind of A Hurricane Publications. She has been nominated three times for Best of the Net. Four of her books have been published by fine small literary presses.
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To Oz? Yes, to Oz by Sara Etgen-Baker
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t was an autumn day—far enough from summer to have lost the heat and not close enough to winter to have that bite of cold. Above me, brilliant shafts of sunlight ignited the color in each falling leaf. Below me, each leaf fell, not knowing that this was its last dance in the sunlight—its last chance to play in the crisp October air. It tumbled with such elegance, but all too soon it was lost in the sea of leaves swirling around my feet. Part of me wanted to find it, pick it up again, and toss it high so that perhaps it would have a second time around. But time was short; and whether I liked it or not, twilight stole away the opportunity and the vibrant colors of the day. So I scurried home crunching the dried leaves under my feet. “Where have you been, young lady!” Mother peered around her newspaper. “I was watching the leaves falling and thinking about trick or treating.” “Sweetie, you’re too old for trick or treating this year. But,” she handed me a section of the newspaper, “the Plaza Theater is showing your favorite movie, The W onderful W izard of Oz, and hosting a costume party. Maybe you and your friends would like to go. “May I go as Dorothy Gale? Please, Mama!” “I suppose so.” She folded the newspaper across her lap. “We can make your costume together. How does that sound?” “Oh Yes!” I squealed. “To Oz?” Mother flashed me a smile. The author’s mother, “Yes!” I danced in place. “To Winifred Stainbrook Oz!” “Let’s go to TG&Y before dinner.” She grabbed her purse. “We’ll buy a jumper pattern and the blue and white gingham fabric and start tonight. We’ll also need some blue and white gingham rickrack for the sleeves. Oh, and don’t let me forget. You’ll need blue socks, not white ones.” “What about ruby red slippers, Mama? I don’t have any red shoes.” “Ah, let me think…your grandmother has red shoes. Maybe she’ll loan ‘em to you. You can call her later and ask—after the I Love Lucy show—she always watches Lucy.” But—just as I Love Lucy was about to air—regular programming was interrupted. A calm yet grim President Kennedy told Americans that the Russians had nuclear missiles in Cuba— many pointed at cities in the U.S. It was October 22, 1962. Shortly thereafter, my grandmother called—hysterical like so many Americans—as the shocking reality of the Cuban Missile Crisis erupted in front of us. Later that evening, I lay awake trying to comprehend the scope of the situation. Sometime after midnight, I glanced outside my bedroom window. The neighborhood homes—uncharacteristically lit for that time of night—looked like fireflies twinkling across a dark, moonless sky. I drifted off to sleep listening to my parents’ soft whispers as they discussed building a bomb shelter in our backyard. The next morning before dropping me off at school, mother kneeled next to me; took my hands in hers; and looked into my eyes. “If there’s a nuclear bomb today, find your younger brother and take care of him. Whatever you do—don’t leave school; don’t come home. You’re safer at school. When it’s safe, I’ll find you.”
I looked at mother and saw something I’d never seen before—the juxtaposition of fear and courage on her face. “But Mama, I’m scared.” “I know you are, and it’s okay to be afraid. Even the powerful Oz once said there is no living thing that isn’t afraid when it faces danger.” She wiped the tears from my cheeks. “You want to be brave like Dorothy Gale, don’t you?” “Yes, Mama.” “Of course you do—we all want to be brave. Remember, Dorothy couldn’t be brave unless she was first afraid. Does that make sense?” I paused and realized that my mother—even in the midst of a crisis—was teaching me an important lesson. I nodded. “Yes, bravery comes after fear.” “Yes. So, put aside your fear and promise me you’ll do as I’ve told you. Be brave; take care of your brother. Understand?” As I sat in school that day, I stared out my classroom window. But I wasn’t thinking about Halloween, the Emerald City, or my Dorothy costume. Instead, I wondered what had happened to my colorful, magical world. And what does a nuclear missile look like? Like Dorothy, I wanted desperately to make sense of my now strange and colorless world. I sensed that the fear I was experiencing was similar to Dorothy’s the day the tornado arrived, swooped her up, and deposited her in an unfamiliar and terrifying land. No wonder the Cowardly Lion was afraid! But the Cuban Missile Crisis mad my world much scarier than the Wicked Witch’s castle; Nikita Khruschev was more evil than the Wicked Witch of the West; Cuba was more frightening than Winkie Country; and nuclear missiles were more harmful than flying monkeys. Like Dorothy, I longed to skip down the Yellow Brick Road and find the powerful Wizard of Oz so he’d send me back home to the world I’d known just yesterday. That school day ended anticlimactically—with no nuclear missiles striking any of us. Although Cold War tensions remained high for the next several days, mother and I busied ourselves making my costume; and by October 28, the Cuban Missile Crisis had been averted. So, when Halloween arrived mother took me to the Plaza Theater where I wore my Dorothy costume and my grandmother’s red shoes. Before she drove off, mother rolled down her window and asked, “To Oz?” “Yes, to Oz!” I exclaimed. “To Oz!” I entered the theater, purchased my concessions, found a seat, and waited for the lights to dim. When the lights dimmed, the red velvet, waterfall curtain at the Plaza Theater lifted; and my stomach dropped. Mesmerized, I watched Dorothy Gale skip down the Yellow Brick Road. I closed my eyes. It was my last chance to play in my fantasy world. I clicked together the heels of my red slippers. Part of me wanted to find my innocence; embrace it one more time; and have a second chance to be a child once again. But time was short; and whether I liked it or not, the Cuban Missile Crisis had stolen away the colors of my childhood. And like Dorothy, I could never return to the magical kingdom of Oz.
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Sara Etgen-Baker has been r etir ed five year s and has also been published in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Reboot Your Life. Her manuscript, "The September Wind" took first prize in an international contest and was published in the anthology entitled Times They Were A Changin' which highlights the stories of women who encountered or participated in the women's movement in the 60s and 70s.
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Halcyon Thanks for spending time with the contributors. Monique Berry, Founder
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