Touch Poetry 1.1 by Jennifer Lee

Touch Poetry www.touchpoetry.com

What makes an extraordinary poem?

Spring 2011

April

NATIONAL POETRY MONTH

Issue 1.1 1

Touch Poetry is a literary magazine dedicated to showcasing the best and most original poetry and artwork from new and experienced poets and artists. We enjoy poems with uplifting, descriptive, or insightful themes and stimulating artwork. We are a small, independent press and creative, inspiring work is welcome and appreciated.

Editorial Staff Editor, Jennifer E. Lee Associate Poetry Editor, Jeffrey E. Lee Associate Art Editor, Marcia R. Flanigan

Cover Art: “Long Way Home” by Samuel Charrois Title Page Art: “The Traveler” by Scott Knecht

We accept online submissions at TouchPoetry.Submishmash.com For questions or concerns email us at TouchPoetry@gmail.com Follow us on twitter: Touch_Poetry

Contents I. Poetry “Faerie Walk” (for Sandy) By Alethea Kehas

“Portrait of an Ebony Horse Hoof on Lime Green Moss” By Henry Williams

“You Are My Sunshine” By Alethea Kehas

Extract from “Virbius” By Henry Williams

“The Chalice” By Alethea Kehas

“And the Wringing of Many Hands” By Joshua Polk

“the missing link goes to a steakhouse 13 for the last time” By Jessica Probus

II. Artwork “Flowing Stream” by Jorge Namerow

“Longings” by Jorge Namerow “Dim Memories” by Jorge Namerow

“The Seed” By R. Day

“Beauty Scars” By R. Day

“No Wake” By Katy Unger

“Control” By Katy Unger

“Brother Bear” By Emily Chou

“Self Portrait” By Emily Chou

“Flourish” By Diane J. Berger

“Liverpool Soap Opera 15” By Denis O’Driscoll

“Liverpool Soap Opera 39” By Denis O’Driscoll

“Liverpool Soap Opera 50” By Denis O’Driscoll

“New Songs” By Janine Adair Kohanim

Café Americano By Kevin Hageman

“The Four O’Clocks Whisper” By Mary Rogers-Grantham

“Shadows” By Carmen Larsen

36 37

“Noah’s Coffeepot on the River” —in the lighthouse By Mary Rogers-Grantham

“Fuse to Muse” By Pragati Sharma “Gateway” By Samuel Charrois

“Standing Still” Jacqueline Bridges

“Reversed” By Samuel Charrois

39 40

“In a Mood of Possum” By Henry Williams

“Metamorphosis” by Stacy Geyer “Upon Ruin” By Scott Knecht

Editor’s Note As Editor of Touch Poetry literary magazine, I have read numerous poetry submissions with our associate poetry editor. We discussed our vision for the magazine and the direction we want to take with the poems. Besides the obvious guidelines of one poem per page, a positive outlook, and absolutely error free, we still needed further differentiation. During our discussion, the important question that came up was, “What makes an extraordinary poem?” I’m sure the answer to this question is as wide and varied as are poets and readers, but we came up with some guiding principles to help with the selection process as we sorted through almost two hundred poems. Two words repeated over and over again: style and substance. An extraordinary poem needs to have some sort of style, whether it is in the line breaks, the spacing and arrangement of the words, or the way the poet lays the words on the page. Substance is essential. The poem needs to have deeper meaning than just the clever arrangement of words or the evocation of a feeling. Substance can come through with descriptions and vivid imagery. I want to feel as if I can picture exactly what the poet is describing and as if I am seeing that view through the poet’s eyes. Presence and voice are also important aspects. As a reader, I want to feel a connection with the poet. I want to get a sense of that person’s personality and mannerisms. The poem should express individuality through voice in the writing. The last characteristic we look for is originality. Although there are many talented poets whose writing is derivative of another successful, famous poet, that is not the style of poetry we seek. For us at Touch Poetry, extraordinary poetry is marked by style, substance, presence, voice, and originality.

Jennifer E. Lee

Poetry

Contributors Jacqueline Bridges has always called the Pacific Northwest home and currently resides in Puyallup, Washington. She holds a Master of Education in Counseling from the University of Puget Sound and works as an elementary school counselor. “Standing Still” is a reflection of our bleak economy, and the hope that not all is lost. The 1971 billboard, “Will the last person to leave Seattle—please turn out the lights” contributed to the inspiration. This is her first publication. Kevin Hageman is a Delaware native; born in Wilmington, DE but currently living in Newark, DE. He is a senior English major concentrating in literary studies at the University of Delaware, a staff editor at Caesura, and public relations co-chair for Main Street Journal. He is active in the Delaware and Philadelphia slam poetry communities. The poem “Café Americano” was written in the Almagro district of Buenos Aires during a month abroad. Other publications can be found in the Main Street Journal. Denis Joe was born in Cork, Ireland in 1958. He has lived in England for most of his life, in various cities. Currently he lives in Liverpool and is active in The Spider Project and North End Writers. Over the years he has had poetry published in journals and magazine, most recently Content and A Different Kind Of Rocking (Liverpool) and 10X3 Plus (USA). He also runs a Poetry group in Liverpool and is a reviewer for Manchester Salon Discussion. His interest in the structures of Japanese, particularly the early, Court poetry, has led him to construct his own form based on traditional Japanese poetry and the early music known as Danmono (literally: “Step-type”) of which these are examples. Alethea Kehas was born in Portland, Oregon, but grew up in New Hampshire, where she now lives with her husband and their two children. She is a recent graduate of Goddard College’s MFA program in Creative Writing where she studied creative nonfiction and poetry. When she isn’t practicing the complex dance of parenthood, Alethea writes poems and narratives about her life, studies martial arts with her family and gives Tarot readings for friends. Her poem, “Faerie Walk,” came to her during a healing walk through a nearby forest with her dog, Daisy. Janine Adair Kohanim, presently living on the outskirts of Seattle, was born in the mid-sixties in a Los Angeles suburb where her first memories were of listening to the breeze playing with palm fronds, becoming mesmerized by the color of light shining through hot-pink bougainvillea bracts, and of watching soundless snails sliming their way along the hot sidewalk. Early on she also discovered, and retained, an almost unholy love of alliteration. Formative years in the Middle East and trips to Europe influenced her choice to study both Art and Creative Writing in college, and as a Certified Expressive Arts Practitioner and synesthete she feels that all the arts spring from a primal urge to understand, symbolically, both the seen and unseen aspects of life. Inspiration for this poem comes primarily from Janine’s desire to find meaning in, and acceptance of,her impending empty nest experience as her only child readies for college. Joshua Polk was born in Baton Rouge, La., and grew up in a small town just outside of it. He has also lived in Los Angeles, Ca., and currently resides in Portland, Or., where he attends Portland State University. His short story “Sally” has appeared in Pathos Literary Magazine. This is the first time his poetry has appeared in print. His blog is located at http://www.joshuapolk.wordpress.com. @jothopo (Twitter). Jessica Probus was born, raised and somewhat organically cultivated below the Mason-Dixon line. She has a degree in creative writing from Agnes Scott College, and her most recent humor and essays appear on the Rumpus and HTML Giant.

Mary Rogers-Grantham lives in Kansas City, Missouri with her husband, John, their Black Lab, Hannah, and their vanilla orange tabby, Bradley. She teaches English at Penn Valley Community College and is a creative writing student at the University of Missouri-Kansas City. She is passionate about writing and teaching, which is why she is a published poet and an award-winning educator. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in various publications, including And/Or, Rougarou, Kansas City Star, Present Magazine, and Kansas City Voices. She grew up in Arkansas, The Natural State, where she continues to love spending spring and summer in her childhood home that her dad built on their twenty-eight acre family plot. Her mother’s favorite flower was the curious and fragrant Mirabilis jalapa (the four ‘clock flower), which is the inspiration for the poem “The Four O’Clocks Whisper.” Henry R. Williams was born and raised in the piedmont of North Carolina, being always ever after between the mountains and the sea. He has a BA in American Studies from the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill and a MFA from Brooklyn College. His poems have appeared in The Emergency Almanac, Southern Humanities Review, random, Fire, The Brooklyn Review, Offerta Speciale, among others, and his first collection, Season Smooth & Unperplext was published in 2010 by BlazeVox Books. He currently works in Manhattan and resides in Maplewood, NJ with his family.

Faerie Walk (for Sandy) By Alethea Kehas I entered the forest expecting light. You greeted with a face of lichen fixed to the skin of oak. Green Knight of the forest, Faerie Guardian of trees, you watched me walk into your realm to find the girl who studied flowers like stars hoping for the shiver of a wing, the dance of a dress, before she adopted doubt. Before she traded hope for fear. You gave it back, letting sorrow fill veins like the clear blood of sap running from my open lids. I walked with wind whispers letting the eyes of spirit guide my sight. Beside the path I found your Queen, with wooden fingers piercing her sword through frozen earth, beckoning truth to clear the sky.

You Are My Sunshine By Alethea Kehas You sing the song about sunshine while I ride your shoulders. My mother joins her voice to yours until clouds hold the weight of notes. But I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t keep your sun shining through gray of rain, or hold our rainbow in the quake of your thunder. In the card of Tarot you are The Sun over the girl who wears flowers a fire crown above her face. Her hand clutches a red flag. Victory folding like a snake through the gray-black wall of stone shielding against growth. She rides a docile steed bare body away from light.

The Chalice By Alethea Kehas (a Goddess Tarot spread) In the womb of Tara I dance with memory while Freyja lures sun to earth with orange hair. Four hands pierce a pointed stave into green to grow a family with daughters. The woman waters foundation with red tears while her lover builds home out of brown wood. Taraâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s womb rocks with waves of fire and Ukemochi stirs its embers with beams of moon. The belly empties before it fills with gold wheat. Her body nurtures, feeds light into dark. Then Lakshmi appears wearing charred locks, spinning pentacles over sand she swirls silk into rings of infinity. Life juggled inside palms, she will not drop its weight until white doves soar from the pores of her skin. Now see the chalice of Venus spilling new life into blue waters. A girl emerges on land thirsty she drinks from nine cups and stains her gown with the purple pearls of wisdom, as she listens to the sea that is her soul.

And the Wringing of Many Hands By Joshua Polk The lovers sat still, like the lake They watched; from the cabin porch (Wood so beautiful; underfoot) They could see the landscape of blues, And greens; reds, and whites. But in between the blades of grass Lay the people of the plain; Unseen by the charming pair, But not unheard. â&#x20AC;&#x153;There is no jealousy in me Anymore, lover, only faith,â&#x20AC;? he said With hopeful ambition. She nodded, silently, listening to The people of the plain, And the wringing of many hands.

the missing link goes to a steakhouse for the last time By Jessica Probus Take away what’s left of our old room: The posters of political entities, The gorge between the twin Beds pushed together. Take away the cardamom we spent our last twelve dollars on To season the chicken We couldn’t afford. I am confusing the smell Of fried chicken For the way I feel About you leaving me. Now you are nothing But the missing half of my Spice rack. You are garlic salt, lemon pepper, Cayenne, sage. But you are not Wisdom or clarity or The cold side of the pillow. Sometimes in nice Restaurants I like to eat with My fingers, my whole hands And remember I was once a caveman. And it wasn’t my face Or my name back then But it was my body Covered with a fur that coddles Like you coddle. You coddled. I lick the residue of evolution From my palm that tastes of Pork tenderloin, wiping my fingers On the white linens that will Never be truly clean again.

Liverpool Soap Opera 15 By Denis Joe I keep seeing her naked in shop windows proud staring at the world waiting to adorn new attire I keep seeing her in architecture facing land but wishing to be set sail on a sea of fire I keep seeing her not in the future that I staggered towards but in the past I tried to acquire I keep seeing her in damask of dusk the scent of musk on rain drenched jackets through tears that I perspire I keep seeing her on lime street station platforms getting on trains to leave once more before I retire

Liverpool Soap opera 39 By Denis Joe go get a message from cecil’s son as before mind you don’t slip on the floor tell him I’ll settle tuesday go get a message from malones large bag of chips salt and vinegared two fish come straight home now don’t delay go get a message to your father son quick run or else his dinner will burn and mind the road on your way go get a message to sammy bernard tell him there’s no money coming in I’ll straighten up next payday go get a message to the priest ask him to come I feel life drain from me son I won’t last another day

Liverpool Soap Opera 50 By Denis Joe penelope waits the cathedral piazza holds a reflection of her slight distorted by the rain penelope waits as if a worn-out clichĂŠ helping to explain away something that no-one else can penelope waits the oath of tyndareus the source of all this madness took away from her her man penelope waits hopeful of the probable sometimes inexplicable: the war in afghanistan penelope waits beneath the clock in queenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s square checking her purse for the fare to take her back home again

New Songs By Janine Adair Kohanim apologies surface like the ache of late winter so long ago I opened myself like a carp on a plate all waxy and hopeful, a gift in orange and gold dismissed and ashamed, I crept back to life: a warrior goddess traipsing on coals I followed the sun’s path up the trail the wind blew through every cell icy sun-swept spaces and ancient mystic starlight were patient companions lacking time or judgment the earth’s swollen belly rose and fell with my breath asleep in that belly-time one day a cry rose out of mine and a small hand gripped my finger close like a plea all lofty illusions shattered, I fell to earth tumbling like a gypsy in foreign rags upon the dirt floor and sobbed my child to sleep I lay her on an exemplary quilt under the aegis of my visions scrupulously holdingfeedingwashingteachingloving giving my light, my blood, building a fortress on the sly singing sleeping swirling drawing arcs in the sky of her dreaming hurriedly scraping mortar between home-baked bricks of hemoamnioplacental dust The world found her as I knew it would one breathy wolf and the fortress fell as fast as it went up I waved to my innocent fairychild through the filthy bus window bravely mutely repeating incantations against scars in all their guises powerless against the whirrings and grindings propelling us on I climbed back up the mountain to sob upon its stones but the air was gone, all echoes flattened impotently, I lay deeply in, sinking into the frigid streambed living as a diminutive pebble in that relentless flow forgetting my name my will my shape, allowing…. I awoke among the reeds at the foot of the mountain I remembered my name a quietness within my new form created its own heat I heard the old songs and many new ones in the pumping of my veins both powerful and permeable as I stretched on my back and beamed

Café Americano By Kevin Hageman The tango’s fifth step exists as a volte, where the space between bodies twists. Argentina: eyes, stable as your past avert, while Evita’s tears are the water’s Recoleta warming rich cups of Starbuck’s coffee, like skin that dyes until it first is burned, a leather nation cracks, hardens, smooths, as dulce de leche fills, common by its milk.

The Four Oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Clocks Whisper By Mary Rogers-Grantham Daddy died while on the outskirts of sleep trapped between the smell of evening and a changeless night. Mother slept fleshless the rest of her life. By day, her dim eyes painted memories on every wall in the house that Daddy built. Voiceless prayers filled her nights. Furious outbursts rested on her lips. Four centuries of convention planted in spring gardens, and flower beds that only bloomed at four oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;clock. Now, their dust whisper from the earth, and Mother slept fleshless the rest of her life. Make meaning of endings. Follow them.

Noah’s Coffeepot on the River —in the lighthouse By Mary Rogers-Grantham I want to get up one midnight before the moon yawns, and stars pull the clouds over their heads, before dew polishes the grass seductive green, or frost plays heavy metal in the meadow. I want to be the first customer at the lighthouse, inhale my first cup of scalding black coffee, and find the first line of a new poem in the vapors. I want to see the first sailboat interrupt dawn as it laps down river, and rocks past an ancient oil freighter barely piercing faded, weary water. I want to hear the freighter’s horn heave its morning signal while pushing through cumulus clouds of fog. I want to get up one midnight and shadow this adventure, create my own inferences and write my own climax by noon. I want to spend the afternoon reading Noah’s River Stories, and tarry with Conjecture, the lighthouse lab.

Standing Still By Jacqueline Bridges I live in the black and white, in the empty spaces that fill a page, staring at the blank screen I fill with words, but I am not in them. I lay beside the period, at the end of a paragraph, wallowing in the pause of each comma. That is where my time is spent. My days pass in silence. The peace that pairs with stillness should reside there, but I feel its absence. I wonder where it has gone, if it has run away, or if the deserter will return. Scents linger as if the space was recently inhabited. I read the only sign that remains, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Will the last one to leave, please turn off the lights?â&#x20AC;? I hear the words echo in the hall. I take a breath and sit next to the question mark in my mind. I cannot see it, but I know it is there; something very small, deep inside, trying to warm my soul. Is it rest? Is it peace? Could it be hope? No, I dare not propose it to be hope; that is something I cannot trust. Yet if I do not, I fear there will be nothing left to hold on to.

In a Mood of Possum By Henry Williams When entering the elegant gates of eyes left too long on a forest green after rain storm, so singular these browns & amber & umber jetsam of deciduous & evergreen canopy, where one prone or supine might fixate on the currents of partially visible life. How entranced the will becomes by inconsequential cookery, taking hours to choose the just right china for a noon tea when all you really want is to send table settings to a heap of cloth & shattering porcelain in amorous rush, parting porcellaneous thighs as you lay back and receive ramrod rampage instead of delicate sandwiches and pastries you will eat while choosing not to say a word.

Portrait Of An Ebony Horse Hoof On Lime Green Moss By Henry Williams Formless let me be to conjure ache, the deprived by distance sun bolts to break an overcast hold where earthen lips punch into clouded weaves, puckered to receive a mountain tip. When rosy-lidded eyes infest the sky, a thousand blinks timed against rise and descent [tho such terms be false for sake of orbit] caught heat as are we, walking again, soles again on asphalt & concrete, awake again and pushed out from inhabiting these streaking breezes which seek an exposed arm or knee bent or hair-liberated ear. Cautiously approaches the storm, it seems, lowering curtains off cliffs, until rolling moisture is firm wet and drops percussive slaps split reactive steam blossomed ascent.

Extract from Virbius By Henry Williams …a weigela sprouts roots as its limbs lay down, unstaked, only weight of leaves and length and contact are needed for tendrils to grip exposed ground so like a stranger’s eyes upon another, sending out probes. Did mine always seek and spell of loss and suspension, the exile’s tell leaks from iris to iris a shooting batch of what lustrum meant, like ancient music on a soft batch, off moss from gate front thick were each little licks which tingled on the flesh… A star breaks out up on the sun-filled sky, shivers & smiles…

Artwork

“Flowing Stream” by Jorge Namerow

“Flowing Stream” is a compelling composition that merges the mystery and seduction of of body language with sensual figurative imagery. Vibrant, colors pervades his canvas as J. Namerow’s haunts and entices the viewers’ curiosity.

“Longings” by Jorge Namerow

“Longings” depicts a beautiful woman embracing herself in quiet serenity. She is finding comfort from within herself that perhaps may even have its origins from another dimension. Through composition and color J.Namerow is able to skillfully convey the unspoken truths of body language. 27

“Dim Memories” by Jorge Namerow

“Dim Memories” is a simple yet convincing composition that remains true to J. Namerow’s hallmark of portraying sensual mystery and visual beauty. J. Namerow’s muse is gently revealed and quietly reserved. A simplified palette of shades of azure serves to fuse the figure into the background, thereby adding an illusionary quality somehow necessary to sustain the figure’s anonymity. Contemporary painter originally from San Juan Puerto Rico Jorge Namerow has emerged as one of the most intriguing young artists working today. His work blends the classical ideals of figurative painting with a unique style. Merging introspection and visual spectacle, Jorge Namerow personal investigations of the figure, spirituality and abstraction possess the power to transform today’s ideals of elegance and sensuality. He claims to be “naturally drawn to paint the human figure for its timeless sensitivity” and he adds, “nothing inspires me more intensely than the female form.” Noted for the sensual vitality of his work, Jorge Namerow’s endeavors to “extract the essence of a mood and create work that is striking and simple yet, sustain its integrity through the subtleties.” In the end, it is the impulsive approach to his art that compels the viewer and evokes their emotions. http://namerowdesigns.com 28

“The Seed” by R. Day

Beauty Scars by R. Day

R. Day is a self-taught visual artist and writer who takes her inspiration from nature, mythology and fantasy sources. As she hails from a very multicultural background, she enjoys exploring and combining various cultural themes into her pieces, challenging herself to stretch outside the usual ‘genres’. Whilst she has been published previously and her short stories nominated for the coveted Bram Stoker Awards, she has published her first literary/dark fantasy novel in over a decade called Lon’Aite which is available now on Kindle. After joining the British Women Artists, Rose is currently embarking on creating several paintings of mythological goddesses, as well as continuing to write upon the Lon’Aite theme. She lives in Wiltshire and continues to evade the Powers That Be who tell her she should go out and find a Real Job.

“No Wake” by Katy Unger

“No Wake” is a piece from a series that explores themes of gesture and environment. Whether in public or private spaces, there is a constant conversation being had between the external and internal, and the body has it’s own ongoing narrative. The subject of Katy’s work is not so much the individuals that she paints, but the relationships between themselves and their surroundings. By Katie Unger Perception is sharp and delicate From sound to shape to color Living beings within the womb feeding upon reflections in constant vibration The silent hum of an electrified landscape A gradual warmth on the edge of consciousness

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Controlâ&#x20AC;? by Katy Unger

Katy Unger was born in 1981 in Boulder, CO. She received her BFA degree from the Pacific Nothwest College of Art in Portland, OR in 2003 and currently resides in Los Angeles, CA. Her paintings have been exhibited in galleries all through out the west coast particularly in Portland, Sacramento, the Bay Area, and Los Angeles. Her work is celebrated for her representational use of acrylics to capture the depth of light and skin. www.katherineunger.com

“Brother Bear” by Emily Chou

Emily Chou is a Taiwanese-born Canadian; Emily Chou is currently a student at the Emily Carr University of Art and Design on Granville Island, Vancouver. Her work explores the issues of identity, representation and humour through the examination and experimentation of different media in certain states. Emily’s current interests are sculpture and installations, but she continually stays in touch with her strong roots in painting and drawing. “Self Portrait” by Emily Chou

“Flourish” by Diane J. Berger

“Flourish” is one of three paintings in a series called “Growth”. She is the youngest of the three, as she represents her well-deserved journey back to good health, kindness, spirituality, wellness & joy. She nurtures her beautiful, colorful flowers, feeds her butterflies and smiles as she welcomes you in. She is painted on recycled luanne, a type of wood without knots or imperfections, which is my favorite canvas for my creations. She takes much pride in being a “green artist,” as we all need to take seriously our part in nurturing our planet. Diane J. Berger of WhimsikalWood’s artwork is unique, colorful, spiritual, & whimsical, as well as personalized upon request. It was not until her late 40s, that she discovered her passion for acrylic painting. Wood is her favorite canvas to paint on such as: used plywood, basement paneling, luanne, and various parts of vintage furniture. She takes great pride in knowing that she is doing her part to nurture our planet, and to surround us with positive energy, as does her “full of heart-art.”

Carmen Larsen was born in the city of East London in South Africa and moved to Johannesburg at 9 where she lived until the age of 14. She then immigrated with her family to Vancouver, Canada. She works out of her East Vancouver studio, shared with 18 fellow Artists. Carmen has an eclectic background in the Arts and Creative fields with professional experience in Design, Event coordination, Promotions and Marketing. Her educational history includes diplomas achieved through various Art institute’s and programs in Vancouver including The Vancouver Film School and Emily Carr Institute of Art and Design, as well as a collection of independent creative projects with marketing consultants, photography studios and professional artists. The body of work titled “Shadows” is composed of mixed medium paintings and drawings, as well as selected poetry. The work is a study of our former selves and their manifestation in our present self. This work takes a specific look at the effects of sexual abuse and domestic violence and the role it plays in our post abuse life. Are we renewed through our strength after the removal from an abusive situation? Or do we build layers over a past life by developing a new self. This work is dedicated to women who are surviving and reinventing themselves. To Women who have lived through violence, abuse, and oppression, and who are resilient by means of strength and love, especially those living in the Downtown Eastside.

“Shadows” by Carmen Larsen 36

“Fuse to Muse” by Pragati Sharma

“Fuse to Muse” is her approach to interpret Human Form in an unusual way. It depicts a horse which is made up of female figures. The image startles the viewer at first but on close inspection seem so entirely natural. The playfulness inherent in “Fuse to Muse” may mask some deep intent, but at the same time its whimsical enough to keep the viewers’ interest and inspire their admiration. Other than Indian Miniature Paintings & Architectural Abstracts, Pragati also creates a beautiful imagery of Microscopic Textured paintings focusing on Cancer Treatment Research. Pragati Sharma is a self-taught contemporary artist who is trained as an Architect and an Industrial Designer. Her painting style and technique have directly evolved from her educational and cultural background. Pragati does fine intricate work in her paintings with a special handmade tool designed by her. She can achieve very fine textures and intricate lines with this technique.

“Gateway” by Samuel Charrois

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Reversedâ&#x20AC;? by Samuel Charrois

Samuel Charrois is a Montreal based graphic artist and has been running around the web in many different contest. He started off with t-shirt design contest and won several prizes over the years. He is also a music producer, you can hear is new project with French singer Annie-Major Matte at: www.ednamusik.com. See also www. imaginaryplaygrounds.com for more of his work.

“Metamorphosis” by Stacy Geyer

Stacey Geyer was born in Kiev, Ukraine. In 1991 she moved to United States. After finishing high school she started taking classes at Georgia State University. Stacey received a degree in Interior Design and worked as an Interior Designer for a few years. From early childhood Stacey was interested in art. She created artwork, but never showed it to the public until October 2008 when she got accepted to participate in Abstraction International On-line Art Exhibition. She was chosen from 200 contestants from different parts of the world. In February 2009, Stacey was named artist of the week by Authentic Times Magazine. In the spring of 2011, her painting “Metamorphosis” was accepted to be published in “Touch Poetry” magazine. Stacey constantly tries to make the world more beautiful that’s why she participates in charity events. Stacey’s paintings are valuable assets to many private collections. 40

“Upon Ruin” by Scott Knecht

Scott Knecht is a self-taught, mixed media artist from NE Georgia. His work is a balance of detail ink and paintwork incorporated with various elements of sculpture. Most of his work is message driven but with a balance of the theme and the aesthetic. The meaning behind the work is aimed toward the viewer’s curiosity to seek it rather than be burdened with it. The current work explores the personal journey through this life, with all it trials and its questions. The focus on time and how we apply it is always present through his work. View his work at: artofscottk.blogspot.com

Contributors in this Issue Diane J. Berger Jacqueline Bridges Samuel Charrois Emily Chou R. Day Stacy Geyer Kevin Hageman Alethea Kehas Scott Knecht Janine Adair Kohanim Carmen Larsen Jorge Namerow Denis Oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Driscoll Joshua Polk Jessica Probus Mary Rogers-Grantham Pragati Sharma Katy Unger Henry Williams