Issue 2

Welcome to issue 2 of gaZet. Feel free to have a wander around.

Contents

Poetry
Words : Shaun Allan
My Child : Karen Mossman
Welcome to my Pain : Rusty Weiss
Shadow/Light : Sommer Norwood
Tanka : Neca Stoller
Another Monday (Themed) : Noel Whitall
Knocking at the Pearly Gates (Themed) : Debbie Panks
Just this side of Heaven's Gate (Themed) : Shaun Allan

Fiction and Prose
I Should be so Lucky : Stanley Worthington
Two Bimbos and a Brain : Diana Stoneberg

Serial
Down by the River - Part 2 : Karen Mossman

Words

Words
spoken softly.
More,
more an essence of voice,
than a material sound.
Barely a whisper,
but with the power,
with the ferocity,
to whirlpool my emotions,
and to scatter my thoughts.
Spoken softly,
yet deafening in their,
in their,
in their tenderness.
I feel their breath
carressing.
I grasp at them,
at their life,
and I pull them close,
feeling their being.
And they become me,
and I am fulfilled,
and I am yours.

Shaun Allan ~

My Child

Lego bricks on the floor
Cups and saucers, spoons too,
Turtles and Batman's galore
And a fluffy white kangaroo

A long line of cars,
A plastic track for a train,
A book of football stars,
And a supersonic plane.

On a Power Ranger beanbag,
With a Lion King toy,
Fast a sleep on his back
Is my little boy.

K.J. Mossman ~

Welcome to my Pain

Welcome to my funeral
Look close and you shall see
An end to all my suffering
An end to misery.

Look deep within these piercing eyes
A story will unfold
A chilling tale inside my mind
In life, my pain untold.

It began at the first glance
A feeling I'd never known
Heaven held within your eyes
It chilled my every bone.

I fell in love, instantly
A woman of perfection
My life derailed, suddenly
Had found a new direction.

My love for you could not be matched
Emotions were unbound
A creature of unending beauty
I had finally found.

In my mind you would remain
My thoughts would not dismiss
A heart on fire at every glance
Reborn with every kiss.

And when you turned away from me
The truth, it had escaped
Deceit is all you offered me
My soul had now been raped.

Lies continued spewing forth
I felt empty and shut out
It seemed that you had lost the meaning
Of what love is all about.

I knew that I had many faults
This I could not deny
When you turned away from me
You ignored the tears I cried.

My life revolved around
Your every want and need
In return you gave me nothing
Though lies were guaranteed.

Now I lie upon the ground
A gun rests in my hand
The pain that you had offered me
I could no longer stand.

My blood flows gently in the street
It glimmers in the light
But shed no tears, for I'm the one
Who requested death tonight.

Welcome to my burial
Submerged beneath the earth
Inner peace is what I've found
Within the cold, black dirt.

The love I felt can not be sought
In fiction or folk lore
And even now I won't believe
That you're not worth dying for.

Rusty Weiss ~

Shadow/Light

The flowers bloom
pure light unfurled
an opening eye

Morbid fascination
material things
a falling blindness

The waters sparkle
undiluted reflection
a sharpening mind

Calculating thoughts
corruptive greed
a fading life

The sudden spread of wings
open wide to delights
parted lips, to speak

Harsh, selfish words
cutting and quick
a shadow within the sun

Sommer Norwood ~

Tanka

tucked between
fallen leaves
a white chrysanthemum-
once pinned to my lapel
by your unsteady hands

Neca Stoller ~

Another Monday

Orphans froze
Rapists raped
Guns thundered
Bengalis drowned
Somalis starved
The FT fell two hundred points.

God hopped across heaven
On his wooden leg
Slammed the gate on the guardian's thumb
`Been a bugger of a day, Pete.' He said.

Noel Whitall
(Please see the comments & guidlines for details of Themes)

Knocking at the Pearly Gates

In the still of night, it's cold and damp,
To the gates of Heaven trudged a downtrodden tramp.
Touched by the cold, the pain in his heart,
Empty forgotton, alone in the dark.
Calling, calling, tears internal falling,
To the gates of Heaven searching for the light.
His clothes in tatters and his heart so full of pain,
His stomach ever empty, a tired withered frame.
Skin a mask a covering, the years of pain and toil,
Each line tells a story , a life of real termoil.
A life in cardboard boxes on streets a paved with dirt.
Noone to love and care for and no chance of a clean shirt.
Begging for a crust of bread and shunned by every turning head.
Listen Lord he knocks aloud, for the gates of Heaven he is bound.
Please lord open them to him, no humbler sevant must there be.
With heart in pain the tears do flow, mingled with the driving snow.
Sitting in his house of card, crisp the air and frozen hand.
The tramp he waits, the gates fast closed,
praying that his nightly dose,
Will end the pain of life, no more, for him to knock on Heaven's door.

Debbie Panks
(Please see the comments & guidlines for details of Themes)

Heaven's Gate

Just this side of Heaven's gate,
the Devil lies in wait.

He's waiting to slip past old Saint Pete,
working on a plan of artful deceit,
figuring out how he might slip in,
to introduce the angels to original sin.

But Saint Peter's no fool,
and he keeps his cool,
for he's used to the ploys
of the King of Ghouls,

So the Devil remains
outside,
outcast,
but he's a patient creature
as he works on his task.

And, under our Peter's watchful eye,
the Devil stares back
with a grin that's sly,
for he knows that, this time,
his plan will work like a dream,
and, once he gets in,
Man, it's gonna be a scream!

Shaun Allan
(Please see the comments & guidlines for details of Themes)

I Should be so Lucky

There is no such thing as an ordinary day when you chauffeur a Rolls-Royce for a living and today was no exception.

The receptionist said he was running late. He would be down in ten minutes. Running late! I'll bet he was! Trying to get rid of a hangover more like. I made my way back to the car and picked up the morning paper. There he was smiling at me from the front page Nathan 'Lucky' Wray, the latest Lottery millionaire.

Ten minutes later he came out of the Hotel. His photograph didn't do him justice. Now I'm not the type to be envious of others, but I have to say I felt a little twinge of jealousy. He was young, tall, athletic and with the kind of smile that said, dislike me if you can. I found myself warming to him instantly. I went through the usual routine, touching the cap and opening the rear door for him. He declined and levered his long frame into the front passenger seat.

Luggage stowed. We wove our way through the busy London traffic and headed for Heathrow Airport.

Nathan Wray proved to be one of life's chatty people. Call me 'Nat,' he had insisted, and then gone on to tell me the story of his life.

It seemed that 'Lucky' wasn't just something dreamed up by the press-it really was his nickname. At seventeen he was the only member of his family to survive a head on car crash. At twenty he fell thirty feet from scaffolding on a building site and walked away without a scratch. Two off his work mates didn't survive it. The day before the Lottery he bought a scratch-card and won five pounds. He put the lot on the Lottery and won four million pounds. No wonder they called him Lucky.

"One of my life-tine's ambition, to see the States." "I'm young free, single and I'm going to have a ball," were his parting words when I dropped him outside the airport.

I watched him disappear into the departure lounge. For a moment that pang of jealousy returned, but I quickly pulled back to reality. A glance at my watch told me I had some time to kill before the next pick-up. I parked the car in the V.I.P car park and returned to the terminal. Time for a drink before Noel and Liam arrived.

Sipping a cup of inky-black coffee, I wandered over and watched the departing aircraft.

A giant 747 jet lumbered lazily down the runway. 'Pan Am' emblazoned on its side. I pictured 'Lucky' Wray, comfortably settled in first-class seat, knocking back champagne by the bottle. I smiled and muttered under my breath, "Lucky bugger."

The jet nosed-dived suddenly. Its wing touched the runway and it cartwheeled, disappearing into a bright orange fire ball. Glass shattered all around me; people stood like petrified statues, not believing what they had seen. I sprinted to the car, perhaps I could help, but I knew it was no use.

I don't know how long I sat in the car, but the wailing sirens of the emergency services had long since ceased. I stared into space.

A sudden knock on the window brought me to my senses. I gazed in astonishment. There he stood, large as life, 'Lucky' Wray.

"Forgot my passport. Must have, must have dropped it at the hotel," he stuttered. "Would have been on that plane if I hadn't forgotten it." I stared at him speechless. "Wonder if you could take me back to London?" I mumbled "yes." He started off across the road picked up his luggage and stepped into the road like zombie.

He never saw the bus that killed him, but I'm sure he would have been the first to appreciate the Irony, a printed poster on its side proclaimed in large bold letters. "Forget it all for an instant, with National Lottery...

Stanley Worthington ~

Two Bimbo's and a Brain

LOS ANGELES --- If you want non-stop drag out action, forget the World Wrestling Federation. Forget Pay TV Boxing and Caesar's Palace. Look no further than your local talk show whenever there are more than two authors who have written on the same subject. Especially when they are booked on the same show. Recently, I witnessed a fight better and longer than any event put on by Don King.

A talk show had booked several authors who had written books on the subject of "dating". What ensued was nothing short of "book wars". In a time where book tours and promotion are at an all time high, it is no wonder, given the window of opportunity, that authors are becoming so fiercely competitive when they appear side-by-side.

What ensued was the quintessential fight between two "Bimbos" and a "Brain". The same kind of fight that women have been having in junior high schools for years.

In one corner, the Bimbos who had written a book on dating "rules", suggesting that if womenfollowed these rules they would "land a man". Interesting that it took two of them to write this book. They were profiled at the beginning of the show instructing women how to follow their rules, for example setting a timer when talking to a man on the phone.

"You don't want to go over ten minutes on the first time you talk to him," they warned.

Bimbo #1 came out with their book attached to her hip. She held it up the entire show, even though the producers had put up a still shot of it when they were introduced. I couldn't help thinking the producers must have been going nuts in the production booth when they saw her holding the book up throughout the duration of the show.

Bimbo # 2 looked as though a train was going to hit her. Evidently the publishers prep talk for the talk show had just started to sink in and she was envisioning mega-dollar signs instead of audience members.

The Brain had written a book on dating as well. Why anybody needs a book about this subject is beyond me but evidently she had written one. From what I could gather hers was about "being yourself". Again, why anybody would have to buy a book to tell them how to do that is amazing but nonetheless she was there to sell it.

Almost from the beginning the Brain was loaded for bear. She came out swinging. She didn't look as though she had had her 92nd mall makeover like the Bimbos. In fact, the Brain was on the heavy side and was having a very bad hair day. However, the Bimbos were "ugly from within". They leered at the Brain as she began to rip apart their rules with gusto.

The Brian started with the timer rule and combined it with a right hook to include another Bimbo rule which states that you should never "let him know you enjoy sex".

The Brain pointed out that if she enjoyed sex she wasn't going to hide it and then asked, "what do you suggest that we, do set a timer on that too?"

Bimbo # 2 had that deer in the headlights look of shock. You could see the fear of loosing all of those potential book sales fading before her very eyes. Bimbo #1, who held up their book with vigor, spewed out, "have you even read our book?"

The Brain countered with a left to the jaw, "yes, and on page 32 you also mention that a women should never reveal that she is too smart or funny." No chance of this occurring with the Bimbos, however, Bimbo # 1 was not going to take this laying down. She clenched her teeth and cut off an audience member to say, "you have no authority. What kind of authority do you have?" The Brain was about to answer when Bimbo # 1 shouted, "we HAVE men!!!!" Defiantly, she held up the book again as if to say, "see" you can "have" men too. It's also interesting to note that the Bimbos never countered with any quotes from the Brain's book.

My question to the Bimbos : "What do you do once you HAVE a man? Goshopping? Is that the purpose to this whole exercise? It seems to me that after deceiving a man into thinking that you are a vapid, asexual, unfunny, drone and he wants a lamp shade in his life that you are now entitled to a high maintenance heavy shopping spree existence, no? And furthermore, show us the goods, Bimbos. Where are these poor saps you "landed" and how much bait did you have to put on the hook?"

The Brain then picked out a few more rules from the Bimbos book. One of which was not the tell your therapist that you were following these rules. The Brain pointed out that if she was paying $90 an hour not to reveal to her therapist what she was doing in her own life she might as well not go to therapy.

Bimbo # 2 came out of her deer-in-the-headlights stance long enough to react. "If you want to get deep, buy her book. If you want to GET a man buy our book." A smattering of applause went up from the Bimbo wannabes in the audience. However, the Brain got the last word, "go deep".

My advice to Don King would be the same, you want to make big bucks, go deep and put two competing authors in a ring and let the book wars begin.

Diana Stoneberg ~

Down by the River

The town was angry, they wanted blood. Why hadn't the Sheriff charged Ricky? He was guilty, they said. Didn't he kill his mother and her lover?

Shelby slept in her old room that night. Grateful to be alone and to weep for Mary-Jo.

"The police are biased, they have always hated him," Shelby told her Pa the next morning. She was sitting on the edge of the table. He was hand washing his socks, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. "I know what everyone thinks, but Ricky didn't do it."

He glanced up at her. "That boy has a bad reputation."

"Maybe, but he loved her."

"He's a bad `un. He did it all right."

Shelby looked at him strangely. He was still sober and he had not yet looked her in the eyes. It was odd.

"He didn't, I know he didn't," she repeated.

"Mary-Jo was a beautiful girl. That boy took advantage of her."

"I think he misses her." She put her fingers to her forehead. "I can't believe she's gone!"

"You were the only friend she had. Everyone else just called her a simpleton. She missed you." He wrung out the socks, pulled the plug and went to the yard to pin them out.

"I let her down didn't I?" she said following him out. "If I hadn't gone, she might still be alive." Tears sprang easily to her eyes.

Her father's face softened slightly. "It's all right, child, you go right ahead and weep." He squeezed her shoulder gently.

"Y'know, pa, I like you when you're sober," she told him tears fell down her face.

She wished he had been sober that night a year ago. She needed him then and he had let her down. But it was Rawden Hughes who had driven her away.

Shelby knew she should go and see Mary-Jo's family. Her mother was an old witch and Mary-Jo's two sisters treated her like a servant. But instead she went down to the river and found herself at the spot where Mary-Jo's body had been found.

Lying back on the grass Shelby closed her eyes. She could feel the spirit of Mary-Jo and sensed fear, shame too. Goose pimples prickled as the past tantalised her with images she could not focus on. Ricky, so angry, so hurt. But there was something else: something she could not see.

"Little Shelb," came a voice from behind, snapping her out of her dream. Rawden Hughes smiled. "Fancy you coming here - to this exact spot."

"Why shouldn't I?" She got to her feet quickly. Her voice unnaturally high.

"Poor, dumb Mary-Jo, eh?" he said and Shelby swallowed nervously stepping away from him.

"Mary-Jo wasn't dumb. You know that," she told him.

Rawden smiled again. "A year away from this place has done you good. You look prettier than ever."

She hated the way he looked at her; hated the way his belly squeezed into his trousers. "I couldn't marry you, Rawden. You know that."

"I always live in hope."

"Blackmail is a dirty game," she reminded him.

"Blackmail? Come on," he tutted. "Blackmail is a dirty word, little Shelb."

She looked around hopefully, but they were completely alone. It was un-nerving. She did not trust him. He was capable of just about anything.

K.J. Mossman ~