Table of Contents
A Day In the
One September Morning
Brian G. Ross
Reading Between the Lines
Snapshots of the Ordinary
The Train to Pennsylvania
735 Miles to Nootka Island
Nicholas D. Klacsanzky
Al Fresco Cafe Poems #125
Al Fresco Cafe Poems #127
Memo to Italy
Rain, Your Words, and the Agony...
The Unspoken Eloquence of the Sword
Three Shades of Grey
Eman Reharno Jeman
Graffiti, and Drawings
Madia Krisnadi Widodo
Media and Digital Art
Miles to Nootka Island
Nicholas D. Klacsanzky
735 miles to Nootka Island,
I am told by my wary yet willing father.
It seems like a road of forever to begin,
but sooner than seen I have horse-legs to help
me and my best friend, a bike of beatific beauty.
We climb cliffs higher and steeper than the sky,
relieved in ecstasy at the top; the long downhill
to coast, the game of skipping
imperfections in the road, coming faster
than the speed of our minds. We almost die
in a midnight car crash, almost eaten by a psychotic cougar,
almost starved to the point of peanut-butter feast.
Yet still with a breath of discovery,
we arrive at the hallowed harbor,
hailed by the sun of a red-morning sea.
In a small and smug tugboat, we patrol the islands
known only to the resting birds, and the wind that carries them.
Our blood runs clean in exhilaration,
like the porpoise through his sky;
searing by our side, coming to see our journey end.
(Even the gulls take rapture in talk of our coming)
The archetypal captain of pipe and beard calls,
"Here is Nootka Island." Eyes like lotus
wide in Indian spring, we devour with sight the island
that danced like a dove above our head since the first push
of pedal in lone Seattle. Its ordinary beauty
seems magic to us, a solace to wayfaring spirits.
The captain, with a face smug as the ship,
and lips like an ancient barnacle, turns to us.
"Nootka Island has more bears than peopleó
only if you want to die do you go there."
No wallow struck my eyes; instead, my head
shifted to the side, taking in the stretched sea
held by the sun's sublime hand. All the islands
had their own conjured magic; some wise,
some pristine, some proud.
I raised my face to the sun
and then to my father:
"Dad, let's keep exploring;
there is so much to see!"
Nodding like the waves and kelp
of Nootka's charm, my father and the captain agreed.