Viral Cat

Subtitle

Spring 2013 Issue

Recent Blog Entries

 

Purchase the Spring 2013 Print Edition of Viral Cat

$10 + $3 shipping and handling, 96 pages

Send payment on paypal directly to [email protected]

or

                                   Spring 2013 Issue

Page 1

"Mother and Baby III" (painting) .................................................................................................. by Brooke McGowen

Kaleidoscope and Harpsichord” (fiction) ...................................................................................... by Donal Mahoney

Autumn I” (painting) ................................................................................................................... by Lorna Ritz

Bindweed II” (poetry) ................................................................................................................ by Terry W. Ford

"Autumn II" (painting) ................................................................................................................... by Lorna Ritz

Bindweed Triumphant” (poetry) .................................................................................................... by Terry W. Ford

3 a.m. wisdom” (poetry) ................................................................................................................ by Robin Wyatt Dunn

The Dream” (film) ......................................................................................................................... by Mehdi Dehbi

"Another Pseudo-Memory" (poetry) ............................................................................................... by A.J. Huffman

"Reboot" (mixed media) ................................................................................................................. by Paul Tillinghast

"The Moon Rises" (poetry) ............................................................................................................. by Mitch Grabois

"Eric" (poetry) ................................................................................................................................ by Holly Day

"Battle" (mixed media) ................................................................................................................... by Zach Collins

Red Crucible” (screenplay excerpt) ................................................................................................ by I. Altman

Page 2

Errance” (film) .............................................................................................................................. by Mehdi Dehbi

"Drinking at the Spotlight's Wall" (poetry) ..................................................................................... by Robert S. King

"That Night at Carnegie Hall" (screenplay) ..................................................................................... by Ivan Jenson

"Our Lady of Spain" (crayon, oil-based ink) ................................................................................... by Lauralee Sikorski

In Shades of Regret” (poetry) ......................................................................................................... by A.J. Huffman

"Fields of November" (film) ............................................................................................................. by Chad Ritchie

The Cow That Didn't Quite Jump Over the Moon” (illustration) ................................................... by Bruce Humphries

Extinction” (poetry) ........................................................................................................................ by Mitch Grabois

"Autumn III" (paiting) ..................................................................................................................... by Lorna Ritz

Nameless Wife on the Flood” (poetry) ............................................................................................ by Chris Crittenden

"Autumn IV" (painting) ................................................................................................................... by Lorna Ritz

Penzeys" (mixed media) ................................................................................................................... by Zach Collins

A Spring Day” (poetry) .................................................................................................................... by James Piatt

"Ages” (mixed media) ........................................................................................................................ by Zach Collins

Page 3

"Mother and Baby I" (painting) ......................................................................................................... by Brooke McGowen

"Mother and Baby I, Blacklight" (painting) ........................................................................................ by Brooke McGowen

"Wee" (poetry) ................................................................................................................................... by Holly Day

"Elephrika" (illustration) .................................................................................................................... by Warren Stokes

"Giraffe Blocks" (illustration) ............................................................................................................. by Warren Stokes

"Back by Sunrise" (screenplay excerpt) ................................................................................................ by Justin Sloan

"Sleep Tight Caterpillar" (illustration) ................................................................................................. by Bruce Humphries

"Spiritual Matters" (poetry) ................................................................................................................. by Robert S. King

To Iowa, #2” (poetry) ........................................................................................................................ by Robin Wyatt Dunn

"Taliban" (drawing) ............................................................................................................................ by Brooke McGowen

"Comfort Food" (poetry) .................................................................................................................... by Holly Day

"Market Trends" (painting) ................................................................................................................. by CAW

"We Are the Rebuilders" (fiction) ........................................................................................................ by Daniel Davis

"Little Jack" (illustration) ..................................................................................................................... by Bruce Humphries

Cassandra Reflects” (poetry) ............................................................................................................... by Chris Crittenden

"The Briny Sea" (poetry) ...................................................................................................................... by James Piatt

Awareness” (mixed media) .................................................................................................................. by Zach Collin

 

 

Mother and Baby, III by Brooke McGowen

 

Kaleidoscope and Harpsichord by Donal Mahoney

As I've told my wife too many times, the meaning of any poem hides in the marriage of cadence and sound. Vowels on a carousel, consonants on a calliope, whistles and bells, we need them all if a poem is to tickle our ears. Otherwise, the lines are gristle and fat, no meat.

Is it any wonder, then, my wife has had a problem, for decades now, with any poem I've given her to read for a second opinion. This is especially true when we both know the poem has no message and I simply want to hear the music, assuming there is some. Miles Davis made a living doing the same thing in jazz clubs. Why can't I have a little fun and give it a try even if my instrument is words?

The other night in bed I gave my wife my latest poem to read. I said it was fetal, not final. Afterward she said that reading this poem was no different than reading all the others I had given her over the years. She had thought I'd improve by now. Maybe I should switch to fiction or the essay, she suggested, or else stick with editing the manuscripts of others since I had made a decent living as an editor for many years. 

"You've been writing poetry for decades," she said, "but reading a poem like this is like looking through a kaleidoscope while listening to a harpsichord."

Point well taken, I thought, point well said. The nuns for whom I toiled all those years in grammar school would have liked my wife.

They might have even recruited her to join their order.

Then I asked her what a man should do if he has careened for years through the caves of his mind spelunking for the right line for a poem only to hear his wife say that reading his poem was like "looking through kaleidoscope while listening to a harpsichord." 

Should I quit writing? Start drinking? After all I quit drinking when I started writing and I discovered that the hangovers from both were equally debilitating. 

The following morning she said, "You should never quit writing." 

At that moment, she was enthroned at the kitchen table, as regal as ever in her fluttery gown and buttering her English muffin with long, languorous strokes Van Gogh would envy.

"You should write even more,” she said, “all day and all night, if need be. After all, my line about the 'kaleidoscope and harpsichord' needs a poem of its own. It's all meat, no gristle, no fat."

 

Autumn I by Lorna Ritz

Bindweed II by Terry W. Ford

I pull out every tendril I can find.

Next morning they reappear

sprouting unmistakably heart-shaped leaves

and winding about the stems

of nearby clematis and hydrangea.

If I neglect them,

they will flower delicate white blossoms

blanketing fences, arbors,

and carefully tended gardens.


After dinner, you and I

walk along a quiet street

peering into windows full of

dusty, shabby antiques

which were new

long ago when we were young.


Your hand is hidden,

resolutely jammed into your pocket

and safely out of reach.

I touch your arm,

reach out—

our fingers wind around each other’s.


A half-moon’s changeable smile

shines silvery down upon us.


Our fingers put forth invisible, twisting vines,

heart-shaped leaves,

and pure-white trumpet blossoms.


Delicate white roots twist deep.

We break them off—

snap them at the surface.


Multifold, they spring back.

Fibrous roots wind deep.

Engulfed by vines, leaves, and blossoms,

gleaming white, what is it that shines forth

amid the foliage?

 

 

Autumn II by Lorna Ritz

Bindweed Triumphant by Terry W. Ford

 


Just where the clematis vines

tumble over my garden fence

and climb up the hydrangea tree,

just at the very top,

crowning a jumble of carefully planned

heavy blossoms and greenery,

lifting her dainty, snowy face

to the mist-laden morning sky,

the trumpet of a solitary bindweed flower

triumphs over an entire summer’s

careful weeding.


Wide-open, perfect, and alone,

she dances to an early breeze.


No, not alone.

Beside her, nearly hidden, thrusts

a something,

pale green and conical, twining

toward her—

a still-furled bud gives promise

of continuing blooms tomorrow.


Left to flourish they will smother

all of next year’s garden.


I should uproot them now.


But weeding does not appear

on my morning list of tasks,

so I leave them to their momentary triumph.

In truth, I hate to pull them:

the delicate flower, the promising bud,

and the writhing, twisting, ever-climbing vine.


They tease me into rueful smiles,

delight the eye,

and taunt the stolid soul.

 

 

 

3 a.m. wisdom by Robin Wyatt Dunn

Old ante meridian, lover, Nox orbiting Hades, send me your 3 o clock advice;  I’m in the street.  Oh ante meridian, you foolishness, you quiet and horrifying surprise, it’s only a gas station, not a
revelation, see, their door is barred but you can buy cigarettes at
the window, watch for the angry homeless man.

We are here, old voices from the Khyber, old voices from Lethe, you star transmission to my poor schizophrenic brain, it’s Radio Time here in Old Los Angeles and it’s true, it’s always Radio Time here, our crystals shun silence, they speak eternally.

Radio Time, ante meridian.  Radio Time:  relativistic but always real, shallow but always entertaining.  Yes, we know it’s difficult to
understand.  Get out of our head already.

Radio Time is a desert thing, here after its invention, but still in
the desert, here where religion meets technology meets the tectonic
zone of the West, here where we betray, here where we give painful
birth to your dreams.

Ante meridian, what is my mission?  Ante meridian, when will I die?  I spin for you, Old Music of this Sphere, old temple of my skull, I whirl for you here on Hollywood Boulevard, I am free, I am free, I am free.

Give us a voice if we be friends and gentle Suck dot com will make
amends, though it is long gone, snark ain’t what it used to be, we’re
traveling now, brother, the Internet is growing old and we’re
a-traveling, brother, the fish and the barrel and the smoking gun are
transmissions to the stars and we are armed and angry and I have a
biscuit for you to eat so just smile and take it and say thank you,

New York brother, welcome to LA and let me tell you:  we shall bow, we shall bow together.

We shall bow and the ante meridian, this terminus est, this line of
division, this hairy mark in time will remember us even if we forget
each other’s names, we will burn the oil and we will light the candle
and old HollywoodLand will return on the hill and we’ll be famous.

Light the torch, honey.  I like that fire in your eye.

 

The Dream by Mehdi Dehbi

Film Stills:

 

Click the link below to view the video on Vimeo :

https://vimeo.com/35794509

 

Another Pseudo-Memory by A.J. Huffman

Falling down

on god’s head.

Like snow

too precious to melt.

I found myself here.

Lost among the others.

Unalike themselves.

As we gather.

As we cry.

As we wait.

For the pressure

to build.

And noticed

to fall.

 

 

Reboot by Paul Tillinghast

                                              

 

The Moon Rises by Mitch Grabois

City life is a scribble

in Rumanian

 

My grandfather haunts these streets

Allergies kick me in the eyeballs and throat

My cup is spoiled

and I have nothing left to learn

 

Emily Dickenson and her lesbian lover

go for a stroll through the woods

 

Cute kittens litter society like

corsages discarded after a prom

 

My grandfather was a presser in the garment industry

then a hotel clerk

 

The moon rises

Comedians die

 

Their hair is identical, parted in the middle

The lover has a dour look, keeps her gaze forward, does not look at Emily

 

Dogs are abused

then put in a pound

 

After my grandmother died

my grandfather remarried, badly

 

 

Eric by Holly Day

my nephew comes home
from the war
cocky, proud, boasting
of how stupid the people "over there" are
how backward their way of life is

it breaks my heart remembering
the baby in my arms
the little boy with the wide brown eyes
who dreamed of driving his own tractor
someday

who is this man
 telling stories of military exercises
of kicking down doors to rescue children
from their "ignorant" mothers
drinking beer and showing off his scars

what have they done to
my sweet little friend

 

 

 

Battle by Zach Collins

                                 

Red Crucible by I. Altman

"RED CRUCIBLE" is a screenplay by Ira Altman, based on the autobiography "Memoirs of a Stormy Life".


LOGLINE: After his impoverished and orphaned childhood in the Jewish ghettos of Poland, an indomitable refugee escapes the clutches of the invading Nazis only to be enslaved in the Soviet Union and prevails in a desperate struggle against destitution, starvation, and death.

 

 

 

 

 

CLICK HERE TO GO TO PAGE 2               

 

CLICK HERE TO GO TO PAGE 3