Guns and Roses | John Anstie

……has anything changed?

This article was written and published on the blog, FortyTwo, in December 2012. It is reproduced here in The BeZine almost in its entirety, with little editing. In the years that have followed the massacre of twenty-five children and their teacher at Sandy Hook School, the outpouring of grief and vows to stop it from happening again have faded into history. A succession of mass killings each year since then, feels like a constant round of unrelenting Groundhog Days. It is thus as relevant and heartfelt as ever and, very sadly, has changed very little.

Guns and Roses
Picture via Google Images courtesy of Dippity

I may be wrong, but the Connecticut massacre, on Friday, 14th December 2012, seems to have had more publicity than many previous mass killings. Perhaps it is because of the fact that this has involved kindergarten infants and their bravely protective teachers, and that it has painfully and poignantly made us all feel the grief to a much greater degree. I felt myself choking in my own grief, thinking all the while of my own children and grandchildren, whilst I watched some documentary background on the whole thing the other night.

Equally, but perhaps more uncomfortably, it is not difficult to understand the utterly heart-wrenching position of some parents, who, in life’s random deck of cards, are dealt the hand of a child with a mental illness and all the side effects of this condition, both on the child and on their family and wider community. The USA’s crisis with mental illness is also easy to understand, and clearly illustrated in this poignant commentary written by author and musician, Liza Long. This is not just confined to the USA. It is everywhere in the world, but unlike the USA, the rest of the world does not have “the right to bear arms” enshrined in their constitution. 

The response to the Connecticut killings, as ever, polarised commentators, political debate and argument. The anti- versus pro-gun lobbies are lost in their own arguments about whether or not tighter regulation of firearms is a relevant solution. It is not surprising, however, that not enough has been made of the imperative need for discussion and action on mental illness, quite possibly because it is so often a taboo subject, perhaps particularly amongst the better educated and more affluent middle class. 

Let me explain that statement. 

When I point a finger at the ‘middle classes’ I do so with reservation, but not to be ‘accusing’, and not just as a reference to the natural process of denial, in a social class for which mental health issues could be deemed a social, not to mention financial ‘inconvenience’. There are of course those who have had to endure any number of experiences with children suffering from some form of mental illness, whether this be a less severe form of anxiety and depression or the most serious forms of psychotic illness and personality disorders such as that—and this may be presumptive of me, prior to the official conclusion of the Sandy Hook killings—which it would seem very likely affected the ill-fated young man responsible for these killings in Connecticut.

I would, in fact, argue that mental illness knows no class boundaries. It is just as likely, if not more so, to affect the less well educated, the less privileged in society, with fewer resources to deal with mental ill-health. However, I defer to the educated, affluent middle classes to fess up that they are more likely to have the ability to lobby, to articulate and to influence the authorities, to help sow the seeds of change in attitudes toward mental illness. It is only our denial, our inability to cope with mental illness, that causes this block to genuine progress. Yes, it is very hard to come to terms with mental illness, when it it comes so close to home as your own children.

If I were to summarise my feelings about this disaster, it would be in this way…

Unlike the central theme of media coverage, which seems to have been focussed solely on the gun laws, I maintain that there is no one single cause that needs to be looked at; no one single course of action, on its own, that needs to be taken in response to Connecticut and all the other killings; there are, in fact, several things that need to happen in parallel. Let me propose at least two of those things.

The first is not only that more resource and education is needed to create a wider and more thorough public awareness, understanding and, perhaps the most important objective of all, acceptance that mental illness is as much a fact of life as is physical illness. Whilst improving how everyone in society can learn to cope with mental illness is very important, to improve it’s treatment by the medical professions is equally so. I have personally witnessed the best signs of the use of Community Psychiatric Care to lead crisis teams to support the individual as well as their family, which is a logical extension of an holistic approach to treatment that empowers the service user as well as the people close to them to assist in the healing process and thereby reduce dependence on the pharmacy as well as the paid professionals.

It will also enable the development of further research into a wide variety of potential causes. It would appear, on the face of it, that there is a gradual change in the establishment’s attitude to the treatment of mental illness, although, from some perspectives, there is still a long way to go! But there is trend emerging. 

Organisations that promote understanding of mental illness are gaining a deeper understanding and tolerance, and an increasing presence, in the media, but particularly social media. There are a number of front running organisations like Rethink (and many more) as well as high profile personalities like Alastair Campbell (search for articles in his blog on the subject of ‘mental health’ and you’ll find plenty), successfully raising public awareness in this way. 

Meanwhile, back in Newtown, Connecticut…

The second thing that must happen, whether or not you are a supporter of the Second Amendment (that part of the United States’ Bill of Rights, which protects the rights of people to keep and bear arms), is an old favourite logical argument of mine. Given my scientific training, if you have any understanding at all of the statistical concepts of chance, probability and risk, it cannot be denied, that, whilst tighter firearm regulations will not necessarily remove the risk of incidents involving firearms altogether, the irrefutable logic is that reducing the ability for everyone to get hold of guns and ammunition, restricting access to firearms, quite simply must result in a reduction of the probability, the risk of such incidents recurring in the future. The number of firearms in circulation and available to be used will be proportional to the number of victims of gun crime. If this is not obvious, then please explain to me why? It is a matter of proportion: getting things in proportion to their potential effect on an outcome…which is the unnecessary death of a human life.

It is unlikely to be coincidence that, following a massacre, at the Scottish Primary School in Dunblane, of sixteen infants and one adult in March, 1996, and the banning in the UK, one year later of handguns, particularly those used in this incident, which were magazine loading semi-automatic weapons, no subsequent such incidents, at least at a school, have recurred. The only subsequent incident, the Cumbria shootings in 2010, was marked by a different set of circumstances, not involving school children, albeit still using guns, but not handguns.

I therefore do not believe that tighter restriction in the availability and ownership of firearms will achieve anything but to enable a reduction in the risk of such incidents recurring in the United States, anywhere. Nor can I believe that a sizeable number of United States citizens, particularly parents of small children, don’t feel the same way. It may only be those, perhaps with a vested interest in the firearms industry (understandable), as well as those absorbed by the dogma and ‘tradition’ and almost sacred belief in the Second Amendment, who oppose such restrictions, and who, I believe, are blinded by that conviction. The Second Amendment, like any law or regulation, anywhere in the world, was written and constituted by people; it can, like any law in any land, be changed by people.

It is people, their mental health, safety and security of their families and communities, which are the most essential features of civilised life on earth. So come on, Mr President, members of the United States Congress, have courage, cast aside your self-serving vested interests and fear of the most powerful gun lobbies, to bring about significant change; sow the seeds of such change as could have far reaching consequences, for the benefit of human life. Let us lay down the guns and pick up the red roses that represents the love of humanity. 


Red Rose
©2023 Shirley Smothers
digital art

My poem, “Rose Petal“, which was written eighteen months before this mass killing, in response to another, but very different signal, seems more than particularly poignant in light of these circumstances and of the tragic loss of little children at Sandy Hook, whose lives were extinguished in an instant, under circumstances, in which a misguided young finger was permitted to twitch on the trigger of a semi-automatic firearm.


Rose Petal

You came to me from rose vermilion red;
so rude and flushed with health you seemed to be.
I was surprised when I discerned instead
your disposition was no longer free;
that, whilst you were so moist and soft, I then
with sadness realised your life was spent;
that you had chosen me as your last fen
between your zenith and your final rent.

What price for love you had to pay, and stain
upon your beauteous journey through short life,
so full of human tragedy and pain;
so savaged by our ugliness and strife.

And yet, you gift us your perfume unkempt
and beauty, which our hideousness preempts.
Originally published on  My Poetry Library, 2011.

Essay ©2012 John Anstie, edited version ©2023
Poem ©2011 John Anstie
All rights reserved




No Peace Piece | Corina Ravenscraft

Birthed in the minds of power-mad men,
Forged in the mouth of a dark thundercloud,
My sole purpose to kill,
I make murder a thrill;
The cause of many
A burial shroud.
A tool of war-mongers and lovers, alike,
Eat bullets, spit fire, life snatched in a flash.
Life of violence,
Ringing silence,
Endless echoes left,
Bereft and shrieking,
After the crash.
Image borrowed from globalwealthprotection.com
Were I not here, you'd find another way,
To kill each other, one by one,
Each day.
Death-bringer, me.
"Equalizer", I be.
Men, women, children...
None are safe from The Gun.

©2013 C.L.R.
All rights reserved




Hypocrititis | Charlie Brice

Do you suffer from the need to have a twice impeached, twice indicted, adjudicated sex abuser do your thinking for you? Are family values critical to your identity and yet you blindly follow a man who brags about grabbing women’s genitals and who had an affair with a porn star four months after his third wife gave birth to their son? Do you call yourself a Christian then tell an eleven-year-old rape victim that she must carry her baby to term? Do you chortle that you are pro-life but advocate for the death penalty and refuse to support childcare programs and school lunches for all those unwanted babies once they are grown? Are you more concerned about banning books children read about gays than banning the automatic weapons used to kill those children? Do you think that Neo-Nazi’s chanting "Jews will not replace us" are "very fine people?" Do you rail against socialism then demand that the government keep its hands off your Medicare? You may be suffering from moderate to severe Hypocrititis! Ask your doctor about OxyMoron. Thirty infusions of OxyMoron delivered anally each month should help you regain some consistency and reason. (Rubber turkey baster delivery device sold separately.) Some people using OxyMoron have developed Musicus Flatulence Perpetuum, a bewildering disorder that causes the anus to hum, “I’m a Yankee Doodle Dandy,” during prolonged political debates. Don't take OxyMoron if you are allergic to truth and facts as doing so may cause every mirror in your home to explode. Call your doctor and stop taking OxyMoron immediately if you begin to tell the truth compulsively when discretion would be best (a rare condition called Candorrhea). Your road back to consensual reality and critical thinking is waiting at the tip of your turkey baster. Ask your doctor about OxyMoron today!

©Charlie Brice
All rights reserved


Charlie Brice…

…won the 2020 Field Guide Poetry Magazine Poetry Contest and placed third in the 2021 Allen Ginsberg Poetry Prize. His sixth full-length poetry collection is Pinnacles of Hope (Impspired Books, 2022). His poetry has been nominated three times for both the Best of Net Anthology and the Pushcart Prize and has appeared in Atlanta ReviewThe Honest UlstermanIbbetson StreetThe Paterson Literary ReviewImpspired MagazineSalamander Ink Magazine, and elsewhere.



Micro Haibun | Barbara Anna Gaiardoni

A whole other life

The cafe' was packed with agitated journalists on computers, cell phones and blackberries, on the far side was a forest of camera tripods and light stands for the TV live positions. 

sitting in the 
shade of an old 
lime-tree

©2023 Barbara Anna Gaiardoni
All rights reserved


Barbara Anna Gaiardoni…

…is an Italian pedagogist, author, and poet. She began writing Japanese-style poems in 2019 and since has been published in Asahi Haikuist NetworkHaiku Dialogue THFThe Japan Society UKDrifting Sands HaibunCold Moon JournalBones JournalAkita International Haiku NetworkThe Zen SpaceThe Wise OwlLothlorien Poetry Journal and sixty other international journals.  Her works have been translated into Japanese, Romanian, Arabic, Malayalam, Hindi, and Spanish. Co-author of haiga and shahai with Andrea Vanacore, life partner, visionary photographer, & video-maker. Drawing and walking in nature are her passions. Her motto is “I can, I must, I will do it.”

Photo by Andrea Vanacore

Website



art | gary lundy

most come to art

to be affirmed not to be 
asked to consider the odd 
or confusing. through the 
rigors of lessons we’ve 
learned the dangers found 
in any sort of displacement 
of the rules of order. yet 
you misidentify such 
reluctance as an effort to 
establish and protect peace. 
which quite naturally works 
to the advantage of those 
wielding power. when 
clothing used as measuring 
point what chance art. 
especially that which 
reduces cost to some sort 
of private joke. looking 
around this morning we 
find various forms of skin 
revealed. from arms and 
legs to shoulders clavicles.
hands to mouths feeding or 
covering up. as one leaves 
again soliciting and 
receiving warm consensual 
hugs. that reading that left 
us needing to find a new 
way to achieve insight. 
begin with recognizing the 
demand and necessity of 
rereading at the least once. 
never underestimate how 
confusing even the clearest 
writing always is. thus 
being constantly left baffled.
6/12/23

Shadow Life
©2023 Michael Dickel
digital landscape from photos

©2023 gary lundy
All rights reserved


gary lundy…

…is a poet and retired English professor living in Missoula, MT, where he often can be found in a cafe writing in his notebook. He has books of poetry and numerous publications in print and online journals.



Wrapped in Placenta | Jameela Nishat

Aanval se me lipti thi

Hindi
Aanval se me lipti thi
Jeevan ki jo dori thi
Tu khaasti (cough) rehti thi
Main roti hi rehti thi
Saanse teri phulti thi
Saanse meri chalti thi
Din beet gaye kitne
Ab yaad nahi mujhko
Main kokh se Kab Nikli
Aur dhoop me Kab baithi
Ye dhool bhari duniya
Ye kyu mujhe takti hai 
Aankhe meri maa ki
Kyu aansu hi peeti hai 

Kuch puchte hai Ye sab 
Kya phir se hui Beti 
Hai chaaro taraf khil-khil
Aage hai mere khil-khil
Piche hai mere khil-khil
Has padti hu ab main bhi 
Jeevan ki jo dori hai 
Mazboot woh hoti hai 
Maa hi toh Sahara hai
Ye soach ke hasti hu
Rote hue kehti hu
Ab doodh pila do maa
Main roti hi rehti hu
Aur Ye na samajh paayi
Ke bojh bani hu main
Ye bhool gaye hai Sab 
Iss jag ki main beti hu 


Ab doodh pila do maa
Yun kokh me mat maaro
Jab-jab fasaad hota 
Duniya meri lut-ti hai
Ye kaare Jahan saara 
Chalta hai mere dam se 
Main nasal badhati  hu 
Mujhe kokh me mat maaro 
Mujhe doodh pila do maa

Durga hu me ellama 
Havva hu zuleqha hu
Basti hu basati hu
Mitti main mulayam hu 
Sadiyo se kayi-jaan Par
Jo zulm main sehti hu 
Ab Seh nahi paungi

Aawaz ka toofaan hai 
Uthta hai Jo galiyo se 
Ab dard ke rishto ko 
Kya naam bhala doge
Tum doodh pila do maa 
Tum haunsla do 
Taake 
Duniya ko badal daalun

I was wrapped in placenta

English
I was wrapped in placenta
Tied to the thread of life
You coughed incessantly
I cried all the time
You were gasping for breath
While I was breathing your life
How many days did pass
I do not remember now
When did I emerge from your womb
To bask in the sunlight?
Why does the world
Stare at me dusty-eyed?
Why do my mother’s eyes
Drink only her tears?

People are asking
Is it a girl again?
The world laughs around me, khil-khil
Before me, khil-khil
Behind me, khil-khil
I too laugh along with it
I bloom, I blossom
The thread of life 
Is a strong one
My mother is my strength
And so I laugh
And I cry to her
Give me my milk, mother
I keep crying
I did not realise
That I was her burden
They have all forgotten
I am humanity’s daughter.

Give me my milk, mother
Do not kill me in your womb
My world is being destroyed 
With the quarrels that abound
The entire world goes round
Thanks to me
I perpetuate generations of life
Don’t kill me in your womb
Give me my milk, mother

I am Durga, I am Yellamma
I am Eve, I am Zulekha
I am creation, I am the creator
I am the soft earth
Suffering since eons
I can suffer no more.


It is a storm of words
That has risen from the streets
What name can you possibly give
To relations born of pain
Give me my milk, mother
Give me courage
So that 
I can change this world.

Translated by Uma Damodar Sridhar
©2023 Jameela Nishat and Uma Damodar Sridhar
All rights reserved



Pitcher | Miroslava Panayotova

Summer 10
©2023 Miroslava Panayotova
digital art

I want to drink water from a pitcher
in the room under the sun,
with the flowers,
water overflowing from the pitcher,
feeling the splash before the pitcher broke.

I want to echo the music from the radio,
to lean against the wall,
under the shed with tobacco strings
next to the garden.

I want to listen in the breath of the earth,
to believe in its eyes,
to melt into it moaning with distrust,
to get through the corn and scratch my feet
in the soil and foliage.

Let the wind rustle before going to sleep.

To look for the past in a dream,
non-existence—in the dark rooms.
To bring water from the well on the path,
the song on the path
coming down from the cloud
in blue and warm.

To bring faith from the well,
filling my breast with stars,
hands full of fireflies,
dizzy from the ground,
covered with leaves and plums,
and fragrant rotten apples,
the Earth, laden with blossom.

Where is the house?

©2023 Miroslava Panayotova
All rights reserved


Miroslava Panayotova…

…(Bulgaria) graduated from Plovdiv University, specialty Bulgarian philology and English language. She has published poems, stories, tales, aphorisms, essays, criticisms, translations, articles and interviews in periodical and collections. She has published the following poetry books: Nuances, 1994, God of the Senses, 2005, Pitcher, 2014, Whisper of Leaves, 2017, Green Feeling, 2018; two books of stories: An End, and Then a Beginning, 2017, Path of Love, 2018; two eBooks: Laws of Communicatons —Aphorisms, 2018, Old Things —Poetry, 2018. She is a member of the Union of the Independent Bulgarian Writers and a member of Movimiento Poetas del Mundo. She is a member and a coordinator in the team of the e-journal Ghorsowar, too. Miroslava Panayotova is an ambassador of IFCH (International Forum for Creativity and Humanity). Her verses have been translated to English, Spanish, Greek, Albanian, and Uzbek.



Invitation | Lisa Vihos

Invitation

Wage peace.
Who will start?
It’s not just words
on a page, a screen,
a moment in time.

War has been declared
to claim land, resources
and the path to God.
There is no winner.
History, the story of bloodshed.
Peace comes in the doing,
heart to heart,
standing, sitting,
walking, writing.
Hold fast to the vision.
Landscape in a Landscape
©2023 Gerry Shepherd
painting
If a ship can sail
around the world,
so can peace. Each of us
with a hand
on the tiller.
We make the ocean,
the port of call,
the gathering place.
We hang on
throughout the storm.
For in the end,
we are all human.
We share the Earth
with animals, trees,
flowers, bugs.
Untitled
©2023 Irina Tall
drawing
Peace is a road,
waiting for us to walk it.
Hold out your hand
to another
and go.

©2023 Lisa Vihos
All rights reserved


Lisa Vihos…

…Lisa’s poems have appeared in numerous poetry journals. She has four chapbooks, two Pushcart Prize nominations, and is an organizer for 100 Thousand Poets for Change. In 2020, she was named the first poet laureate of Sheboygan. In 2022 she published her first novel, The Lone Snake: The Story of Sofonisba Anguissola.



Mabrouk | Karen Alkalay-Gut

Garden Rearrangement-2
©2023 Gerry Shepherd
painting

Mabrouk (Private)

Confined to the couch by a bad back,  
I watch Israel Educational TV with my son.
There is an Arabic program on
and we slowly learn that the man
at the final fitting for a suit
("Mabrouk, Jamil!"), and the woman
showing her new dress to her best friend
("Mabrouk, Azziza!"), are getting married.
We watch the men come in to shave the groom,
the women warm the bride with dance and song,
the separate dinners with ululations
and more congratulations.  Then
the two groups bring the couple to the square.
And when Azziza and Jamil look at each other
slowly, shyly      I begin to cry.
  
I always cry at chasenes.
 
 
Mabrouk (Arabic), Congratulations
Chasenes (Yiddish), Weddings
Originally appeared in Ignorant armies, Cross-Cultural Publications, 1994

©1994 Karen Alkalay-Gut
All rights reserved


Karen Alkalay-Gut…

…is a poet living in Tel Aviv, professor emerita at Tel Aviv University, and chair of The Israel Association of Writers in English. She has many books of poetry in English and Hebrew and several books of literary criticism. She is also an organizer of 100 Thousand Poets for Change events in Israel.



Correspondence | Bob Aron

Have things calmed? I found some postage stamps I have that commemorate the opening of a beautiful Palestinian Airport, Gaza. I looked up recent pictures of it and it is rubble.  Nuts. 

Ukrainian soldiers are adopting stray, homeless cats.

Laughter around the table
Smashed by a boom.
The kitten cries alone.

Cat in forest
©2023 Irina Tall
drawing

©2023 Bob Aron
All rights reserved


Bob Aron…

…is a retired global educator. PhD The Ohio State University, MA University of Chicago. Lives in Chicago.



Ultimate Dot | Julia Bair

Nigel Smith video reading

THE ULTIMATE DOT

friends say:
you will write about completely other things now
the war blanks flowers and butterflies
it blanks the old books and new plays
blanks the birds
blanks men
it blanks hunger
hungry people share their last crumbs with birds
becoming the birds themselves
disgusting to share their bread and life with 
     occupiers
and fall into the ground as crumbs
instead of the grain
to sprout over the "i" in every loaf of bread
as the ultimate dot

Dots in Black
©2019 Tina Rimbaldo
acrylic on canvas

©2023 Julia Bair
All rights reserved


Julia Bair…

…is a Ukrainian poet, essayist and cultural critic writing on various topics, especially about literature, fine art, cinema, theater etc. Born and bred in a small town close to Sub-Carpathian foothills and educated in the big city of Lviv Ivan Franko national University, Julia traveled across all Europe and lived in the USA some years.

In her poetry, the childhood impressions of rural life among the rolling hills of picturesque nature in the Western Ukraine and her experience of a worldly person melt in a rather neo-impressionistic, full colors-and-light manner, though with strong social accents that include razor sharp and wise slashes through the bucolic veils of the modern peace-niks’ fancies to the brutal, full of blood and pain real side of life during the war for freedom.



Headline surfing | Michael Dickel

This will look best on a computer screen. If you're viewing
it on a mobile device, we recommend landscape direction.

Headlines in my NYTimes
App this Morning 

Trump Is Found Liable for Sexual Abuse and Defamation [1]
and really no surprise
amid shrugged shoulders
knowing his fund raising letters
will return twice the five-million dollars
while he appeals the juries truth
denudes justice and morality
and delays payment until
profits are huge again
George Santos Is Said to Face Federal Criminal Charges [2]
election funding violations
possibly Ponzi scheme dreams
selling influence a confluence
of narcissistic streams
Biden and McCarthy Reach No Consensus as a
Possible Default Looms [3]
no glass ceiling this crash
banging government treasury
heads against the hard-right dash
seeking glittery proof of handling
a clash of power while sowing
chaotic destruction in the
name of fixing
On Muted War Holiday,
Putin Tries to Justify Invasion of Ukraine [4]
a war hero in his own dreams
rebuilding an empire of false fronts
pleasing to the lady who never stepped out
of her carriage while riding through the countryside
of starving serfs he emulates this broken fantasy
killing his own and another country’s next gen-
erations iterations of life and real dreams to
make meaningful relationships in the world
with their friends with the children they
may want to see grow up in peace
       On a trip to woo European
leaders, China’s top
diplomat was immediately
confronted about the war
in Ukraine [5]


confrontations without consequences
because no government power can now
afford not to bend knees to autocrats or dict-
ators to feed  greedy economies unsustainably
sucking the 98% dry while filling the infinity pools
the fountains champagne bottles and garden ponds
of the 2% who make  more money  than all the rest
and many countries that so desire 2%’s largess to
hold any power the thin layer may deign to give
Tucker Carlson, Still Under Contract with Fox, Announces Twitter Show [6]
twittering birds will be drowned out by
screeching carrion birds circling overhead
scavenging wounded and dead with cavernous
maws open to eat what bullion may be thrown
their way as they call prey to kill each other
bullets flying well below their lofty height
Buddy Holly Wins
Best in Show at Westminster [7]
it ain’t no rockin’ hound dog
stepping on my blue suede shoes as
the world crumbles around floppy ears
remember to entertain the wealthy
game players wearing evening
down to a few drinks of
single-malt whiskey
Texas Patrols Its Own Borders, Pushing Legal Limits [8]
which is so much easier
then controlling assault rifles
or preventing mass killings where
children fall down under mulberry trees
dropping bloody berries onto their torn
bodies yes this exploded head is too
much to read let alone look at yes
this child had a life to live now
sacrificed to pushing the
borders legal limits
Florida Rejects Several Social Studies Books and Forces Changes in Others [9]

and even when they
let them breathe and live
they seek to limit learning to
politicize information so that
those who graduate accept
rape graft greed chaos
invasion evasion
guns and
more
less
or
Hong Kong Wants More Tourists, but Mostly ‘Good Quality’ Ones [10]
so we will all meet
the quality standards
of the autocratic oligarchic
rule makers who seek to
keep us in the barbed
rules of their wire
How the Legend of Zelda
Changed the Game [11]
but I will escape
into fantasies of power
rescuing and prevailing as
good over evil even while evil
runs unfettered in the land
unfeathered heads 
feasting on the
dead

accessed 10:36AM 10 May 2023 (Jerusalem time)
titles are as they appeared in the app on my iPhone 13 Pro
capitalization and wording varies from some of the pages
with the full articles, which are linked with the numbers

©2023 Michael Dickel
All rights reserved




Peace Rising | Michael Dickel

a god of war(s)
staring at rising peace
in a crystal globe

On a planet of hell-fire, lava lakes burn bodies, souls
—a god of war(s) sought solace in his glass orb,
watching destruction, seeing the people suffer
—was dismayed to see a goddess of peace rise up
with others through the columns of smoke, despair
—watched peace step back and turn ruin to light.

The light of hope froze the lava lakes, trapping the god
—so distant, so angry, so full of hate, this maker of war(s)
—now locked in rock so far away.

                                                          May peace prevail on earth,
as a deity who freezes the fiery wraths of greed and rage.

Author’s Note on AI

We have entered into an age of algorithm-generated art and text, apparently. While the tech-companies and media-reporters on these phenomena call them, collectively, “artificial intelligence” (AI), creators are concerned that they are plagiarizers. The methods used to “train” these algorithms involves using huge databases of images and texts, mostly gathered from the internet without the permission or knowledge of the creators of those works. Many, perhaps most, of these works are copyrighted. And the “intelligence,” which is very much “artificial,” uses these works to create their new works—using probability models to select words, phrases, and artistic elements in an order similar to those in the large databases on which it was “trained.” The methodology is complex, and some may argue that it is not dissimilar to human learning. However, the works the AI software put out cannot (for now) be copyrighted (as they are created by a machine), and may be plagiarism, as a pastiche of plagiarised parts or by using quotes without citation—without really having an “understanding” that it is “quoting” text or art work. Nonetheless, I have played with both text AI (Chat GPT®) and image AI (Midjourney®). The images above are a digital collage / montage using various images from Midjourney with two prompts I used in January— one asking for an image of Chaos dying, inspired by the book by Joanna Russ, And Chaos Died, and the short myth she gives as the source of the title; the other asked for a racially and gender diverse group representing life of the spirit and activism.

I saved two versions of Chaos and several of the diverse spiritual-activists, and use some bits and pieces from all. I also included background images and textures from photos of my own. I changed all of the elements in the work presented here through selection, cropping, and editing. I used Adobe® PhotoShop® to combine them using layers, filters, and adjustments. In this way, as I often do with my own digital photos, I created art (“digital landscapes”) from separate pieces. I see this process as similar to using Adobe® stock images as elements in Adobe® software to create new images, which I did in creating this issue’s cover art (under a limited license agreement). And the images I created, in the variations moving through the slideshow, are mine, I feel. This is an image the Midjourney AI produced for the title of the poem and images, which I came up with four months after starting this particular experiment:

Image created by Midjourney AI
using the title above as a prompt (28 May 2023)

This image is not mine, that is, it is not my art or what I imagined, though it could be said to aptly illustrate the title. It is not like other art or photos I have made. I would probably have to play and refine my prompt, which might be the “artistic skill” of using AI. The images above, I think, are recognizable as similar to other digital landscapes I have created for The BeZine or on Meta/ Phor(e) /Play, my blog-zine.  

Contributor Ira Director has also used AI art in this issue. His perspective, which differs from mine in some significant ways, still arrives at a similar conclusion—AI is a tool that we can use. However, we will have to be careful in using it, and the legal framework for copyright is not yet adequate, nor the technology yet developed far enough for us to have clear ideas of where the boundaries of fair use of materials by the algorithms and their “training” mechanism and our fair use of the generated artwork will eventually be. For now, as editor of The BeZine, I will rely on transparency by our contributors and care in the use of AI. The images are AI, the text is my own (limited) intelligence.

Image created by Midjourney AI
using the (adapted) poem above as a prompt
(28 May 2023)
Here is a Midjourney AI image where I used the poem above as a prompt, with the dashes removed, as they indicate a command in prompts. I added transition words to act as connectors where the dashes had been, and after an attempt that seemed to focus on the first part, added "all of this" at the beginning.

©2023 Michael Dickel




The Best War | Ira Director

the best gun, never fired; 
best rocket, never launched;

the best war

                   is one 

                            never fought
Image: DeepFloyd IF
AI Image Generator

Image

DeepFloyd IF
A Modular Cascaded Diffusion Model
AI image generator

Ira Director’s prompt

high quality dslr photo, a photo product of a warrior inspired by natural and organic materials, wooden accents, intricately decorated with glowing vines of led lights, inspired by baroque luxury

See Michael Dickel’s note on AI generated art accompanying his digital landscapes.


Text ©2023 Ira Director
All rights reserved

Ira Director…

…was born in Chicago and is an artist and poet with a BA in Philosophy and MA in English Literature and Poetry. Works have been published in journals and e-zines; exhibited in galleries and in International Mail Art Network projects. Poems and paintings are sometimes combined, with both integral to the pieces.

Exhibit—a Retrospective: 50 years of art and poetry



Learning | Marlene McNew

Learning to Wage Peace

A small child hid
In a corner of himself
Wrapped into a tight ball
He backed further
Into the corner, as if, in danger.

I felt his presence
before I saw him.
“Please don’t hurt me,”
His contorted body
seemed to say.

I know this child,
I whispered to myself,
Feeling the truth.
She is he is me is we
Stuck everywhere
Except in the present moment.

How did we lose our way?
Please, stay within reach.
I dream of ease
Wrapping us cocoon safe
In the trust that grows
In the light of day.

Daily I pray to find
The path along which
Peace may be waged
moment by moment
in all of our hearts.
May we find the courage
And strength to be true
to ourselves. 

Drawing
©2023 Irina Tall

©2023 Marlene McNew
All rights reserved


Marlene McNew…

…is a poet and artist who lives in Northern California. She is an earnest Buddhist, mother of a 14-year-old Border Collie named Abby. She was at various times an avid skier, a competitive ballroom dancer, and had a 20+year career in Accounting/Finance until Parkinson’s Disease cut it short. She has produced 21 YouTube poem-videos, mainly on skiing and Parkinson’sDisease. She had two of her poems published in the DeAnza Junior College Literary Magazine. She also had three of her undergrad papers on women in history published by the U.C.-Davis Women’s Center (out of print:“The Oppression of Citizen Women in Classical Athens,” “Noblewomen in Renaissance and Reformation England,” and “The Plantation Woman Before and After the Civil War”)



The Sacred Dream | Jamie Dedes, z”l

We are continuing in this issue our ReCollection section, looking back through The BeZine past issues and blog posts in this, our tenth year. This poem comes from The BeZine Volume 1 Issue 5, on March 15, 2015. Our Founding Editor, Jamie Dedes, z”l, wrote this poem in 2008. She took the accompanying photograph in 2005.


Call Out for the Sacred Dream

Photograph of leaves on a tree, a bit of the trunk and roots showing at the bottom. Grass grows amid the roots, bright sun and shadow peak between the leaves and roots in the background.
Photograph by Jamie Dedes, z”l
Writing in a far and broken country, my pen
knows its kinship with the dark forest, asks
direction of its trees, celebrates a quiet amity
over the din of plastic medicine vials, the 40-foot
serpentine specter of a cannula, the hiss and sigh
of an oxygen compressor amid layered silences.
We are named on a long list of regional poets.
The region is the sickroom where the palm and
birch in the courtyard know their meaning and
place. Lend your soul's ear. The trees will speak
and tell you that we are found. We are here,
not lost in those vials but found in the hallowed
company of this dusty Earth on a shared vision quest.
Call it illness. Call it artful ... Strike up the hill. Cry out
for the Sacred Dream, for the purpose of your life and
its confusions. A comforting Infinity breaks through
fierce grievings embraced. The great dream comes
to you. The trees come to you. They speak in God's
tongue, which is - after all - your whispering heart  . . .
Life gives, bequeathing  the key to its wide and
wild Essence. Unlock the door. Listen ... listen! 
The voice is  lyrical and trails records in blue ink.

“There is on this earth, what makes life worth living,” Mahmood Darwish (1941-2008), Palestinian poet —an observation as true for people who are occupied by illness or other distress as it is for a people who are living in occupied territory.


Photograph ©2005, Poem ©2008 Jamie Dedes
All rights reserved



Rain Drops | Renée Éspriu

We are continuing in this issue our ReCollection section, looking back through The BeZine past issues and blog posts in this, our tenth year. This poem comes from The BeZine Volume 3 Issue 4, on October 15, 2016. The theme for the issue this poem originally appeared in was “Rituals for Peace and Healing.” Renée Éspriu was part of the Core Team.


Visualize the Raindrops Falling

i visualize in the warmth of the sun
or in the darkest hours of night

healing is held in the gift of seeing

i see between the wind blown leaves
pause each raindrop as it is falling

everything stops but my breathing

i listen to the silence all around
even in the midst of all the chaos

molecules of life touching gently

i close my eyes for a moment in between
for dreamers will always be dreaming

music notes orchestrate birth and death

i feel the strings of instruments hold me
soft as satin and stronger than webs of silk

healing is found in a moment of peace

i visualize oceans and mountains colliding
creating new life as gentle flowering buds

death can never be the ultimate ending

i see myself walking an ocean shoreline
by the still spray of a wave before it crashes

peace is standing between raindrops as they pause

i see there briefly a place my mind rests
devoid of wars, disease, famine and otherness

healing is held in the gift of seeing

what could be if only for a moment in time

©2016 Renée Éspriu
All rights reserved



No Rain | Liliana Negoi

We are continuing in this issue our ReCollection section, looking back through The BeZine past issues and blog posts in this, our tenth year. This poem comes from The BeZine Volume 3 Issue 4, on January 15, 2017. Liliana Negoi is a Core Team member, emirata. The theme for the issue this poem appeared in was “Resist!”


No Rain

blades of onyx
sharp
cut the umbilical cord
of sounds and tears
flooding the sea of sorrow
with dryness

the eyes of drought
measure with pride
the parched souls
lined up at the gates of the sun

“no water!”

the sponge drips only sour blood
on the lips of light

“no roots!”

echoes of salt
whirl within voices
and sand stays still

“unworthy!”

the earth screams
muddy with guilt and regrets

someone
somewhere
will carve hieroglyphs
in the stones we become
today…

©2017 Liliana Negoi
All rights reserved