Peter Lam

One hundred years from now
it will not matter
what kind of car I drove
what kind of house I lived in,
how much I had in my
bank account,
nor what my clothes looked like.
But the world may be
a little better
because I was important
in the life of a child.


mike tyburski flip miller


from jodi mitchell, for cisco

Last night was a magical night. It was very clear and
the stars shown brightly. The beautiful blossoms of
the dogwood trees glowed in the darkness of the pine
forest, appearing phosphorescent, like whitecaps on
ocean waves at midnight. The fireflies have returned,
twinkling high above in the treetops. A dark night
filled with light.

About 11 pm I went out on my deck to marvel at the
starry sky, the blossoms, the fireflies, the return of
warmth and humididty. After I reentered my apartment,
I noticed a firefly had gotten trapped inside and was
flying frantically around my ceiling, it's light
flickering on and off. I decided it would eventually
tire and come down low enough for me to reach and
rescue it. Sure enough, I soon noticed it crawling
rather shakingly but determinedly across the floor. I
scooped it up on a piece of cardboard, reopened my
deck door, and threw it back outside where it promptly
flew straight up and got stuck in the massive
wood-spider spiderweb that was attached to the eave of
my house above my front door. Wood spiders have been
building their webs in this very impractical(for
me)spot ever since I moved here. I have actually spent
a few hours sitting and watching them build their
entire web--very intricate and beautiful--over a
couple of hours of time. Every year I have carried on
the same conversation with my new arachnid
tenant,"Charlotte," I say,"You are quite lovely, and I
know how hard you've worked to build your home, and to
get ready for your babies. I can see your large egg
sac so I know that is what you are doing, and I can
certainly relate, but being that you cover up the
entire and ONLY entryway to my home, I will have to
walk straight through your web every time I need to
leave my apartment. A minor inconvenience for me, I
say, but a rather large one for you."

And every year, Charlotte ignores me, and goes on
building and rebuilding her web. And every morning, I
forget she's there and YUCK, PATOOIE,EGADS, I get a
face full of spider web as I leave my house for work.

I could see the firefly's light flashing on and off as
it stuck soundly to the web. "Oh, geez!" I thought,
"How far should I get involved with this here
particular karmic issue?!" But, I decided to carry on
and scooped the firefly back out of the web onto the
same piece of cardboard I used the first time I
rescued it. I saw it fall to the ground, and figured
it was free. Being so wrapped up in insect karma, I
neglected to close my deck door, and my 20 year old
indoor calico cat attempted to make a sloth like
getaway and was slinking her way down the outside
stairs, before I noticed her valient but half-assed
escape attempt. I grabbed her and we both went back
inside, shutting the door behind us. I sat down to
read my book when I noticed Camille was very intently
eyeballing something that was crawling across the
floor. The dang firefly had managed to fly back inside
while I was busy rescuing Camille. I threw up my hands
in disgust this time__all critters will have to live
out their own particular karmas, while I live out mine
for crying out loud! I went to bed.

In Oct. 1970, I had a lovely friend named Cisco. We
briefly lived communally together in the beautiful
White Mountains of New Hampshire. A journal entry I
recorded back then says: me: "When I wake up each
morning the first thing I do is look out the window at
the trees and the sky." Cisco: "And then you know the
day belongs to you." Sadly, Cisco's bright light
flickered out way too early,on a winding country road
on a beautiful spring day, the road curved when the
motorcycle he was riding did not.

So, every morning I practice a little ritual in his
memory. First I practice the 'Salutation to the Sun',
and then I sit in my rocking chair looking out at the
trees and the sky while I drink my morning cup of
Thus, I greet and give thanks for a new day.

So, today in April 2001, I sit in my rocker sipping my
coffee, delighting in bird song, and gazing out at the
trees and the sky when I notice an exhausted looking
firefly determinedly crawling up the inside of my
sliding glass deck door. Camille is so pampered and
well fed and old, she seems to have left her hunting
days behind. My guess is she quickly lost interest in
the crawling firefly last night and left it alone. I
felt relieved.

"OK, bug friend," I said, "You made it through this
ordeal so far, I'll give it one more shot." I opened
the sliding glass door and the bug promptly flew
straight out and off into the woods, free at last. The
spider had rebuilt her web, it stretched across the
opening of my door and glistened in the morning sun.
Camille snoozed contentedly on her own personal window
seat in the sun. And, I welcomed another day.

In memory of Cisco.


for marty from eric williams

kevin from bill manser


A Bicentennial sculpture, designed and built by Pastor Martelino, Jr., for an attempted crossing of the Atlantic in celebration of this nation's 200th year and to call attention to sculpture as this same nation's forgotten method of celebration. "TransAtlantic Won" measures 70 ft. high, 25 ft. long and 8 ft. wide. Its blue and red vinyl balloons will carry 1400 cubic ft. of helium and over 200 ft. of chrome-plated mylar, placed between the balloons, will carry as many signatures from as many people who want to autograph the sculpture. The public is invited to sign the sculpture from August 7 to launch time Friday 13th. The blue and yellow bottom part of the sculpture is constructed out of fiberglass-reenforced [sic] styrofoam, synthetic foam rubber and will house a radar-reflector as well as running lights. the sculpture, in overland flight, will be visible to the naked eye until its water ballast is slowly jettisoned over the sea. Launch time is as stated plus or minus two hours and foul weather alternatives are August 14 and 15. Launch site is The White Mountains Sculpture Festival in Jefferson, N.H. No donation however small, will be refused to help defray the $1200.00 cost of materials and helium. Additional information from festival office at (603) 586-7754, the artist's studio (603) 823-9995 or home (603) 869-2429 or from the Franconia College Sculpture Program assistant collective at (603) 823-8086 should none of the other numbers respond. Over fifty ambassadors and embassies have been notified of TransAtlantic Won's possible arrival.

{The sculpture on the poster was a model about 4 feet long. It is hanging
from a branch or from the school portico (next to the chimes) looking over
the valley. The photo of Pat was taken by Roger Bingler (I believe) one day
while out gliding.
As it turned out, the TranAtlantic Won launch was delayed and moved to an
island in the middle of Portsmouth (NH) harbour as a part of some other arts
festival. One problem was that the FAA told Pat that he could not send off a
free balloon of this size and weight; if he let it go they would revoke his
pilot's license. So a smaller sculpture was prepared, made of lightweight
foam strung on a steel tube. It looked a lot like the model on the poster,
but I am certain that it was a different work. The public plan was that the
large work would be sent aloft, tethered, for a period of time, photos, etc.
and then brought down. The smaller payload would be attached in place of the
larger, and the whole thing would be let go. The private plan was that while
everyone was admiring the tethered work, photos were being snapped and Pat
was speechifying and generally distracting everyone, I would 'somehow'
manage to 'lose' the tether. Pat would then be publicly distressed at the
great misfortune.
Well, after a scare involving an earlier radio controlled flying sculpture,
a tree, and the crowded concert tent at the White Mountains Sculpture
Festival in Jefferson, Pat had switched from hydrogen back to helium as his
lifting gas of preference. He had used helium for Airborne Won, but was
seduced by the superior lifting power of hydrogen; until, that is, he almost
reenacted in Jefferson the Hindenberg's last arrival at Lakehurst.
Launch day dawned bright and clear (I had slept in a cemetery I recall) and
it just got hotter and hotter. Then it got a bit hotter. We were on this god
forsaken, treeless little island filling the three 65' long balloons in a
stiff super heated wind. Don Ward was too drunk already to do anything, so
we tied the balloons to him where he lay on the grass. Later, the wind
started to drag him along the ground, so we tied on to the truck instead.
In any case, the air was so hot that the helium had lost a lot of its
lifting power, and the large payload would only get 8 or 10 feet off the
ground. This wouldn't even get it out of the harbour, so the private plan
was abandoned and the public plan became the order or the day.
The lighter work sailed out into the blue, seaward, never to be seen again.
The AirForce claimed to have tracked it 300 miles offshore and there lost
it. Pat suspected it was shot down as a hazard to air navigation, but who
- Mark Denil }

Jeff Greenfield died at 2:15 PM, on Tuesday April 9, 2002

Lament for Jeff by Rick Arend

The ship was tossed and pulled
Into the storm of its own miasma
Pulled and dragged from its safe harbor
Into the deep black sea of night

The other ships in the harbor
They pulled and strained at their moorings
vying in a vain attempt
to pull the ship back home

But they could do nothing more...
The ship turned and slipped into the sea
without its captain and its crew
they could only watch the ship slip away

The storm is gone...
The shores are peaceful and calm
Yet the birds cry out mournfully...
...To the dawn

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I stood by you
holding your hand as long as I could
-but I could no longer reach you...

I will remember the deli runs
I will remember General Noriega in a hospital room
I will remember the schmaltz, the laughter, and your warm hugs of friendship.

But I will also remember what is now gone:
Hope that you could beat back the storms of life.

My tears cannot assuage my loss of you in my life,
but I can only hope and pray that you are in a better place, a place without pain and sorrow.

I love you, Jeff
-I always will



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