1

Aught / Naught

May 2016 Issue: Transition

Edited by @williammatthewpeaster

2

•●• •●•

AUGHT / NAUGHT

•●• •●• •●• •●• •●• •●• •●• •●• •●• •●• •●•

3

•●•

•●• •●• •●•

AUGHT / NAUGHT – May 2016 Issue

Arranged and edited by William M. Peaster in April 2016.

All rights to the works presented within this newsletter are reserved entirely to the artists who

created them.

Cover picture is ―The Gathering‖ by Mark M. Kiselis

•●•

•●•

•●•

4

Contents

Address to the Readers pg. 5

Dedication pg. 6

Epigraphs pg. 7

Aught / Naught

I. (uni)VERSES

1. Black Wind – by @thewordvirus pg. 9

2. Lifted – by @sunseventh pg. 10

3. Custard and Jelly in Her Hands – by @akifkichloo pg. 11

4. Drawing the Line – by @guptaprakhar pg. 12

5. Brood 5 Babe Listeners – by @alanhaiderpoetry pg. 13

6. The Way – by @river_is_love pg. 14

7. Oceanus Says – by @b.oakman pg. 15

8. Nothing Happens – by @williammatthewpeaster pg. 16

9. Ode to Life – by @athenamystique pg. 17

10. Meaning in Side-Street America – by @zackariah.allen pg. 18

11. Purple Tides – by @b.a.mcdonald pg. 19

II. MASTER’S TABLE

Man and Bottle – by Wallace Stevens pg. 21

The Fact of a Doorframe – by Adrienne Rich pg. 22

With the Flies – by Roberto Bolaño pg. 23

II. WORDSHOP

Tips pg. 25

Prompts pg. 26

5

ADDRESS TO THE READERS

Greetings friends and peers; in honor of 2016’s National Poetry Month, I welcome you to

the first issue of the Aught / Naught poetry newsletter. I started this project for three main

reasons: 1) to share and exchange our mutual love of poetry, 2) to recognize the powerful and

diverse works of the many artists in our community, and 3) to foster a sense of craftsmanship and

respect amongst our writers.

Why the name Aught / Naught? Well, to me the phrase typifies both existence and poetry;

both anything and nothing goes, and the line between being and nonbeing is thick and thin all at

once. Are our words, our dreams, our lives anything or nothing at all? Such is the question that

blooms at the heart of this project.

For now, each issue of the newsletter will rotate between being themed and un-themed.

With this in mind, the theme of the first Aught / Naught is that of ―Transition,‖ and you’ll find

that each of the submitted pieces in the pages beyond deal with this thematic in unique and

varying ways.

The newsletter is split into three sections. In section one, (uni)Verses, you’ll find

provocative poems submitted by contemporary poets from around the world. In section two,

Master’s Table, you’ll find three poems generated by some of the literary titans who preceded

us. And lastly, in the final section, Wordshop, you’ll find a few tips and prompts to help

stimulate your creativity.

I sincerely appreciate your interest in Aught / Naught, and I hope you’ll find the

newsletter to be fun, interesting, and helpful. I don’t live in an ivory tower, either, so don’t

hesitate to message me questions, comments, and concerns at wmpeaster@yahoo.com.

In creating this newsletter, I hope to make an investment in poetry itself, and I hope we’ll

use this opportunity together to spread the good word about our good craft.

Thanks kindly,

—W.M.P. (4/10/16)

6

I’d like to dedicate this issue to

Harrison, for his vision and wisdom.

Tiffany and Alan for their ideas and help.

The community for their talent and determination.

And Kayla for her love.

7

―Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another

heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song.‖

—Plato

―If you are a dreamer come in

If you are a dreamer a wisher a liar

A hoper a pray-er a magic-bean-buyer

If you’re a pretender com sit by my fire

For we have some flax golden tales to spin

Come in!

Come in!‖

—Shel Silverstein

―I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;

I lift my eyes and all is born again.‖

—Sylvia Plath

8

I: (uni)VERSES •●• ... … … aught

•●• ... … … naught

•●• ... … … aught

•●• ... … … naught

•●• •●• ... … … aught

•●• ... … … naught

•●• ... … … aught

•●• ... … … naught

•●• •●• ... … … aught

•●• ... … … naught

•●• ... … … aught

•●• ... … … naught

•●• ... … … aught

•●• ... … … naught

•●• ... … … aught

•●•

9

BLACK WIND – by @thewordvirus

Frozen tears litter

Autumn’s violet virgin skin;

Spring’s touch seems so far.

Cow heads hang and sway

from a leather tree—they moo

and a black wind blows.

The sleepy sun yawns,

falling past horizon’s hips—

death stirs under foot.

H’come twilight monks

plucking stars from night’s bosom;

rub the flesh on lips.

●

●

●

10

LIFTED – by @sunseventh

The myrrh and cassia

stole my scent

then you

peeled off my fingertips

and buried them

at the scene of the crime

An autotopsy under the cedars

words sequestered

removing and assessing

one organ at a time

My crepe paper heart

measured against truth

then weighted with the loss

only a mourning mother can claim

once the veil has lifted

●

●

●

11

CUSTARD AND JELLY IN HER HANDS – by @akifkichloo

It takes both time and distance

for a piece of paper to age.

The edges – stained,

the page – crumpled,

the ink remains the same,

the words read the same,

yet their meaning is different,

evolved into something new.

I noticed my mother’s hands the other day,

holding a bone china dish with

custard and jelly, perfectly made,

just like when I was a young boy.

Her hands unrecognizable – ebbing skin;

transparent, you could see her blood,

I was never told blood turns bluer as you get old.

What time does to us, distance can limit,

but what then, when we set

boundaries for people who need to

be near us?

I have always been heavy,

cannot see my blood through my thick skin,

there is no transition in my hands to notice,

time has always played tricks on me.

And I cry, still;

my nails grow back so fast.

I chew them away,

why do my nails grow back so fast?

I don’t want to be my mother’s age.

I don’t want my mother to be my

mother’s age.

●

●

●

12

DRAWING THE LINE – by @guptaprakhar

Only when the frugal stream

Appears from the horizon

Must you stop bathing

Your dreams in the river

And drink little

Droplets

So you never forget

The taste of hot summer

Afternoons

●

●

●

13

BROOD 5 BABE LISTENERS – by @alanhaiderpoetry

Cicada rhythms brought

Magicicada underground

New York Virginia Ohio

seventeen years in ago

the girls blossom with

each brood & boys sing

choruses giant boyband

groups a desperate try

to attract a mate this

fate I can commiserate

the fall a cicada dies

like we hoped boybands

would all we see she’s

just a child no longer

in the eyes of the law

●

●

●

14

THE WAY – by @river_is_love

Transitions are lines in the dirt

Connecting to others;

We scribble in vain believing in

What does not haunt us

While geometry tells us lines never end,

They start endlessly

Along the horizon

Infinitely cozy beneath our feet, so certain of the way

Like the smile of the moon;

And if the smile is shifted, the same remains true—

Earth becomes earth,

Full or hidden

The moon becomes moon,

All unbidden.

●

●

●

15

OCEANUS SAYS – by @b.oakman

Wrap the sun around your finger and feel how it burns during the chorus

of Bohemian Rhapsody. We open doors to feel needed by strangers and

hearts to be rejected by friends and pop cans to feel a little more

grounded by the weight of the extra cents in our pocket; but the truth is,

words hinge on molars and unsung pianos till they calcify from old age (a

sorry sight). Giants will use them on walking sticks during the rain dance

until they cry in victory – haven’t you always wondered how the oceans

came to be? We still taste the salt brine on cloudy days and tap our left

foot to the silence; this is how to overcome the fear of deep waters.

●

●

●

16

NOTHING HAPPENS by – @williammatthewpeaster

over the dunes

the sea becomes a lahar

it turns sideways and churns

black along the glassy shore

catching in an instant

every swimmer and vessel

in a hideous aslant rushing,

man, machine, and mud wrestling

in the ugliest sight I ever saw:

I pinch my arm and nothing happens.

●

●

●

17

ODE TO LIFE – by @athenamystique

my skin has never been perfect and

one day, it’ll slough right off

my skeleton and

melt into the sea

everything will end

one day

so i remove myself

loosen attachments

expectation leads

to depression

i need to be super prescient

taking cues from ancients

to read the ruins of my emotions

the dead still speak and

loudly if you’re willing to listen

why repeat their mistakes when

everything ends

it’s there in the bones

written in the dust of

athens and rome

it’s in the obsidian of pompeii

every star screams brilliantly

exploding and you fail to see

the beauty in decay

this life is dying and

it's worth the admission cost

so pull up a chair and heed

or jump on the stage

before the curtain closes

●

●

●

18

MEANING IN SIDE-STREET AMERICA – by @zackariah.allen

I hung out with

deadbeats and losers

and I was below them

the wallflower

from the first floor

the party above

sniffing and snorting

away their parent’s money

they fucked

to feel and laughed

until tears and I was

left wondering

―is this it?‖

and then it was me

and the years I didn’t sleep

finding my way through

side-street America

with Cobain screeching

and the rain pouring

it was the men living

paycheck to paycheck

it was the whores with

open pocketbooks

and open legs

it was the doctor

with the shrinking pupils

it was affirmed by

the homeless

and the hopeless

and everything without

that whatever this is

would still be here

when I finally woke up

●

●

●

19

PURPLE TIDES – by @b.a.mcdonald

the days are stairways

as we climb

lies escape like dreams

in black and white

it is dark

and purple tides rise

and fall over distant faces

when we reach the top

the past awakens

and our faces are

swimming across from

each other

lovers who have yet to touch

united in a current

that does not exist

not yet drowning

●

●

●

20

II: MASTER’S TABLE •●• ... … … aught

•●• ... … … naught

•●• ... … … aught

•●• ... … … naught

•●• •●• ... … … aught

•●• ... … … naught

•●• ... … … aught

•●• ... … … naught

•●• •●• ... … … aught

•●• ... … … naught

•●• ... … … aught

•●• ... … … naught

•●• ... … … aught

•●• ... … … naught

•●• ... … … aught

•●•

21

MAN AND BOTTLE – by Wallace Stevens

The mind is the great poem of winter, the man,

Who, to find what will suffice,

Destroys romantic tenements

Of rose and ice

In the land of war. More than the man, it is

A man with the fury of a race of men,

A light at the centre of many lights,

A man at the centre of men.

It has to content the reason concerning war,

It has to persuade that war is part of itself,

A manner of thinking, a mode

Of destroying, as the mind destroys,

An aversion, as the world is averted

From an old delusion, an old affair with the sun,

An impossible aberration with the moon,

A grossness of peace.

It is not the snow that is the quill, the page.

The poem lashes more fiercely than the wind,

As the mind, to find what will suffice, destroys

Romantic tenements of rose and ice.

●

●

●

22

THE FACT OF A DOORFRAME – by Adrienne Rich

means there is something to hold

onto with both hands

while slowly thrusting my forehead against the wood

and taking it away

one of the oldest motions of suffering

as Makeba sings

a courage-song for warriors

music is suffering made powerful

I think of the story

of the goose-girl who passed through the high gate

where the head of her favorite mare

was nailed to the arch

and in a human voice

If she could see thee now, thy mother’s heart would break

said the head

of Falada

Now, again, poetry,

violent, arcane, common,

hewn of the commonest living substance

into archway, portal, frame

I grasp for you, your bloodstained splinters, your

ancient and stubborn poise

—as the earth trembles—

burning out from the grain

●

●

●

23

WITH THE FLIES – by Roberto Bolaño

Poets of Troy

Nothing that could have been yours

Exists anymore

Not temples not gardens

Not poetry

You are free

Admirable poets of Troy

●

●

●

24

III: WORDSHOP •●• ... … … aught

•●• ... … … naught

•●• ... … … aught

•●• ... … … naught

•●• •●• ... … … aught

•●• ... … … naught

•●• ... … … aught

•●• ... … … naught

•●• •●• ... … … aught

•●• ... … … naught

•●• ... … … aught

•●• ... … … naught

•●• ... … … aught

•●• ... … … naught

•●• ... … … aught

•●•

25

WMP’S TIPS

1. Be wary of mixing your metaphors; a phrase like ―A Herculean rise from the ashes,‖ which

simultaneously implies the rising of a Phoenix and the rise of Hercules, is actually quite goofy if

you think about it. Consider untangling a mixed metaphor by choosing a single thread and

removing the other, such as ―A Herculean rise from the valley,‖ which removes the Phoenix

connotation altogether.

2. Poems use heightened language to heighten our senses. We can see poems like mini-movies in

our minds, but only if poets give us concrete imagery to spring from. A big thing that my

Creative Writing professor pointed out to me several years ago is that many poets who are just

starting out tend to rely too much on rhetoric and too little on imagery (though every rule can be

broken). For the most part try to show and not tell, and if you can do this, your poetry will be

much sharper. The pure rhetoric of I feel the jealous rage rising inside me / until I know that

today I will speak up offers no concrete imagery to guide the reader’s imagination. Now, here’s

the same sentiment expressed through concrete images: My eyes swell green with kudzu / until

vines spring through my mouth and I must scream. Not only is the second option more poetic and

more symbolic, but it allows your reader to visually move down the stanza with a mini-movie

playing in their head because each line has at least one image.

3. Try to weed out unnecessary words in your poems. Maybe there’s none, maybe there’s only

one, or maybe there’s thirteen. This is really up to your subjective judgment, but take the

sharpness of haikus for example: they are so short and dynamic that a single superfluous word

would wreck their electricity. Take this principle and try to apply it to any of your poems, large

or small. If you can weed out some unnecessary words then chances are your poem will be

tighter, clearer, and more electric. Use your best judgment, but don’t be afraid to cut things here

and there. I’ve often found that an average poem can be turned into a good poem by editing out a

few words or lines: at times it certainly can make all the difference.

4. Consider starting a dream journal and then using the weird and crazy events from your dreams

as the basis for new poems. There’s a lot of untapped creative potential in your unconscious, and

when dreams let us in on this potential from time to time, we’re often flabbergasted. You can use

the incredible and surreal narratives of dreams to supercharge your own poems. Try setting your

alarm for 3:00 a.m. and then jotting down exactly what you were just dreaming once you wake.

You’ll soon have tons of great material to work from.

5. A ―tag‖ is a poetic technique that is derived from Ancient Hebrew poetry that involves several

consecutive lines being started in the same manner, such as As he that bindeth […] / As a thorn

goeth […] / As a dog returneth […] / As the door turneth […] and et cetera, with the tag here

being As. I’ve found that tags can be a great way to write poems or to generate ideas for poems,

so try messing around with this technique and see what interesting effects you can achieve with

it.

26

WMP’S PROMPTS

1. There’s a relatively new poetic form going around called a ―Cinqku,‖ which is a combination

of the Eastern haiku with the Western cinquain. Here are the main rules for writing one:

-A syllable count of 2, 3, 4, 6, and 2, so the first line has 2 syllables, the next has 3, and et cetera.

-All in all, there’ll be 17 syllables on 5 lines.

-Use sharp, imagistic language like in haikus; feel free to use unconventional syntax.

-Can be linked to other Cinqkus to make longer pieces.

Here’s an example of a Cinqku by the poet Denis M. Garrison:

buried

five cold years

but never gone—

our bedroom’s fragrant with

her scent

Now it’s your turn; for this prompt, take a stab at writing a Cinqku and share your results with

the community.

2. Write a haiku from the perspective of a bird without mentioning the word ―bird‖ anywhere in

the haiku or title of the piece.

3. Write a poem of 8 or so lines and start each line with a ―tag,‖ which we discussed just

previously in the TIPS section, and once you’re finished with this, flip the order of the lines so

that the first line you wrote is now the last, the second line you wrote is now the second to last,

and et cetera. Which way do you like it better? Forwards or backwards? Give it a go and find

out.

4. Take one of your favorite writer’s shorter poems and then ―ghostwrite‖ it; in other words, use

the form and rhythm of the original piece, but insert your own words and ideas into the structure,

like filling an empty pool up with water.

5. Look up the surreal Dadaist poetry of Tristan Tzara and note how he links together disparate

images in odd ways. Then, do your best to make a provocative and surreal Dadaist poem in the

same manner.

27

FINIS