high roller, by Janet Kuypers
I long to see you sitting again
cigarette in hand
walkman on the table
I want to be able to walk up behind you
rest my hands on your shoulders
lean my head next to your face
I long to have my cheek near yours
not touching
but so close
that I could still feel your warmth
your desire
our skin wouldn’t touch
but I would still feel the rush
from your presence
los baller, by Paul Weinman
My urge is to feel you again
breasts against back
asleep to my waking
I yearn to be alone with your body
mine tingling with last night
reliving our passion
I want to feel our skin pressing
slipping in sweat
breath pulsing
our flesh filling each other’s
with sensuality
Our words won’t match
but I don’t care
I want bodies’ mix.
i just waited, by Janet Kuypers
As I layed in the grass
as the breeze rolled past my face
you slept like a baby
and I just waited
I don’t know what I was waiting for
a change that wouldn’t happen
a smile of appreciation
a warm kiss in the cool afternoon breeze
a change that wouldn’t happen
I could tell you I love you
but I’d be lying to the both of us.
I could tell you I need you
but you wouldn’t listen.
Sometimes I need to sleep
while someone watches over me.
I could just walk away
and let you sleep
yet I can’t help but hope
that soon you’ll arise from your slumber
and actually notice that I’m still there.
And be happy that I’m still there.
i just left, by Paul Weinman
I rolled off into the grass
and left you there layed
you stayed like a woman
I just left
I don’t know why I left
you gave me what I needed
a smile of acceptance
a receptive body in the breeze
a chance to be together
I could tell you I love you
but I’d be lying to both of us.
Me need for you
isn’t your need for me.
Sometimes I have to leave
where there’s someone to mind.
I could just stay here
and give you a touch
to make what happened
be a prelude for more
but i’ve taken what I wanted
and found that it wasn’t.
Municipii Angelorum, by Linda Ann Loschiavo
We’re sitting, waiting for M-G-M Grand Air -
In sunglasses, that one’s my father - but
He has grown into twins: the man who took me
On piggyback rides, named the great stars in
The heavens, christened dustballs under my
Bed, making light of the dark, hugger
I called dear Daddy, even when he left, went
Out West to write. But shading reptile eyes:
Another guy my mother has warned me
About, who swears by bio-rhythms, angles
Development deals, praises re-hab leaders -
“Poor women to prey on,” sniffs my aunt, or pray with
Perhaps, since hugs have gotten thinner.
Last week, his “What do you want?” meant for dinner;
What I want is to skip again, a hand
On either side. I’m tired hearing
Of riots, seeing goat cheese on food, of
Not knowing who’s slept in my bed. His old
Apartment’s nicer. Here the police cruise
All the time in “a black and normal” and
His ladies seem so wild, like Angel who’s
Too skinny (though not “on meth” anymore) or
Beth, needing a white mouse because she keeps
This snake. It’s just like “Casablanca” - where
No one was told the end and acted in real
Suspense - and Dad must think he’s Bogey: all
I hear is “kid.” “What’s her sign? “Virgo, aren’t
You, kid?” What’s a grown woman doing with
A python - it’s called Gemini - and who cares
If Cher’s at the next table? Really, what
Is that? I care that he’s a writer with
No paper in the house; I didn’t see
A ribbon, but too many empties on
His desk. I wish he’d point at Pegasus’s
Bright neck without that smell on his breath. Why can’t
We both walk through that gate? Instead he keeps
His shades on, says, “Don’t mention Gemini.”
demerits, by Kurt Nimmo
Eddie and me were walking to school.
When we passed the Protestant Church on Hilbert Street Eddie turned and said to me, “Blake, you believe in God?”
“I don’t know,” I answered.
We walked a little farther. It was five minutes until eight, we were in the ninth grade, and we would be late for school again. When you were late they gave you a demerit. If you accumulated too many demerits you were made to stay after and do special, tedious assignments. I had three demerits. Eddie had five or six demerits. He had to stay over and write the assignments.
“Do you believe in the Devil?” said Eddie.
I looked at him. “I don’t know,” I said. “If there’s a God, then it stands to reason that there’s a Devil.
If you believe what they tell you.”
“Do you believe what they tell you?”
“Some of it,” I said.
“What parts of it do you believe?”
“I believe there was a Jesus.”
“Was He the Son of God?”
“I don’t know.”
Eddie took out a cigarette and lit it with his Zippo. “If you don’t know if there’s a God,” he said, “why do you go to church?”
“Girls,” I said.
We both went to the same Lutheran church on Sundays. Eddie worked the altar and helped pass out the holy wafers on Communion. When I went to the altar to get Communion Eddie was there with the reverend. He’d usually crack a smile and then I’d get the wafer and the holy words that went with the wafer. Next I’d get the wine. I always liked the wine part.
Later I’d like wine even more.
“You go to church only to see the girls?” said Eddie.
“Yeah, basically,” I answered.
“It’s a sin to think about girls the way you do.”
“You think of ‘em in the same way.”
“I know,” Eddie admitted, and then he took a drag on his cigarette.
It was wrong for us to be smoking cigarettes. If they caught you smoking in school they doled out demerits. Or told your parents. I preferred demerits. With demerits you’d do the stupid assignments and that’d be the end of it. I was careful. I didn’t want my old man to know about the cigarettes. Any excuse and the old man came down on me like a ton of bricks.
It was going to rain.
I looked up at the sky. It would rain before we made it to the school. Once again we’d be five minutes late. We’d come in wet from the rain and they’d stack the demerits on us.
I had Mrs. Kramer for the first hour. She loved to stack demerits on you. Mrs. Kramer was a big fat block of a woman. She liked the girls in class and hated the boys. Practically every boy in her class had a sizable amount of demerits stacked against him. It wasn’t fair. I was beginning to learn about fairness. Life’s chocked full of Mrs.
Kramers, demerits, endless sin, and one set of people unfairly chosen over another set of people. Even the bible teaches unfairness.
“Do you believe that Jesus loves you?” Eddie asked.
“Sure,” I said. “I guess he kind of loves me.”
But in truth I didn’t know.
How can somebody who died almost two thousand years ago love somebody alive now? I couldn’t grasp ahold of the concept.
It all came down to faith.
Either you believed in Jesus as the Son of God or you didn’t.
I wasn’t sure what I believed in.
It was all strange and incomprehensible - the church with its stained glass, the crumby Communion wafers, the white and green and gold vestments Reverend Porter wore on Sunday, the tart white wine, the prayers and hymnals and organ music shoved through brass pipes.
But it wasn’t enough for me.
I wanted to see Jesus up close.
What I really wanted was to take Karen Bengle in the cloakroom and run my hand up under her Sunday dress. I wanted to skip the sermon and go out and smoke a cigarette. I wanted to return again and again to the altar and drink strong white wine from Reverend Porter’s gold chalice.
“Let me ask you something,” I said to Eddie after he pitched off his cigarette. “Do you believe in Jesus, God, Moses, water from a stone, and all of that stuff?”
“I believe what the bible says,” he answered.
“What if none of the stuff in the bible has any truth to it? What if it’s all some kind of ancient hoax?”
“Blasphemy,” said Eddie.
“I don’t believe in blasphemy/” I confidently told him.
We didn’t say anything more. Eddie seemed to be angry and confused. We walked silently down the street until we came to the school fence. I heard the school bell clang. It was about a minute after eight. As we walked up the athletic field the rain started to come down. Not hard but enough to get your clothes and hair wet. Blasphemy. I wasn’t sure if it was possible. I didn’t really understand Reverend Porter’s and Eddie’s and Karen Bengle’s faith in the love of Jesus Christ. If you love somebody you do something good for them. I didn’t see much good or bad in anything. I took the pack of Winstons from the pocket of my jacket and put them in my right sock. It was coming down pretty hard by the time we made it to the school entrance. It was three or four minutes past eight o’clock in the morning on a rainy Tuesday. I was headed for another big fat black demerit in Mrs. Kramer’s book. She stood solidly behind the teacher’s desk and glanced at her wristwatch and noted my absence in her dry classroom of good students.
Blasphemy and demerits.
I didn’t understand.
Discredit, by Mary Winters
Light’s impressive image:
it is pure, even holy
it is friendly and wholesome;
it is the atmospheric effect
of choice for all good
and patriotic Americans -
put blunt: darkness is sin.
It’s just that when you saw
sun glaring off the East River
that hot and windy summer’s day,
it was like flash bulbs going off
igniting each other in chains
just beneath the surface
(a drowned person started it):
more and more, faster and faster -
you thought your brain would pop;
it’s just that
your doctor friend
told you: a man brought on epilepsy.
He drove by woods with low sun
shining bright through slender trees.
He stared at quick progression of s
un-shade, sun-shade, sun-shade;
got sick...
mankind after the extinction of bald eagles, coyotes, panthers, etc., by Duane Locke
1. Man’s relationship with his family: six boys
The first boy said, “My father can beat up all your fathers.” The second boy said, “My father can beat up all your fathers.” The third boy said, “My father can beat up all your fathers.” The fourth boy said, “My father can beat up all your fathers.” The fifth boy said, “I don’t have a father.” The sixth boy said, “All your fathers can beat up my father because my father refuses to fight.” The first five boys beat up the sixth by, and then the first four beat up the fifth boy, and then they went home and beat up their fathers.
2. Man’s relationship to history: Columbus Day
When I was a child, my teacher told me to honor Columbus. I even lived on a street named Columbus Drive. My uncle lived in Columbis, Ohio. My parents were planning to send me to Columbia University.
I thought about all the tortured, raped, robbed, crippled and murdered Indians. I asked my teacher why we do not honor Charles Manson and the man who went up into a Texas Tower and shot people at random. Why are there no days, streets, and universities named after them?
She replied, “Because they did nott try to find a shorter route to salt and pepper.”
3. Man’s relationship to his work: The tiger trainer
With a sharp sick the tiger trainer forced the tiger to sit still on the sawdust. The tiger trainer jumped through a flaming hoop. The tiger trainer bowed before the tiger, but the tiger did not applaud. The tiger trainer jumped again through the hoop, but the tiger did not applaud. The tiger trainer jumped again. No applause from the tiger. The tiger trainer shot the tiger, and now the tiger trainer is unemployed.
4. Man’s relationship to his self: Self Reliance, based on an essay by Emerson
That night somebody stole my radio, and I had to do my own singing.
5. Man’s relationship to progress: The restaurant that turns in the Peachtree Center at Atlanta, Georgia
The current went off, and I had to pick up my plate and run around in a circle.
Margie, by Lyn Lifshin
I’m five months pregnant
with a child of a
man who raped me. It
was a week before
Christmas. I was outside
K Mart, near closing
time. I realized I didn’t
have my checkbook,
ran out to the car.
The lot was full. I was
near the curb. I ran out
to get it. My car was
open which was odd.
Then I felt a hot
flash. There was a man
near the glove compartment
I was rummaging through. I
just focused on his clothes.
I didn’t know what race
he was, never saw his
face. He penetrated
my anally. I blacked
out, next I felt the
cold air from the car
door being open.
I just drove around.
I couldn’t wreck my
family’s Christmas,
drove until 2 am. I
felt guilty, I thought
I’d never have let anyone
invade my body. I’d have
scratched and torn at him
but it happened so
fast. I took three
showers a day to erase
the feeling, the smell.
When I missed my first
period, I thought
my body was traumatized.
It was a black cloud.
Then I missed my
second period. When I
took the test, they
called to say
congratulations
Because, by Mary Winters
What you chose to do, you did because you are,
without a doubt, your father’s oldest daughter;
because of cute baby animals, especially pigs,
and your predilection for anything in pairs;
because in 1972, a lizard ran up your leg on the Appian Way,
which made you lose your self-control in public, for once,
and scream, loud; because you eat pasta for breakfast,
and low tide in Cape Cod Bay smells like rotten eggs;
because of your many socks and your rock collection, and
because of sea and sand and earth and wind and water,
you have done what you have chosen to do.
What you chose to do, you did because you are,
no more and certainly no less, you; because of
winter and hamsters and gravy and plaid,
not to mention cactus and fossils and hockey -
and what about origami and lettuce and vests; because of
your talent for picking out greeting cards, and
because of sun and rain and fire and air and sky,
you have done what you have chosen to do.
the rains touch the earth, by Duane Locke
The rains touch the earth,
looking for hard, low places
where can be left a puddle
and a dark circle.
I step out to know
the rain’s girl-fingers defying
separation by going
through my clothes
to leave their fingertips
on my skin.
The scrape of wetness
uncovers the source
that started the word
that was spoken away.
I, in my fenced-in urban backyard,
feel the infinity of a swamp,
and recall the once-known fecundity
of a once-known earth.
Private Lives I, the elevated train, Chicago, Illinois, by Janet Kuypers
why do these chairs
have to face
each other?
They say Americans
need their space
need their privacy
and here I sit
briefcase in lap
while he sits right
across from me
staring
I can’t look I can’t
he has to see
my eyes darting
my tension
my privacy
in the edge of my vision
I see his dirty clothes
his dirty hair
dirty mind
will he watch me
get off
note the stop I take
watch me walk too
Private Lives II, the elevated train, Chicago, Illinois, by Janet Kuypers
the people you see
he was running his hands along the pages
of his large magazine
like petting his cat
slowly, gently
caressing the skin of the animal
back and forth
his eyes staring off into space
was he staring at me
I wasn’t afraid to look at him
I knew he couldn’t see me
his hands sliding over the braille
page after page
his eyes
fixed
in my direction
I think he knew I was looking
Private Lives III, the elevated train, Chicago, Illinois, by Janet Kuypers
The yuppies pile on the cars in their morning commute. It’s amazing to think that just hours before now these cars were littered, scattered with an occasional bum, or a gang member, a drunk. Just a few hours before this any one of these people would be too afraid to step on this train.
I see two women step on to the car, each wearing full-length fur coats. Now they have to cram into this full car with all these wool coats, I’ll bet they’re furious. It would be so easy to spill my coffee on them. I’ll bet they don’t even know what the animals they killed for this looked like. How many animals would that be? Twelve? Fifteen? Oh, no matter, that’s what they’re there for, just like this train, serving its function, taking me where I want to go.
Next stop. More yuppies pile on to the train. Most stand without a rail to hold. I hear one yuppie girl say to her lover, “we’re L-surfing,” right before the train took a turn. All the yuppie suits trying to keep balance, trying not to fall.
I hear a yuppie boy say, “It’s just like my living room, it’s so spacious.” You’re the life of the party, friend. You’re in your suit, you’ll go places.
I read a sign above my head that says, “Crime Stoppers pays up to $1,000 for anonymous crime tips.”
All the signs above our heads are for graffiti hotlines, pregnancy clinics, drug rehab centers. Signs telling people not to carry guns.
I remember afternoons on the train when homeless men would walk from car to car through the train, trying to sell a newspaper to the people commuting home.
In a few hours, when the yuppies are safe in their homes, with their chldren safe tucked into their beds, the homeless man will hide home too.
One of the women with the fur steps off the train.
Private Lives IV, the elevated train, Chicago, Illinois, by Janet Kuypers
you can hear the gears
speeding up
slowing down
I have seen into other’s lives
a woman with two children
one sitting in a stroller
one standing
get on the train
she pulls the scarf
from around her neck
the gloves off
she reaches into her bag
finds a square of folded tin foil
carefully opens
pulls out a tissue
folds the tin foil
puts it away
wipes the children’s noses
the standing child sees writing
on the back of her Batman doll
“What does it say?” “Made in China.”
“Is that his name?”
this was the window
I was looking through
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Nick DiSpoldo, Small Press Review (on “Children, Churches and Daddies,” April 1997)
Kuypers is the widely-published poet of particular perspectives and not a little existential rage, but she does not impose her personal or artistic agenda on her magazine. CC+D is a provocative potpourri of news stories, poetry, humor, art and the “dirty underwear” of politics.
One piece in this issue is “Crazy,” an interview Kuypers conducted with “Madeline,” a murderess who was found insane, and is confined to West Virginia’s Arronsville Correctional Center. Madeline, whose elevator definitely doesn’t go to the top, killed her boyfriend during sex with an ice pick and a chef’s knife, far surpassing the butchery of Elena Bobbitt. Madeline, herself covered with blood, sat beside her lover’s remains for three days, talking to herself, and that is how the police found her. For effect, Kuypers publishes Madeline’s monologue in different-sized type, and the result is something between a sense of Dali’s surrealism and Kafka-like craziness.
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Debra Purdy Kong, writer, British Columbia, Canada
I like the magazine a lot. I like the spacious lay-out and the different coloured pages and the variety of writer’s styles. Too many literary magazines read as if everyone graduated from the same course. We need to collect more voices like these and send them everywhere.
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Ed Hamilton, writer
#85 (of Children, Churches and Daddies) turned out well. I really enjoyed the humor section, especially the test score answers. And, the cup-holder story is hilarious. I’m not a big fan of poetry - since much of it is so hard to decipher - but I was impressed by the work here, which tends toward the straightforward and unpretentious.
As for the fiction, the piece by Anderson is quite perceptive: I liked the way the self-deluding situation of the character is gradually, subtly revealed. (Kuypers’) story is good too: the way it switches narrative perspective via the letter device is a nice touch.
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Children, Churches and Daddies.
It speaks for itself.
Write to Scars Publications to submit poetry, prose and artwork to Children, Churches and Daddies literary magazine, or to inquire about having your own chapbook, and maybe a few reviews like these.
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Jim Maddocks, GLASGOW, via the Internet
I’ll be totally honest, of the material in Issue (either 83 or 86 of Children, Churches and Daddies) the only ones I really took to were Kuypers’. TRYING was so simple but most truths are, aren’t they?
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what is veganism?
A vegan (VEE-gun) is someone who does not consume any animal products. While vegetarians avoid flesh foods, vegans don’t consume dairy or egg products, as well as animal products in clothing and other sources.
why veganism?
This cruelty-free lifestyle provides many benefits, to animals, the environment and to ourselves. The meat and dairy industry abuses billions of animals. Animal agriculture takes an enormous toll on the land. Consumtion of animal products has been linked to heart disease, colon and breast cancer, osteoporosis, diabetes and a host of other conditions.
so what is vegan action?
We can succeed in shifting agriculture away from factory farming, saving millions, or even billions of chickens, cows, pigs, sheep turkeys and other animals from cruelty.
We can free up land to restore to wilderness, pollute less water and air, reduce topsoil reosion, and prevent desertification.
We can improve the health and happiness of millions by preventing numerous occurrences od breast and prostate cancer, osteoporosis, and heart attacks, among other major health problems.
A vegan, cruelty-free lifestyle may be the most important step a person can take towards creatin a more just and compassionate society. Contact us for membership information, t-shirt sales or donations.
vegan action
po box 4353, berkeley, ca 94707-0353
510/704-4444
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C Ra McGuirt, Editor, The Penny Dreadful Review (on Children, Churches and Daddies)
CC&D is obviously a labor of love ... I just have to smile when I go through it. (Janet Kuypers) uses her space and her poets to best effect, and the illos attest to her skill as a graphic artist.
I really like (“Writing Your Name”). It’s one of those kind of things where your eye isn’t exactly pulled along, but falls effortlessly down the poem.
I liked “knowledge” for its mix of disgust and acceptance. Janet Kuypers does good little movies, by which I mean her stuff provokes moving imagery for me. Color, no dialogue; the voice of the poem is the narrator over the film.
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Children, Churches and Daddies no longer distributes free contributor’s copies of issues. In order to receive issues of Children, Churches and Daddies, contact Janet Kuypers at the cc&d e-mail addres. Free electronic subscriptions are available via email. All you need to do is email ccandd@scars.tv... and ask to be added to the free cc+d electronic subscription mailing list. And you can still see issues every month at the Children, Churches and Daddies website, located at http://scars.tv
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Mark Blickley, writer
The precursor to the magazine title (Children, Churches and Daddies) is very moving. “Scars” is also an excellent prose poem. I never really thought about scars as being a form of nostalgia. But in the poem it also represents courage and warmth. I look forward to finishing her book.
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MIT Vegetarian Support Group (VSG)
functions:
* To show the MIT Food Service that there is a large community of vegetarians at MIT (and other health-conscious people) whom they are alienating with current menus, and to give positive suggestions for change.
* To exchange recipes and names of Boston area veg restaurants
* To provide a resource to people seeking communal vegetarian cooking
* To provide an option for vegetarian freshmen
We also have a discussion group for all issues related to vegetarianism, which currently has about 150 members, many of whom are outside the Boston area. The group is focusing more toward outreach and evolving from what it has been in years past. We welcome new members, as well as the opportunity to inform people about the benefits of vegetarianism, to our health, the environment, animal welfare, and a variety of other issues.
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Gary, Editor, The Road Out of Town (on the Children, Churches and Daddies Web Site)
I just checked out the site. It looks great.
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Dusty Dog Reviews: These poems document a very complicated internal response to the feminine side of social existence. And as the book proceeds the poems become increasingly psychologically complex and, ultimately, fascinating and genuinely rewarding.
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John Sweet, writer (on chapbook designs)
Visuals were awesome. They’ve got a nice enigmatic quality to them. Front cover reminds me of the Roman sculptures of angels from way back when. Loved the staggered tire lettering, too. Way cool.
(on “Hope Chest in the Attic”)
Some excellent writing in “Hope Chest in the Attic.” I thought “Children, Churches and Daddies” and “The Room of the Rape” were particularly powerful pieces.
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C Ra McGuirt, Editor, The Penny Dreadful Review: CC&D is obviously a labor of love ... I just have to smile when I go through it. (Janet Kuypers) uses her space and her poets to best effect, and the illos attest to her skill as a graphic artist.
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Cheryl Townsend, Editor, Impetus (on Children, Churches and Daddies)
The new CC&D looks absolutely amazing. It’s a wonderful lay-out, looks really professional - all you need is the glossy pages. Truly impressive AND the calendar, too. Can’t wait to actually start reading all the stuff inside.. Wanted to just say, it looks good so far!!!
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Dusty Dog Reviews: She opens with a poem of her own devising, which has that wintry atmosphere demonstrated in the movie version of Boris Pasternak’s Doctor Zhivago. The atmosphere of wintry white and cold, gloriously murderous cold, stark raging cold, numbing and brutalizing cold, appears almost as a character who announces to his audience, “Wisdom occurs only after a laboriously magnificent disappointment.” Alas, that our Dusty Dog for mat cannot do justice to Ms. Kuypers’ very personal layering of her poem across the page.
Fithian Press, Santa Barbara, CA
Indeed, there’s a healthy balance here between wit and dark vision, romance and reality, just as there’s a good balance between words and graphics. The work shows brave self-exploration, and serves as a reminder of mortality and the fragile beauty of friendship.
Mark Blickley, writer
The precursor to the magazine title (Children, Churches and Daddies) is very moving. “Scars” is also an excellent prose poem. I never really thought about scars as being a form of nostalgia. But in the poem it also represents courage and warmth. I look forward to finishing her book.
You Have to be Published to be Appreciated.
Do you want to be heard? Contact Children, Churches and Daddies about book or chapbook publishing. These reviews can be yours. Scars Publications, attention J. Kuypers. We’re only an e-mail away. Write to us.
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Brian B. Braddock, Writer (on 1996 Children, Churches and Daddies)
I passed on a copy to my brother who is the director of the St. Camillus AIDS programs. We found (Children, Churches and Daddies’) obvious dedication along this line admirable.
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The Center for Renewable Energy and Sustainable Technology
The Solar Energy Research & Education Foundation (SEREF), a non-profit organization based in Washington, D.C., established on Earth Day 1993 the Center for Renewable Energy and Sustainable Technology (CREST) as its central project. CREST’s three principal projects are to provide:
* on-site training and education workshops on the sustainable development interconnections of energy, economics and environment;
* on-line distance learning/training resources on CREST’s SOLSTICE computer, available from 144 countries through email and the Internet;
* on-disc training and educational resources through the use of interactive multimedia applications on CD-ROM computer discs - showcasing current achievements and future opportunities in sustainable energy development.
The CREST staff also does “on the road” presentations, demonstrations, and workshops showcasing its activities and available resources.
For More Information Please Contact: Deborah Anderson
dja@crest.org or (202) 289-0061
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Brian B. Braddock, Writer (on 1996 Children, Churches and Daddies)
I passed on a copy to my brother who is the director of the St. Camillus AIDS programs. We found (Children, Churches and Daddies’) obvious dedication along this line admirable.
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Dorrance Publishing Co., Pittsburgh, PA
“Hope Chest in the Attic” captures the complexity of human nature and reveals startling yet profound discernments about the travesties that surge through the course of life. This collection of poetry, prose and artwork reflects sensitivity toward feminist issues concerning abuse, sexism and equality. It also probes the emotional torrent that people may experience as a reaction to the delicate topics of death, love and family.
“Chain Smoking” depicts the emotional distress that afflicted a friend while he struggled to clarify his sexual ambiguity. Not only does this thought-provoking profile address the plight that homosexuals face in a homophobic society, it also characterizes the essence of friendship. “The room of the rape” is a passionate representation of the suffering rape victims experience. Vivid descriptions, rich symbolism, and candid expressions paint a shocking portrait of victory over the gripping fear that consumes the soul after a painful exploitation.
want a review like this? contact scars about getting your own book published.
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Paul Weinman, Writer (on 1996 Children, Churches and Daddies)
Wonderful new direction (Children, Churches and Daddies has) taken - great articles, etc. (especially those on AIDS). Great stories - all sorts of hot info!
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The magazine Children Churches and Daddies is Copyright �
through
Scars Publications and Design. The rights of the individual pieces remain with the authors. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.
Okay, nilla wafer. Listen up and listen good. How to save your life. Submit, or I’ll have to kill you.
Okay, it’s this simple: send me published or unpublished poetry, prose or art work (do not send originals), along with a bio, to us - then sit around and wait... Pretty soon you’ll hear from the happy people at cc&d that says (a) Your work sucks, or (b) This is fancy crap, and we’re gonna print it. It’s that simple!
Okay, butt-munch. Tough guy. This is how to win the editors over.
Hope Chest in the Attic is a 200 page, perfect-bound book of 13 years of poetry, prose and art by Janet Kuypers. It’s a really classy thing, if you know what I mean. We also have a few extra sopies of the 1999 book “Rinse and Repeat”, the 2001 book “Survive and Thrive”, the 2001 books “Torture and Triumph” and “(no so) Warm and Fuzzy”,
which all have issues of cc&d crammed into one book. And you can have either one of these things at just five bucks a pop if you just contact us and tell us you saw this ad space. It’s an offer you can’t refuse...
Carlton Press, New York, NY: HOPE CHEST IN THE ATTIC is a collection of well-fashioned, often elegant poems and short prose that deals in many instances, with the most mysterious and awesome of human experiences: love... Janet Kuypers draws from a vast range of experiences and transforms thoughts into lyrical and succinct verse... Recommended as poetic fare that will titillate the palate in its imagery and imaginative creations.
Mark Blickley, writer: The precursor to the magazine title (Children, Churches and Daddies) is very moving. “Scars” is also an excellent prose poem. I never really thought about scars as being a form of nostalgia. But in the poem it also represents courage and warmth. I look forward to finishing the book.
You Have to be Published to be Appreciated.
Do you want to be heard? Contact Children, Churches and Daddies about book and chapbook publishing. These reviews can be yours. Scars Publications, attention J. Kuypers - you can write for yourself or you can write for an audience. It’s your call...
Dorrance Publishing Co., Pittsburgh, PA: “Hope Chest in the Attic” captures the complexity of human nature and reveals startling yet profound discernments about the travesties that surge through the course of life. This collection of poetry, prose and artwork reflects sensitivity toward feminist issues concerning abuse, sexism and equality. It also probes the emotional torrent that people may experience as a reaction to the delicate topics of death, love and family. “Chain Smoking” depicts the emotional distress that afflicted a friend while he struggled to clarify his sexual ambiguity. Not only does this thought-provoking profile address the plight that homosexuals face in a homophobic society, it also characterizes the essence of friendship. “The room of the rape” is a passionate representation of the suffering rape victims experience. Vivid descriptions, rich symbolism, and candid expressions paint a shocking portrait of victory over the gripping fear that consumes the soul after a painful exploitation.
Dusty Dog Reviews, CA (on knife): These poems document a very complicated internal response to the feminine side of social existence. And as the book proceeds the poems become increasingly psychologically complex and, ultimately, fascinating and genuinely rewarding.
Children, Churches and Daddies. It speaks for itself.
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Dusty Dog Reviews (on Without You): She open with a poem of her own devising, which has that wintry atmosphere demonstrated in the movie version of Boris Pasternak’s Doctor Zhivago. The atmosphere of wintry white and cold, gloriously murderous cold, stark raging cold, numbing and brutalizing cold, appears almost as a character who announces to his audience, “Wisdom occurs only after a laboriously magnificent disappointment.” Alas, that our Dusty Dog for mat cannot do justice to Ms. Kuypers’ very personal layering of her poem across the page.
Children, Churches and Daddies. It speaks for itself.
Debra Purdy Kong, writer, British Columbia, Canada (on Children, Churches and Daddies): I like the magazine a lot. I like the spacious lay-out and the different coloured pages and the variety of writer’s styles. Too many literary magazines read as if everyone graduated from the same course. We need to collect more voices like these and send them everywhere.
Fithian Press, Santa Barbara, CA: Indeed, there’s a healthy balance here between wit and dark vision, romance and reality, just as there’s a good balance between words and graphics. The work shows brave self-exploration, and serves as a reminder of mortality and the fragile beauty of friendship.
Children, Churches and Daddies
the unreligious, non-family oriented literary and art magazine
Scars Publications and Design
ccandd96@scars.tv
http://scars.tv
Publishers/Designers Of
Children, Churches and Daddies magazine
cc+d Ezines
The Burning mini poem books
God Eyes mini poem books
The Poetry Wall Calendar
The Poetry Box
The Poetry Sampler
Mom’s Favorite Vase Newsletters
Reverberate Music Magazine
Down In The Dirt magazine
Freedom and Strength Press forum
plus assorted chapbooks and books
music, poery compact discs
live performances of songs and readings
Sponsors Of
past editions:
Poetry Chapbook Contest, Poetry Book Contest
Prose Chapbook Contest, Prose Book Contest
Poetry Calendar Contest
current editions:
Editor’s Choice Award (writing and web sites)
Collection Volumes
Children, Churches and Daddies (founded 1993)
has been written and researched by political groups and writers from the United States, Canada, England, India, Italy, Malta, Norway and Turkey.
Regular features provide coverage of environmental, political and social issues (via news and philosophy) as well as fiction and poetry,
and act as an information and education source. Children, Churches and Daddies is the leading magazine for this combination of information,
education and entertainment.
Children, Churches and Daddies (ISSN 1068-5154) is published quarterly by Scars Publications and Design. Contact us via e-mail (ccandd96@scars.tv) for subscription rates
or prices for annual collection books.
To contributors:
No racist, sexist or blatantly homophobic material. No originals; if mailed, include SASE & bio.
Work sent on disks or through e-mail preferred. Previously published work accepted. Authors always retain rights to their own work. All magazine rights reserved. Reproduction of
Children, Churches and Daddies without publisher permission is forbidden.
Children, Churches and Daddies copyright
through
Scars Publications and Design, Children, Churches and Daddies, Janet Kuypers. All rights remain with the authors of the individual
pieces. No material may be reprinted without express permission. |
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