Christmas at the old house, by Janet Kuypers
God, I remember the tree. Before my parents moved, when I was just a little kid, we used to have Christmas in the old house in Chicago. All of the brothers and sisters would come over, and on Christmas Eve we would sit around the tree in the front room. The tree looked so tall; it looked so powerful to me. It looked monsterous. Almost like an evergreen, it was green with a just a hint of blue to it - and it seemed to glitter just standing there all by itself. We would put all sorts of lights on the tree and we had all of these old silk spun beaded ornaments that my sisters made when they were little decorating the tree. We put the tree right in front of a huge window in the front of the house. During Christmas we could always see the snow falling. And the presents were everywhere. We all bought gifts for each other - and with five children, a brother in-law, a sister in-law, parents and grandparents, there always ended up being a ton of presents. I was the youngest, and the only one that was still really a child. I knew most of the gifts were for me.
As everyone would get up from dinner to open the presents, I would rush to the front room and slide until I fell on the beige carpeting. We never used the front room, so the carpeting always looked new. It even smelled new. I was always the first in the room and I could never understand what on earth took everyone else in my family so incredibly long to get to the Christmas tree.
Once my mother handed a present to me to open. I fiercely ripped open the packaging, and I found a hand held electronic math game. It said “Digits” across the front in strange orange and red colors, like a bad set of curtains from another decade. I didn’t know what to think. I had no idea what it was. I didn’t even know what the word “digits” meant. But it was electronic, and it was a present, so I was excited.
As all of this was registering in my head, somone asked me what I just opened. I told them I got a game. “Dig-its!!!” I exclaimed, making it sound like it was a game about shoveling the most dirt or something. Everyone started laughing. I had no idea what they were laughing about.
dandelions for a passing stranger, by Janet Kuypers
I loved my silly red tricycle, the type that every suburban three year old probably had. I would play on my driveway, riding past the evergreens, past the white mailbox... But I’d usually turn around before I rode past the gravel and onto the neighbor’s driveway and ride back toward the security of my own garage. I would sometomes play on the neighbor’s driveway, since it was on a hill. I would scale to the top by their maroon colored garage, navigate my trusted tricycle around by its rusted handlebars, hop on the seat and zoom downhill. But those times were only for when I thought no one was home at their house, and for when I was feeling particularly adventurous.
Once I was riding up and down my own driveway and I saw another little girl walking on the neighbor’s yard. I watched her approach my driveway, walking on the edge of our lawn. I was fascinated by this girl. There was a new face to look at - a girl with long blonde hair, so different from my own. She came from the lawn behind my house and was walking along the side of my driveway, away from my home. I just watched her walk. When she passed me, I looked over to the neighbor’s yard. Our lawn was full of green grass. Theirs was full of dandelions. I rode over to the side of my driveway, got off my tricycle, hopped over the ledge and ran onto the neighbor’s lawn. I picked a dandelion.
I quickly ran back to my tricycle. It patiently waited there, just where I left it... I pedaled fiercely to the end of my driveway, and caught up with that little girl. Still sitting on my tricycle, I looked up at her until she stopped walking right in front of me. I held up the dandelion to her.
Gettysburg,PA, Summer One Hundred Years After the Fact, by Alan Catlin
Two thousand men lay dead in the mind,
on the lawn, looking down wind toward the
Confederate battery costs a quarter for timed
viewing: the first lines of them are coming at
a run, waving their flags and their arms,
charging uphill into an entrenched company
of blue clad men, firing at will, unaware of
how it will look, one hundred years later
to the tourists who collect post cards and
cheap souveniers of their wasted lives.
unintentionally carving the stone eyes they
use to look inside, into the future, where
the war memorial statues must take up their arms
at night and shoot out stars.
A Moment of Silence f
or Thurman Munson, Dead in an Airplane Crash, Cooperstown Hall of Fame Game 1979, by Alan Catlin
Death in midsmumer is the old hall of
famers gathered by the pitcher’s mound, hands
clasped in front of their bodies, eyes downcast.
They are the main focus of attention, observing
the passing of one of their own in silence, their
long ago past lives contained inside walls a long
strong throw from the Doubleday Field Main Gate,
their future a white. untarnished ball on the edge
of a bat driven deep into a strong centerfield
wind, is the bright glowing heat of the sun that
seals their eyes completely shut whenever they
are compelled to look up.
enough to convict, by C Ra McGuirt
i should ask for
your version, but
you’re already
given me your
version
by running away
more than twice
full of my hope
& pizza & beer,
ignoring me while
i read to YOU
no one but YOU,
& jerking me
off & around
in general.
yeah, i can see you
grabbing crotches
falling off your
fucking stool
wanting to be where
the ACTION is
willing to PRETEND
to be willing
even less than
an HONEST whore;
well, baby -
go where the
ACTION is;
the ACTION
is not
here.
come, by Lyn Lifshin
tonight the trees are someplace
else. wormwood, wild
branches unless
you touch me
my bed is
as cold
as i am
At The Hop, And Afterwards, by Errol Miller
In 58 I was going steady
with Barbara, but I had met Lily Pearl
from Pea Ridge, and I’d go over to see
her on Sunday afternoon before going
out with Barbara on Sunday night.
Farris and I had been friends
through all of high school. He was
the mayor’s son, and his family owned
the Chrysler-Plymouth dealership
in our small town. But
Farris didn’t let his status go to
his head. He was just a regular fella.
He was always A-OK in my book.
Anyway, one Sunday afternoon Farris
asked me if he could ride over to Lily Pearl’s
with me. He wasn’t going with anyone then.
I said sure, so we went. Coming home,
Farris pointed out I already had a
steady girlfriend + Lily Pearl
and that he didn’t have any. He
asked if it was alright for him to ask
Lily Pearl out. As a friend,
what could I say?
Farris had been going to college
at Auburn, (a family tradition) but honestly,
I don’t think he was making the grades.
What he needed the most was
some intense loving. I think
Lily Pearl gave it to him, at least
that’s the way it looked at the
Rebel Drive-In Theater.
So shortly thereafter they got married.
(why rent when you can own, right?)
Then things changed, especially expectations.
Farris said it was hell to pay for years,
that he could do no right, that the only
sex in their marriage was when Lily Pearl
was slipping around on the side...
That was in the Sixties.
And then the divorce.
There was one child and three wounded.
I saw Farris the other day
(October, 92) for the first time in 16 years.
He wasn’t the suave halfback from
the football team in 56, he’d blossomed
up to 240, drinking many beers, smoking
many cigarettes, placing many bets
on his portable phone, said life
had been hell for him, that
he’d married his second wife just
for her money but now she required him
to make a lot of money too ‘cause
she wanted another new house
in the Ritz Subdivision. And there
was the mother-in-law that lived
with them who had a nervous condition,
that they couldn’t have company
and that was why he had to
meet me in a bar...
I matched him beer-for-beer,
but I was drinking Sharps, he
had changed, of course, giving up on love,
it seemed to me, destined to bloat on
up to Heaven pretty pretty pissed
about the scheme of things...
I am so fucking sad, by C Ra McGuirt
it didn’t
work for
me.
i am so
fucking
sad
it didn’t
work for
you.
i am so
gaddam
fucking
sad
it didn’t
work for
both of
us.
i am so
fucking sad
so what fucking
else
is
new?
MARKING TIME
Morning. In a relative sense. The day spinning down big drain-
Into one more pot of coffee.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Banging the keys. Head in spin cycle. The words don’t come. As per usual.
One more cup.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
More life gone, and you’re caffeinated. Everything goes nowhere. You give up on the words, which have failed you today. One more cup of coffee. Two more. Another pot.
You think of her some more, the day driving down the highway, her saying, I really don’t know what I want.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Hopped up. The violence in your head. Flashbacks. Big denial. Big avoidance. Little aversion. Switch over to cheap rotgut.
She wasn’t happy to see you in that parking lot.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
She talks about him a lot. Gushes. The wine’s almost gone. You only feel the least bit liberated. If you were the last man on earth-what? It’s difficult to think straight, even now.
You drain the last of the wine.
The blue of the sky is deepening.
She says you should see his thesis-papers. He’s brilliant. He’s funny. His wit just shines through.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
You rip into the beer and ale. A few will kick in that oblivion you love and crave so.
A great conversationalist. That’s what she said. He was a great conversationalist.
One beer already and you’re numbing.
You think about the Odometer in her Probe, how she’s racked up a couple thou on it in the last week, blowing up and down tri-state.
He’s worth it, she says.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
She described the party at his place. Old buddies from his Alma Mater. Big-time intellectuals. Intellectuals. She used that word with a straight face.
One more
pint.
Yeah-it was a big, intellectual beer bash, whatever that entails. Christ. What is an intellectual beer bash like? High-flown overlords brooding over the Universe’s fate while they belch?
What are intellectual beer farts like, you wonder. Surely more captivating than not.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
What kind of hard-partying motherfuckers were Darwin and Nietzche?
Shit, what were you thinking?
Nothing important. It never is.
Comes the night.
Rattle into unconsciousness. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
i remember that, by Cheryl Townsend
I was 10 when his
18 pinned me smothering
in my own bed football
hero groping all that was
left of a small town I
cried against his dis-
regarding lips packing
budding breasts like
raw hamburg in his
quarterback hands
his laugh satanical where
the hell was everyone I
twisted resistance to the
lifting of my girl Scout
uniform trying to bite arms
too far to reach I wanted my
mommie small hips lift
with tear of panties why is
he putting his finger in
there I tried not to pee in
my bed he called me
bald pussy and pulled
it out was ready to rip
but I couldn’t hold it
any more pissed all
over him and my lilac
and white bed spread
that my grandmother
made for me he called me
more names after slapping
me zipped himself back
away and left me to cry
over stains that will never
ever wash away
in just a flash, by Cheryl Townsend
Time can’t fly
when you’ve clipped it’s wings
actually ripped them off like gum wrappera
it’s held, frozen, as an ice - touch takes
a second or hours and erases it completely
from an existing rationale
maybe rekindles someday
when a spark lands on its parched spanse
but it is suspended
an anti-gravity memory
lurking to be pulled back into a face
that will display techni-color screams
never screamed
and anybody’s invasion
will spear into your moment
and reverse in turbo
into the Great Wall of China
And stop dead
And swarm you
like angry, hungry, stinging insects
and their poison will make you weak
and you can’t run away this time either
and you can never forget it again
Lost City, by Mary Winters
How to lose track of an entire
city, not just a tiny diamond
earring skittering down the
drain, you with wet hands in a
hurry. Would it be sudden or slow,
a deliberate abandonment or just
a “happen”: how Emily Dickinson’s
sister described Emily never
leaving her father’s home after
a certain age - no one really
noticing at all until one day...
Would vegetation rebel? Plants
decide you’d had your day. So
one morning with that second
cup of coffee you’d feel a
tickling at your feet; look down
and see grass coming up through
the floorboards, fourth floor
city apartment. Would Nature
pack up and go home: electricity
draw back from every lamp and oven,
streetlight, computer, television.
So in not too many years explorers
need a spaceborne radar system
to find your buried settlement.
Your once so well-known home.
Afterwards, by Mary Winters
Guinness Book of Records tells us:
Frenchman gobbles glass and metal;
been doing it since 1959,
two pounds a day. Ate ten bicycles,
supermarket cart (4 days), seven TV sets,
six chandeliers, a little airplane.
His fans call him “Monsieur Mangetout”.
What if she as “Madame Mangetout” ate
her whole family, one by one,
youngest first, from the feet up,
including hair; then her two-bedroom
apartment, kitchen first in homage to
Monsieur Mangetout; then diningroom
table, Queen Anne chairs, kid’s
bunk bed, kilim rugs, clothes
including winter coats, shower curtains,
encyclopedia; her whole building
right down to the sub-basement
|
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.
|
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.
|
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.
|
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.
|
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?
|
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
|
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.
|
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.
|
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.
|
Gary, Editor, The Road Out of Town (on the Children, Churches and Daddies Web Site)
I just checked out the site. It looks great.
|
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.
|
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.
|
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!!!
|
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.
|
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
|
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.
|
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.
|
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!
|
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.
|
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
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current editions:
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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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