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Dusty Dog Reviews The whole project is hip, anti-academic, the poetry of reluctant grown-ups, picking noses in church. An enjoyable romp! Though also serious.
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Nick DiSpoldo, Small Press Review (on Children, Churches and Daddies, April 1997) Children, Churches and Daddies is eclectic, alive and is as contemporary as tomorrow’s news. |
ISSN 1068-5154
Standing Tall, by marc swan
The night before the wedding
was quite an affair. My usually
conservative father drank drafts
with us at the Duchess, laughed
like hell when we stole the pool cue
at Uncle’s Place, drank some more
at the Trade Winds, helped me up
when I fell off the bar stool
at the Tavern, kept the pace
when we went to the Gag & Heave
for fries and gravy and on the way back
to the motel, I could see him
in the rear view mirror, sitting
between Hound and Carl, taking long
slow hits off a bottle of Dewars.
He was laughing at a lot of things
I’m sure he didn’t understand.
The next morning I was dog tired.
He roused me at six am
for a prenuptial service and stood tall
beside me when I slipped on
that narrow gold band.
Club Comanche, Virgin Islands Still Life, St. Croix 1953, by alan catlin
By the hotel pool, she is sun bathing in her
one piece black suit. smoking cigarettes. eyes
shaded by aviator lenses, sipping daiquiris
one after the other, encouraging her five year
old son to dive deeper, to have no fear of
water. The water that stings his eyes and throat.
that pops inside his ears as he dives down,
unwatched, hyperventilating, working his way
from the shallow end to the forbidden deep.
A poor swimmer, he is afraid of anything he
cannot stand up in, dives deeper, as instructed,
at six feet and a half, hits bottom, head
still pointed down and stays, stunned, at the
base of the pale blue pool. His stinging eyes
open, seeing his scream dissolve into bubbles
that erupt on the surface, dispersed by filtering
jets of water, sees the white distorted edges
of the rippling clouds, his hands clutching
invisible rope ladders that stretch tight
against his mind, feet pushing against nothing,
treading a darkness as heavy as the water
inside his iron lungs.
WAKE ME TO SLEEP, by diana lee goldman
WAKE ME TO SLEEP
We are all Claire’s coworkers. As people always do when they are put together to earn a living, we exchange our daily good mornings and pleasantries, but all of us secretly admire Claire. She seems to possess a certain strength and dauntless perseverance. There is a smile on her face every morning, even though we know the rumor of her husband’s latest affair has just reached her ears, a bit of information casually mentioned by a well-meaning associate. We are not her confidants, just her coworkers. We hear and observe only bits and pieces of Claire’s life.
“Yes, sweetheart. Of course, darling. It will be all right honey.” These softly spoken affirmatives, she whispers to her children and her husband in hushed tones. Always she is quiet.
“We all go through difficult periods in life.” She speaks these words as much to us as she does to soothe her own painful soul.
It seems the word inspirational was invented to describe this woman. Through all her hardships, and there are many, she continues to maintain her calm, soothing smile and gentle accepting manner.
It is this gentle smile that I see now, while I lie here quietly in the warmth of my own bed; and I am thinking of Claire.
The glimpses we get of Clair’s life flash through my mind. We, ourselves, are a new experience for Claire. Claire enters our world of office work, and we all love her. She is always there, ready and eager to do whatever is needed to be done at the time. She seems to balance her new career and home life, and do it all so well. We know that things are rough at home; her husband has lost his job and there are
bills to pay. We know her home is for sale. Without wanting to know, we know too much. We hold her in reverence. She goes home to cook meals for her family of four, and we go out to pick up take-out.
That slender, frail, powerhouse of emotional stamina never seems to need anyone. Her big brown sorrowful eyes are poignant, all the more so because of their lack of adornment. Claire wears no make-
up. Her waif-like appearance is made complete by her long, straight, black hair. She appears so very young until you look into those eyes, deep into those serious eyes.
Claire never asks for a favor. We, therefore, never ask if there is anything we can do to help. She seems to grow thinner and more vulnerable every day, but she continues to keep smiling.
“No one ever promised us life would be easy.” She seems to have a daily litany of inspirational phrases. But we know life should not be that difficult. What amazes us is that coping, for Claire, seems so easy.
In a corporate office such as ours, gossip travels fast. Everyone is acquainted with the fact that Claire’s husband fools around. We are also aware of her teenage son, and drugs, and his two suicide attempts. Her son is having a rough time, but Claire is miraculous. She just courageously takes one day at a time.
A dream-like quality always surrounds Claire. There is an aura of serenity about her. She never seems to ruffle, ever, until today.
Claire needs a ride home. It is a cold, raw and wet, bone chilling day. We all jump at the chance to be of some assistance; it is the first time we can ever recall her asking for a favor. I volunteer.
The beating of the rain against the windshield and the swooshing of the wipers are the only noise in the car for the entire ride. Claire is, as usual, very quiet. As we pull up to her home, Claire bolts out of the car. Illuminated by my headlights, lying on the road, is her beloved cat, apparently struck by a car on this awful night. I watch silently as Claire picks up the little injured creature and cuddles him against her breast, trying to warm him and protect him from the cold and rain. I believe he is dead. She begins to walk along the road still cuddling her cat. I get out of the car to follow her, but her walk quickens and she begins to run. She is running, running to somehow quiet the pent up rage building within her. She is biting her lip and trying desperately not to cry. I have never seen her cry. She has to compose herself, gain control, smile. As I try to catch up to her, Claire stops and turns to speak to me. The rage building in her heart is about to reach her lips when the headlights of an oncoming car flood our vision. Her face is a mask of terror. Her lips are quivering. Her eyes are glazed and her skin is pale, yet she is flushed with anger. But the car passes, and it is cold and dark again. Claire begins to walk silently back to her home cuddling and stroking her dead pet.
“It will be all right, darling. It will be all right.” This is all she continues to say. She is not speaking to me, nor does she even realize I am still there.
I pull my hood up over my head, trying to shut out the wind and the rain, trying to make the night not as cold and dark and empty as it suddenly appears, trying not to look at Claire. She has refused my hug. She is smiling that quiet, gentle smile again. I am no longer inspired. I am only chilled, chilled to the very depth of my soul.
It is funny now, lying here in the warmth of my own bed, that I am thinking of Claire. I have not seen her in over ten years. My own teenage son has just come in the front door rousing me from that state of semi-slumber and dream-like thought by the comforting sound of the closing front door and his soft footsteps climbing the carpeted stairs. I wait for a kiss good night. I can now close my eyes and sleep. Funny how he must always wake me to sleep. Funny how now I remember Claire.
diana lee goldman
untitled, by m. kettner
end of the line/umbrella laying across an empty bus seat
signs of thetimes, by janet kuypers
The president says it’s okay
to be gay, as long as you don’t
tell anyone. Suburban husbands
are murdering doctors who work
at abortion clinics, because they
saved the world from a mass murderer.
Nineteen children are found in a
freezing apartment alone, sharing
one bowl of food on the floor with
a dog. People walk to the churches,
see Mary’s statue crying. One lone
man in New York hears the voice
of God through his dog and kills.
Were the children saved from the
murderer, were they sharing their
food with God were they crying
NECESSARY EVILS, by gary a. scheinoha
My father was all the best
a Bohemian
can be
and sometimes,
the worst.
Like the time
he flung Wettstein;
a smart ass
who’d been pelting
him most of a day
with cold water,
into a vat
down at
Stella Cheese.
Only to hear
the man was killed
later the same day,
cocksure to the
last, trying to outrun
a train.
Still, I prefer not
to remember
Dad for his
slow storm into
sudden thunderous
slavic temper.
He was, after all,
like most of us;
a mix
of many
traits.
A gifted storyteller
whose talent lay not
but the drawing
together of many threads
into a tightly
woven tale.
A Goliath among Davids
whose shadow, to this day,
casts a pall
my size 12’s
in full motion
could never fill.
Besides, what
steaming bowl
of booyah
contains
ripest veggies
and leanest
chicken
without an
occasional
bone?
Pushed aside, by Gabriel Gabriel Athens
No,
I don’t feel
as if something was taken away from me.
He pushed himself through me
and he pushed everything that was inside of me
off to the side.
He just pushed me to the side,
and all I feel is a hole.
There is a void where he used to be:
it’s always there,
and I wish that
like a hole in the wall
I could fill myself up with something
patch myself up with something
so that I would no longer have to feel.
But I can’t.
Anything to repair my injuries
would only remind me that I was injured.
I only wish that
I could push myself back to where I used to be
where I should be
and fill the emptiness inside.
As I rest my hand on me
I want to push myself back to where I should be.
where I should be.
But I can’t.
And every time I move,
every time I turn, or sit,
or cross my legs,
I feel the void.
And although the burning is less intense,
it is always there.
Where I was pushed aside-
oh mother, by Gabriel Athens
perspiration
muscles tense
bring it all
in to the ground
resistance
fight the senses
keep control
as the energy
slowly secapes
from the pores
of your body
anxiety
frustration
you can’t run away
you can’t escape
the pressure
the conflict
breath quickening
heart beating
faster and
faster
shake and
shiver
the trauma
too great
the exhaustion
you can’t
give in
but you must
so you collapse
at the stress
and let
the shovels
throw the dirt
over your
head
PLACHETNIK, by gary a. scheinoha
We’ve sailed
for too many
moonless nights
under heavens
too dark
and devoid
of even
a sprinkle
of stars.
Always
the same
wooden vessel;
this rat-infested
two by timbered
craft hewn
not so
much from
actual trees
or deeds
as dreams,
hopes and words.
Ah .. but
when you open
your smile
full sail
into a gale
force
emotion
driven wind,
then these
few creaking
boards
and canvas
unfurled
really
carry us
farther
than
anyone
hoped
we’d go.
our anniversary, by Janet Kuypers
When they met
to take us out
for our anniversary
oh, it was so
beautiful
the boys are so
thoughtful
nothing could be
better
don’t you think so, darling
oh, you boys know
he loves it
you know he does
rain, by Janet Kuypers
The rain is coming
down so hard now... I
don’t think it has ever
been this hard. I have
to stop it, I have to
save myself from it.
I can’t drive like this.
The wipers only brush
it off after it has hit.
I have to stop it, keep
it away from me
Masquerade, by Alexandria Rand
You asked me to the masquerade
and I willingly complied
but I’m tired of wearing this dress
for the feathers in my costume
won’t stop licking my face
and you cannot see the tears
falling behind my mask -
When you see the price they pay
I’m sure you’ll come and join
the masquerade, you say
but the price is too high
for I don’t want to wear a mask
with you, and I wouls only hope
that I don’t have to.
naivity, by Alexandria Rand
The naivity is over.
Now we must put our little toys away
and stop playing house.
This is the real thing,
and I won’t fool around anymore.
Not with you.
You threw around the words
“I love you”
as if they were no more than water
as if you really didn’t know
their value.
But this isn’t a game,
and when I get hurt
kissing it
won’t make it better.
Love was Not Enough, by mary winters
captain with a quest as big
as a full-rigged ship as big
as the Indian Ocean: Ahab’s
search for the Great White Whale
the one who wronged him - fish
acting like some god took his leg
and wrecked his soul. Before the
end crew gasped to see St. Elmo’s
fire trim the mast and touch
harpoons - your father saw the
same blue light when he was out
at sea sixteen years old a Navy
man. “Ahab” - evil king from the
Bible. “William” - “protection”;
protection of a helmet over some
one’s naked head...your father saved
for becalm-ment wide Sargasso Sea of
plain Midwestern suburb. No room
for giving it all away for taking it
high and low no vows that soothed
the blood was gone - the scale too
small - no one to blame.
A Man’s Hardest Time, by mary winters
was after the divorce though
he was the one who insisted -
reverse chivalry; he was the
one who briefed the kids
(her lunatic with grief).
The man now had to learn to
wash dishes. A photograph
shows him with bubbly hands
in the sink, plaid dish towel
over his shoulder, careful and
serious. He hoists a plate onto
the drying rack; still quite
a lot of black in his hair.
Family grapevine said he woke up
crying in his sleep. One night
he felt his car drive over a
human body - “couldn’t have been
anything else” - on a back road
near home. Police said the man
was dead before he struck -
anyway: it was the night he
“hit rock bottom.”
Menace, by mary winters
Hard-staring divorce, then retirement
- “golden handshake” age sixty -
Northern man got Florida spread in
shadow-free close-clipped
beach community dealt out
around country club; his lazy
two-acre back yard’s sudden stop a
brown-water canal - grass comes
on a truck; held down with
sprinkler system which
rises on schedule to force a few
rainbows - ravish a grandchild -
trees hauled in too, full-grown.
Special cement keeps patio cool;
trained cypress shades visiting
daughter who watches a battle over
the tip of a book - man versus
pampas grass clump: every morning a
showdown with machete and hoe;
red ants at its base who scramble
and run, birds keen overhead;
daily patrol for tiny-size snakes
scouting cool garage floor - they
meet with a shovel; back door, three
locks against gators.
Struggle, by mary winters
Silent battle explodes in
vacation house, great-grandparents’
retirement home: which of
four generations will rule; the
living or the dead prevail.
Night of their memorial service
issue was joined: ghostly
pounding in the attic the
call to arms. The weapon:
re-decorating. Each visiting
descendant returns the cottage to
1960 or ‘70 or ‘80 or ‘90.
Puts up or takes down needlepoint
village scene bought by great
grandmother in Nova Scotia, also
stained drawing of windmill in
Wellfleet. Gets out or else
banishes television set, stereo.
Ships in or carts back
trunkfuls of beach stones and
shells - it can take hours.
Great-grandchild paints
clamshells with sea gulls and
whales - next her aunt
removes all signs of children and
sobs at sibling’s re-wallpapering of
kitchen with stylish chintz
print which hides great-grandparents’
caper jar pattern -
ikebana, by Janet Kuypers
Rolled up sleeves,
Dark denim, strings pulled
At the buttons
Your hands, the
Rough edges, the nails
Jagged, not cut
Your fingers, I’ve
Noticed them: one has
A long scar
Along the tip, and
Your skin is rough
Along the nails
Your hands, they’re
Skilled hands of an
Artist at work:
And like a
Conductor, you
Orchestrate
Bring beauty
From the dying
Flowers at
The table. They
Line up quickly,
At attention:
Fall into
Place so gracefully.
You create
Symphonies,
Move mountains, Seas
Part for you.
You can do
Anything. I
See that now.
You must be
My savior. Let me
Follow you.
Let me create
Beauty in your
Name, let me
Feel your power.
It’s all in your
Hands, your heart,
Your mind:
I’ve seen you stop
Wars, feed the
Hungry. Why are
You so strong? Why
Are your flowers
So beautiful
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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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, butt-munch. Tough guy. This is how to win the editors over.
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.
You Have to be Published to be Appreciated.
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.
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.
ccandd96@scars.tv
Publishers/Designers Of
Sponsors Of
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!
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...
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.
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...
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.
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.
the unreligious, non-family oriented literary and art magazine
Scars Publications and Design
http://scars.tv
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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
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 (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.