October 7-13, 2002: Gary Shiebler and Aldo Ceja

week of October 7-13, 2002



Gary Shiebler and Aldo Ceja


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Gary Shiebler
garys@aabol.com

Bio (auto)

Gary Shiebler is author of “A Search for the Perfect Dog”, a memoir that chronicles his experiences working as a humane educator at the Helen Woodward Animal Center in Southern California His next book, “A Search for the Perfect Cat” will be published in the Spring of 2003
Gary currently lives in Fallbrook, California with his wife, Linda, sixteen year old daughter, Hayden, their two dogs, Howdy and Cielo, two felines, Rainbow and Mitty and a lone parakeet, Jimmy Eat Bird.

The following work is Copyright © 2002, and owned by Gary Shiebler Buckley and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.

Good With Children

We came to get our black lab
a companion
and the familiar whoosh
of the twin sliver kennel doors
ignited the bewildered mob
and the snapping barks
and desperate howls
grew into a frightful roar “I can’t take this,” you mumbled
as I plunged my hands
deep inside my trousers
in preparation for our somber inspection
Pools of mustardy excrement
fresh with paw marks
blotted the concrete floors
and yellowed plastic placards
boasting claims of sweetness and shots
dangled from metal bars Some were weary
curled up into tight pincushions
in the corners of their cells
others yelped and paced
offering only the barest of glances We stopped for a moment at kennel 6
“female shep/collie mix found wandering
in the Pine Barrens .”
nameless
homeless
helpless You said, “Let’s take her” and I agreed
and we plotted our escape
back to the lobby
past the glarers of teeth
spinning themselves to sleep
spinning themselves to sleep.

Stoves, Trucks, Poets

It’s Sunday morning
and the iron handle is cool for now I unlock my sooty vault
to see a moonscape of ashes
hoping that a few orange embers
have survived the night burn
and are glowing eagerly beneath
the layer of feathery, gray meringue above
I sit cross-legged before this hungry mouth
that will soon feed me with warmth
and I begin to wonder
if I should grow a beard this winter They might take me a little more seriously
down at the hardware store
where they talk of pickups and stoves
never poetry
I carefully arrange a fresh bouquet
of kindling and paper
crisscrossing fingerlings of apple and oak
above knotted bows of newspaper
lighting the thinnest corner
of possibly the sport’s section The eager flames spread inward and upward
and the kindling snaps as it did
cracking across my thigh just moments before The knees of my pajamas
soak up the first pulses of heat
and I toss in logs, deliciously split
close the doors
sit back on my hands and wait
until the first metallic ticks start to beat
in the heart of my home.

Winter in Cape May

Somebody
turned off the traffic lights
in this small seaside town Like abandoned birdhouses
they signal nothing to the December winds
speeding through the crosswalks
where we stood in shorts and sandals
just yesterday.


Aldo Ceja
dimensiascent@hotmail.com

Bio (auto)

My name is Aldo Ceja and I live in Pharr,TX I was born in 1985 and I’ve been writing for the past six years now Enjoy Visit Aldo in the web here: http://www.livejournal.com/users/schadenfroh

The following work is Copyright © 2002, and owned by Aldo Ceja and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.

untitled

If time came as passive as
Note paper things
Scribbles of those and this
Flapping wings of the spring moths
Frail trickle of moisture collapsing into geysers
Thumps against the glass
Calm whispers of midnight serenity
Funny, it screams so loud of you
Loops of neverending video game visuals
Somehow they grow on our sides
Conjoined pleasures of pain
These broken machines
This makeshift heart stretcher rolling into
Paper planes in cloud imagination shapes
Curled wallpapers smelling of laughter
Heavy aromas of desertedness and yesterdays
Corkscrew sanity driven out of the highway reality
Reasons cannot be left to mate
Rats biting us unconscious
Reaching as the last gasp of breath expells into the smear of space
Riding coach all the way up
Never realizing first class was straight ahead
Sinking atop this ocean of psychotropics
Packets of ketchup stuffed into pockets of sense
Tell those that step
To be careful
Who will this brave worrier face?
Frights in armour dropping their heads
Awkward zealots of tiara nightmares
El Cu Cuy strangling the tooth fairy
Soul callous substitute chewing gum
Far away
Away
A way to evade and invade
Half a cup of coffee never seemed to
Bother your cherry lips
Dizzies everytime she stretches
If only you had a one-touch defrost
Melt away that void in you
Push it I would
Time folded it’s arms
Turned it’s face away from us all
Tears from noon engulfed the pegs of eternity
Red seconds scattered
Celestial moments all around
Yelp for me, cheesecake
Spinning flashes of phermone cacti
At last it can feel
Blind men remember
Visualize the visions of crosshairs
How much would he pay for that little miracle?
Cradling your mystic face
Rubbing those imperfections from your eyes