Thanks, Rebecca! I do appreciate your consideration.

Best

Árni



-- 
Árni Ibsen
Stekkjarkinn 19,
220 Hafnarfjördur,
Iceland

tel.: +354-555-3991
e-mail: [log in to unmask]
http://www.centrum.is/~aibsen/





on 12/8/03 10:48 PM, Rebecca Seiferle at [log in to unmask] wrote:

> Hi all,
> 
> and here's a corrected snapshot 30 with Arni's
> "amazingly late snap" now included!
> 
> best to all,
> 
> Rebecca
> 
> 
> 
> Slug and I
> 
> 
> Last night, first hot one since last summer,
> we left the bedroom window open.
> 
> This morning I see across the carpet
> a silver snail-trail. Which way did it go?
> 
> Do I have to hunker down and track it
> under the bed? Forget it. Later I see
> 
> in the wall-corner furthest from the window
> not a snail – a houseless slug, stalled at eye level.
> 
> Having turned tail on the lush back-garden,
> itÂ’s seeking lusher Lebensraum in the front.
> 
> Only our dry roofed boxes, bathroom
> excepted, foil the transition.
> 
> Good going, slug, but totally futureless.
> Excuse me now as I take a tissue,
> 
> delicately detach you from the corner,
> take you to the front door. No garden
> 
> deserves you – your clan here are
> numerous enough already. Penalty, death.
> 
> Creature like me, defenceless. The morning is
> overcast, the execution un-witnessed.
> 
> Powers above, if not blind and deaf,
> grant me stay of execution.
> 
> 
> Max Richards
> North Balwyn, Melbourne
> 8.30am, Wednesday 19 November 2003
> 
> 
> 
> moves inside me
> breathe rattle breathe
> death an embryo
> floating on sky
> your card adds up the call
> thinned to blood reality
> 
> far from the city
> where they cover Oscar
> with kisses hide Gertrude
> behind the stone
> there's a loss of continuity
> this time of the world
> 
> Jill Jones
> 9.45am 19 November 2003
> 
> 
> 
> SUNDAY MORNING ROSE
> 
> (â•?Iâ•?d like to keep going . . . â•? â•„ James Rosenquist)
> 
> Right there . . . all the colors in the universe
> of paint,
> so I never have to roll up canvasses.
> Eye, then if we go across the room, itâ•?s a painting.
> 
> Barry Alpert / Silver Spring, MD USA / 11-16, 11-19 (9:17 AM)
> 
> 
> 
> MY LIFE AS AN EXTENDED X-RAY
> 
> Transparent for years--more now.
> The chiropractor points at my insides,
> turned to the question mark that is
> nothing new to my mind,
> but's moved now to my spine.
> Scoliosis. Disk degeneration.
> Not the first time I've been called
> a degenerate, either.
> But there are upsides:
> if my voice holds out
> perhaps I can sing Rigoletto
> or cast myself in the miniseries
> "The Voyeuristic Passions of Alexander Pope,"
> made when Reagan became too controversial.
> In the meantime I need to buy myself
> The Comfy Chair.
> 
> KTW/11-19-03
> 
> 
> 
> sky coming steel grey
> a single snowflake falling
> beyond the near pane
> 
> elsewhere bombs falling
> into dark morning / amBushed by
> 'violent restraint'...
> 
> Douglas Barbour
> Edmonton  08:10  Wednesday November 19/03
> 
> 
> 
> thinking too much
> but newscycles drive
> thinking 
> just the same--
> each vote cast 
> for Bush/Cheney
> changed
> into a bullet
> for Afghanistan
> each bullet
> also changed
> into $ for
> regional war lords
> each bit of land
> it changed
> to profits for poppy
> growers
> each bit of horse
> changed
> to a nervous
> system
> of fear & frenzy
> and bad nerves
> changed
> to bad news cycles
> and news is
> everyone's
> back in business
> which changed to--
> yes    we    elected
> all of it
> 
> West Irondequoit, New York, 12:19  11/19/03
> Gerald Schwartz
> 
> 
> 
> guilty
> 
> (do I have to feel - am I) guilty
> 
> I am (guilty)
> 
> 
> 
> tired_warm_comfortable_bored
> 
> 
> 
> _because of an aged day - I could have
> 
> said nothing/smiled all the way down
> 
> itâ•?s all set against changes
> 
> 
> 
> you end up discovering
> 
> the same old riddle
> 
> in the middle of your intention
> 
> 
> 
> ironical set of a masquerade
> 
> 
> 
> your guiltiness 
> 
> protects against daily repeated paralyses
> 
> Bozen _ Anny Ballardini_ 11.40 pm
> 
> 
> 
> (Stage directions for snap (in case of formatting disturbances)  poem is
> centered--
> reading can also  at centered "i" or be read down or maybe even from the
> bottom up; bidirectional (although it may sound like my pet "Furby" toy))
> 
> down
> they look
> edge
> of building
> along a line
> 
> display
> interactive
> yet orderly
> decorative
> but in a row
> hanging out
> 
> starlings
> 
> sky
> at a november
> up
> look
> 
> -------------------------------------i-------------------------------------
> 
> look
> again
> through a veil
> of twig
> four perfectly ovals
> identical
> last of season
> drooooplets
> hanging on
> waiting on
> a breeze
> a goodbye
> wave
> 
> ---------------------------
> 
> 
> 
> 
> Deborah in NJ
> 6:37 pm
> Newark
> Deborah L. Humphreys SC
> 
> 
> 
> Hanging on
> her every
> word and
> hearing not
> a one, he thinks
> that none
> of her characteristics
> are secondary.
> 
> Mark
> 
> 
> 
> Food drops and leafleting
> disperse the crowd
> our leader waddles through
> on stumps of prayer.
> 
> Here is a rhetoric-
> al question: by
> what right if not
> of election
> 
> (washed in the stream
> of His love, the white
> skein of water
> slurring with pollution)
> 
> does he stand in his
> whiteness
> to bear such witness
> before the people?
> 
> Dominic Fox, Leicester 19/11/03 / Northampton 20/11/03
> 
> 
> Modemless
> 
> It's gone !
> just a sad space
> a square of dust
> where it was
> with a few
> biscuit crumbs
> a sweet paper
> and some
> cat hairs
> friend said
> you need a
> bigger brain
> or two update
> screen all blank
> keyboard so still
> printer frozen
> all cut off
> from the poets
> just me
> and the cat
> which is trying
> to get out the door
> deserting me
> I suppose
> I could try
> to write
> a poem
> 
> 
> patrick 8-47 raynespark
> on some-one else's computer
> 
> 
> Psy-ops Sonnet
> 
> There is much pain there. Across the vastnesses
> between us, small birds carry messages. The sky,
> wanting, above all, to be blue, arches its back,
> as everlasting fire pours through space.
> 
> Men dying in burning houses wait for their
> women to return, to feed them, bear their children,
> mend their clothes. But even on the best of days,
> in relatively stable orbits, men tremble before
> 
> women only average in appearance. A little too
> much beauty is so hard to bear when souls are torn
> to shreds, an infinity of detergents stretching them
> to some breaking point, memory prospecting and
> 
> mining, leaving deep flooded shafts among heaped
> dishes, appliances, lying in ambush in kitchens.
> 
> 
> Hal
> Halvard Johnson
> 
> 
> SNAPSHOT 30
> 
> 
> defenseless
> my emptiness opens
> as i greet him
> not a shadow
> of doubt when
> he states that "today
> is a good day"
> bemused i enquire why
> he tells me the reason
> "i get to spend a lot
> of time with you" and
> my emptiness closes
> around the moment a transparent
> bubble that i'll carry
> until matted by time
> 
> 
> 
> 
> árni ibsen
> hafnarfjördur
> 11:30 pm
> nov. 19. 03