FathomOnline

 

 Fathom 1991

Cover

 

Inside Cover

 

Poetry

R.A. Killawee
Gina M. Beaton (2)
Kathlyn Schweyer
M. Littlejohn
Martin Wanless
Thane K. Sherrington (2)
Edward W. N. Meers (2)
Roz
Gwynedd Morgan
Shannon Webb (2)
Anton (3)
John D. Boutilier (2)

Prose

Katie Bowden
Urs Frei
Derrick Higginbotham

[PDF]

Edward W. N. Meers

 

 

Mulroney’s Conviction

A fallen Judas1,
purging from his podium
handcrafted in the U.S.A.,
his aphorism is spoken,
square jawed
and jawing,
in a tone like Caesar,
“Let it...DIE!2
let it fall prey and pray
to my central two-headed beast!3
let it slowly bleed
an abundant sea,
an able economy, rich in gold, to dust!”
The lobster boils red4
as its captor sits, a parasite,
on the matted chamber head of the beast5.
“Punish those who robbed
the water from my swill,6
my pet is slowing from thirst,
make its thief suffer!
make its rugged stones its grave marker;
but deny it a religious death!”
he paries at his youngest7.
However, the time is nearing,
thirst,
and the beasts’ heads are divided8 upon
their common trunk covered in maple coloured,
split ended fur,
and duck in confusion,
away from the native soil9
that now bears resistance
to its taloned print10, retreating
to the safety of the marble floors
of its chambers-proven unmarkable; untrackable.
From here, the souls were taxed11
in hopes of the preservation
of the master’s existence,
as the reddened sands shrank
into the sea12,
Night began to dawn eternal on the coasts
while the heartland was darkened by smog.

1.  Prime Minister Brian Mulroney
2. Atlantic Canada
3. Ontario and Quebec
4. Nova Scotia
5. John Buchanan’s appointment to the Senate
6. The defeat of Meech Lake by Newfoundland’s Premier Clyde Wells
7. Newfoundland
8. The issue of Quebec’s independence
9. The Aboriginal peoples of Canada
10. The Oka incident
11. The Goods & Services Tax (GST)
12. Prince Edward Island, a metaphor for Atlantic Canada

 

“Arid Acedamlcs”

Society is now one polish’d horde,
Form’d of two mighty tribes, the Bores and the Bored.
                                  - Lord Byron

Like Tilhonus stranded in time,
here am I
In the temple of the Bores and Bored
yet, unable to die.
The methane incense
  creeps through the air
as the wilting wax from the wicks
              drips slowly;
I see the flames, though not their glow­-
   My discontent lies in what I know.

 

last updated August 17, 2007 | © 2007 Fathom Publishing
poetry, prose, and artwork © individual authours | website created by Alana Paul