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Editorial – The Unimagined Corollaries of Beauty

The real creation was done by our contributors, who wrote and thought and painted and photographed and sculpted and played and composed. There’s so much talent out there, such incredible minds, legions of people doing wonderful things, even if conditions seem sometimes unpropitious.

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Anne Cecile Surga – Five Sculptures

Beauty is an aura, a sensation that speaks directly to the soul. One does not experience a beautiful object, but the feeling of beauty. Experiencing beauty is being exalted by the perfection of the moment, and that perfection is created by the reaction of our senses and soul toward the artwork.

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Wendy Elizabeth Ingersoll – Three Poems

For the last 60 years I’ve been practicing the piano almost daily. I will never be a concert pianist, I no longer even accompany in church or community theatre. I simply sit down on the bench and begin again. What I’m really doing is practicing beauty: its creation, its presentation— in my own ears, if not in the rest of the world’s.

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Angela Amman – The Opposite of Vows

Caught at exactly the right moment between dawn and sunrise, the sky greets me in layers of sherbet shades — pinks and oranges that steal my breath as surely as they chase away the darkness. Beauty seeps from that moment, offering itself to anyone who takes the time to see it.

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David Southward – Three Poems

Beauty is a full moon over Lake Michigan, shrouded in smoky, backlit clouds and illuminating the rippled path of a sailboat. You can’t look away. It’s both exquisite and excruciating—causing the face to wince in the same way it would to express pain. And that’s what beauty is: pained gratitude for what can be endlessly contemplated yet never possessed. Even as it inflames our acquisitive, collector’s instincts, the beautiful eludes our grasp.

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Diane Elayne Dees – Two Poems

We have many more than the five senses we were taught about in school, and when these senses respond to beauty, a complex neuron dance is cued in our bodies. For me, beauty exists everywhere, and I feel the rhythm of that dance throughout each day, regardless of my mental or emotional state. I have to experience beauty to survive.

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G. Timothy Gordon – Four Poems

Ideal Beauty is clearly unattainable in this mortal life, like King Tantalus reaching for the ever-receding fruits of Hades or beautiful Narcissus falling in love with and dying into his watery reflection at the expense of The Other in life. Epochal beauty is forever ephemeral, forever changing.

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Heather M Browne – Three Poems

I am drawn to what is creative or unseen, versus the typical standard, a different way of seeing, or saying, or moving, a different way of touching someone or exciting them. Beauty is the ability to see beyond. It is in wanting to look below to the pulse. Beauty is the struggle to contemplate the heart.

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KJ Hannah Greenberg – Five Photographs

More exactingly, in visual representations, notions of beauty emerge as much as from schooled and traditional foci as they do from private experience. Some artists replicate the lines, shapes, shading, and tones of classic or of Renaissance fare. Others fashion the optical equivalent of punk, reggae, or house music.

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Deborah L. Davitt – Three Poems

there are different kinds of beauty. A mountain range takes my breath away, as does a sea at storm. But there is also something sublime in a mother who’s fallen asleep holding her sick child–the pain of her experience, her fear of what could happen to her child, the child’s fear transmuted into rest by its trust in its mother–that’s something beyond the prosaic and the everyday. You simply have to be willing to see it, rather than to close your eyes to the possibility of wonder.

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Kathleen McClung – Four Poems

my partner and I drove past a long, long freight train standing still. Even now its beauty enlarges and humbles me: the winter sunlight, the multicolored graffiti entwined on every single car, the absence/presence of people–who drove that train? who adorned it?–and the stillness–where had it traveled already?

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Kyle Hemmings – Five Photographs

I became entranced and immobile, immersed in my sense impressions of the outer world invading the inner. It was much later that I began to love words and the way they could combine to form poems or stories. But for me, the image, and the other physical impressions of an object, the scent of a flower, the feel of a dog’s fur,

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Devon Balwit – Four Poems

The natural world serves as my most consistent doorway to it–whether through a mackerel sky at sunset, the geometry of garden flowers, striations in stones, the hover of raptors, the myriad shapes of insects, the wind swirling grass, or light playing on water. I’m awed by fractals and iridescence.

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Katherine Hoerth – Five Poems

For me, beauty is looking out my window and finding the harmony of the world. It’s staring into my love’s eyes as my mind floods with memories of our past, our dreams of the future. It’s gazing into the mirror at my own face and finding joy. We have to explore, redefine, and reclaim beauty for ourselves.

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Anna Keeler – What She Wanted

We all, in some way, suffer in relation to beauty: in spite of, alongside, because of, or for its sake. If I had to call beauty one thing, I would call it an aesthetic; a lenient appreciation that is malleable in each creator’s hands, because what’s graceful to some is pure jive to others.

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Carol Smallwood – Two Poems

Carol Smallwood – Two Poems   What Does it Mean? “It is what it is” a clerk replied to my comment how busy she was last week.Has it any meaning—could it be profound wisdom—or just another cliché?There’s something about the saying that’s mysterious, illusive, unique—is it a passing figure of speech soon dated, already has had its heyday? Has it any meaning—could it be profound wisdom—or just another cliché?Maybe what it means depends on a shrug, raised eyebrow, tone, or frown.Is it a passing figure of speech soon dated, already has had its heyday?Most likely my curiosity about the...

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Silva Merjanian – Rain Had No Scent in Geneva in November

I am hoping this poem will raise awareness to the emotional state of ‘newcomers’ and make a ripple in tolerance and kindness. I moved from Beirut to Geneva during the Lebanese civil war. Leaving everything and everyone you know and love behind takes some adjustment. There is a sense of being pulled from your roots.

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Bill Yarrow – Three Poems

That’s basically what Herrick was saying in his “Delight in Disorder” in which “a sweet disorder” or a “wild civility” is preferable to art which is not “too precise in every part.” In other words, “Your goodness must have some edge to it—else it is none” (Emerson).

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Ting Wang – Six Photographs

When I was little, my dad had our walls decorated with calligraphy scrolls featuring ancient Chinese poetry. He and my mom grew different-colored chrysanthemum in dozens of pots in our courtyard. On some crisp summer mornings, he would gather me and my sisters in front of our water lily pond he built and take photos of us. Beauty then was the elegance and serenity that were surrounding me and my family.

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Sayuri Yamada – My Pregnancy

Dear Mr Sinclair Randal, I would like to thank you for your enquiry about the embryo. He hatched two days ago and is already six centimetres long. Because there is no longer egg shell around him, there is no longer egg shell between him and me in my uterus, so he is able to learn better from the outside world.

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Patricia Worth – The Enchanted Ring

Three handsome, rich young princes, one named Felibien, another, Roland, and the third, Aymeril, were travelling on horseback through all the countries of the world, followed by a multitude of servants and wagons loaded with their baggage. A chance meeting at an inn had made them friends, and they set off together. Why were they travelling?

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Katherine E. Young – Five Poems about Moscow

For some, the city’s beauty lies in its geography, in its rivers and hills; for others, it is the monasteries, palaces, and bell towers. For me, it lies in the shades of people, real and imagined, who stroll around Patriarch’s Pond in June, when the nights are clear and cool, and puffs of pukh (cottonwood seed) float out across the water.

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Melissa Goode – Here We Are

(Beauty) is the photo showing the statue of Nike “Winged Victory of Samothrace” leaving the Louvre at night, two days after World War II was declared. (…) She is without a head or arms, but she is winged. She is wrapped in sack cloth and ropes and stands in a crate. She is eight foot tall. Her wings are unprotected.

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Sarah Sadie – Four Poems

I am convinced we cannot live without beauty. We may exist, or survive, but we will not live. And it is entirely possible that beauty may be dependent upon us as well. A tree may exist in the forest without humans there to see it, but it will not be beautiful if its beauty is not perceived.

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