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RICHARD VALLANCE About Richard Vallance Born in Guelph, Ontario, Canada, March 11th., 1945, Richard is a member of AuthorsDen, under his family name, Richard Vallance Janke.  A graduate of Wilfred Laurier University (1968) and The University of Western Ontario (MLS), he is fluently bilingual in English and French, and reads Spanish and Italian, ancient Greek and Latin well.  He wrote his first poems at the ages of 17 and 18, in 1962-63.  For years, Richard wrote mainly in the field of Library and Information Science. At Chicago, in October, 1983, he won the $1,000 Data Courier Award for Excellence in Online Published Papers for an article in Online, Vol. 7, no. 5. Poetry: While he wrote some 200 poems before the age of 47, since then Richard has composed over 1,500 poems. His first published poem was, “Lasts the First Light”, in Arts and Literature Review (Canada, 1972). In 1998, he published his first full book of poetry, A Quilt of Sonnets: Forty Four Familiar Poems, Ottawa: Providence Road Press, © 1998. 56 pp. ISBN 1-896243-07-x. In February, 2001, Richard founded his first poetry discussion group, Describe Adonis, for sonneteers. We have since grown to 10 poetry, art and digital photography groups, which you may find at our discussion forum: la nouvelle Pléiade = The New Pleiades ©. Richard's poetry page is Poesie’s laissez-faire Faire Foire, a clearing-house for poets from nations like Canada, the United States, the United Kingdom, Ireland, France and the Netherlands. PLFFF features sonnets and contemporary poems, updated quarterly, a links page to sites of other poets, and grants the monthly Prix laissez-faire Faire Foire Award . PLFFF is a member of Phenomenal Men of The Web: Arts & Humanities . Richard is the Editor of 2 Canadian poetry E-Zines.  These are advertised monthly at the end of The Vallance Review in Poetry Life and Times.  In the Winter of 2003, a third E-Zine, Kawasaki Zen Haiku, will be a showcase for haikuists. Since September, 2001, Richard has been the poetry reviewer for Poetry Life and Times, which features the monthly Vallance Review. He is also regular contributor to the same E-Zine.  Richard is also often featured with the U.S. Amerindian E-Zine, Autumn Leaves. CD-ROM Books: 1. The New Millennium Dawn Anthology (Kedco Press): 10 of Richard's poems were included in Millennium Dawn: an Anthology of Award Winning Fantasy Stories, Poetry, Novels etc.,  Kedco Studios Press, Las Vegas, NV, © 2002  ISBN 1-878431-38-2. 2. Richard’s latest CD-ROM book, Canadian Spirit Voices, © 2003, ISBN: 1-878431-44-7, is in its final pre-publication stages, and will be published by Kedco in the Spring of 2003.  You may view a summary of the book here:  Pre-publication Notice. To contact the author, please e-mail: Richard Vallance (Yahoo) (for inquiries on our poetry discussion groups) – OR –  Richard Vallance (Activator Mail) for poetry-related inquiries or submissions to our Canadian E-Zines).

HESIOD AND THE MUSE © Richard Vallance, 1998 and 2003 Gustave Moreau, 1858 As Hesiod dreams an Oracle’s dreams, The Muse of Delphos — where? — alights On silent wings whose music seems One vesper he in Greek recites. On his young brow Athena weaves Her Owl-eyed Vision’s moonlit spell She casts on him in olive leaves Before he knows why tears will well From her sheer Wisdom’s Might, as he Must come in her that bard to be The staff that bears her Crest, the fruit Of Eros. And his newborn lute Sings, in naked grace, Words of Love, born of Reason, Hers from above. Originally published in: Vallance, Richard. A Quilt of Sonnets: Forty Four Familiar Poems. Ottawa: Providence Road Press, © 1998. Sonnet X. pg. 10 of 56 pp. ISBN 1-896243-X [Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data] THE RUNIC TRACINGS © Richard Vallance, 1998 and 2003 Those Runic tracings in the walls entomb the futures Fate forestalls, and who may know where they conspire to snuff the Muslim out in Fire? If cobwebbed Christian icons tell of Templared prayers face to face with Mullah’s cries they’d sworn to quell, will David’s Star their Cross displace? Though, Knights, you’d forced your Way by sword on Jerusalem, her Runes revealed you not your Christ’s reward. Each War has left each Triune lame! Allah, Yahweh, Christ, all the same, Still ask, “Who asks who is to blame?” Revised, March 17th., 2003 Originally published in: Vallance, Richard. A Quilt of Sonnets: Forty Four Familiar Poems. Ottawa: Providence Road Press, © 1998. Sonnet XVII, pg 17 of 56 pp. ISBN 1-89624307-X [Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data] THE HARVEST DAYS OF SUMMER © Richard Vallance, 1997 & 2002 Tetrameter The harvest days of summer brimmed our barn with their silver blessing. Where they were, the memory's dimmed, though the farmhouse beckons, pressing panes oil lamps glimmer in as Fall’s descending, here and there, forlorn, whose canopies of russet tears let leaves leave branches dusk don’t mourn. She’s leaning on her kitchen’s bay for sounds that spell “Remembrance Day” as they appear or disappear in gusts that sound out her watch drear. Some chickadee lilts, frail of voice; reminds her of her husband’s choice. Published in new e-book: Vallance, Richard: Canadian Spirit Voices (Sub-section: Psalms of Compassion) USA: Kedco Studios Artist Profile Press, © 2003 ISBN 1-878431-44-7 CANADIAN SPIRIT VOICES © Richard Vallance, 1998 On Spirit Lake our voices flew across wild coves where forests grew, tossing the fragrance of the sun over pines where old spirits run. Where spirits ran, they run today, ancestors' voices through blue spruce, where paddlers camp but cannot stay where eagles eye rummaging moose, where wolves and bears are born again only to see their spring cubs slain, where we long camped, but who stormed in to kill the last of our last kin? Can you imagine whose surprise when Ghosts * see nothing in our eyes? * an aboriginal word of the Anishinabe, “the people”, for the White Man. Published in new e-book: Vallance, Richard: Canadian Spirit Voices (Sub-section: Sunlit Portages) USA: Kedco Studios Artist Profile Press, © 2003 ISBN 1-878431-44-7

Jan Sand in New York JAN SAND, poet and illustrator from New York, is a regular contributor to Poetry Life & Times and the newsgroup alt.arts.poetry.comments. A great deal of his work is about animals, or science fiction. Recently Jan was published by Kedco Studios Artist Profile Press, on their latest CD ROM e-book, "A Way With Words (Poetry Real and Surreal), which also includes complete books by Dale Houstman, Sara L. Russell and Keith Gabriel Hendricks. Jan's illustrated book on the CD is called "Wild Figments And Odd Conjectures", which is also sold separately, in a limited-edition "single" CD. To see an illustrated article about Jan's poems, visit the November '98 issue of Poetry Life & Times, and scroll down past the Editor's Letter. He also has his own poetry pages on Charlotte's Web at Artvilla.

LETTER FROM THE WARMER REGIONS © Jan Sand This guy in the other pit. He’s got a better demon than me. His can taunt with a sharper wit. Mine’s mind is weak, I must admit. Frank, over there, gets the common stuff. Acid drip, disemboweling, a bit of frying. You’d think these things were too rough, But demons do their best by trying. Sometimes my guy makes things fall off. An ear, my nose, a nipple or a toe. I’ve lost one lung - which makes me cough. And other things. That’s how things go. But this process is a losing game. (Pardon the pun) I’ve had to grow them back. My demon’s required to make me blind or lame. His torturing suffered for the lack. The first millennium can be a trial. But you can accommodate to anything. The red hot knives, freezing cold, drowning Can, at first, evoke screams, make you sing. But, after a century or so, brings only frowning. My demon and I, between torture sessions, Now entertain ourselves by playing chess. Neither he nor I retain any aggressions And he dislikes cleaning up the mess. PICASSO © Jan Sand Picasso, when seen At paintings, between, Was requested about his vocation. The question was asked For reasons unmasked To discover his base motivation. “I make, I am told”, He said, voice quite bold, “A series that never ceases Of many objets In various ways. Accepted the sum, masterpieces.” “All that I do In periods blue Or monuments sharp and cubic Get admired by all On the floor or the wall Whether subjects are bland or pubic.” “I never distress That I might make a mess,” He said in a voice deep and basso. “I’m a genius well known, No faults to be shown As long as I sign it Picasso” WAR © Jan Sand A cheese roll and a coffee cup To accompany the morning chatter of the radio Nattering of menaces out of Iraq, Dull appraisals with Chicken Little qualities Submissive to the coercive governmental claque. Propaganda channeled through diverse media, But, at end, persuaded by convergence to attack. No attempt to disguise the latent fear Solidified by vivid transmissions of the event, The Hollywood catastrophe of collapsing towers Which lived grotesquely both in fantasy and fact Revealing the cavern where the nightmare cowers That its chill tentacles strew across the morning floor To re-enforce hysteria from governmental powers. There is no question that the threats are real. But there is the sense that it is being used. A tool to shake the ordinary quality of living. Outright violation of firm civil regulation. Violence from laws over-unforgiving. There seems to be a plan in this assault on liberty Generating counter hysterias , thoughts misgiving. Aside from this war crisis that turns the nation jittery, Other surreptitious governmental legislation Wearing sheepskins of civilian stewardship Are slyly slipped into a wary system Judicial nominations engineered to tip Legalities into abysses of unctuous hypocrisy Punishing the poor, the sick, the deprived with legal whip. Foundations are shifting. The epicenter at New York Has spread its fissures across the continent. No ground is secure. Rigidities begin to crumble. Official nonsense corrodes good humane sense. Outraged appeals are stifled down to a mumble. This is glory hour for mindless vengeful hate. No room for reason. It’s flagellation time for the humble. Our callous idiotics are mounting for the thrust For the destructive contest of stupidities out there. Soon will bloody body fragments play at circus. Internal organ parts will somersault in crimson sprays. Heads and hands and toes will vaporize, a hocus pocus Of the military, indiscriminate in distributed democracy. A gift of raging explosions in conflict’s insane locus. And for what cause? Will this horrid exhibition Be the surgery to cure the total cancer That has metastasized to penetrate out to the tips Of every energy that engines our power, Or is it frustrated fury that screams and grips The species in a spastic termination The leave the landscape scattered with silent lips? PUZZLE © Jan Sand As a kid I wondered About his and that and why, The grown-ups all seemed knowing. I thought “By and by All things would clarify.” The world seemed fairly ordered Though grown-ups were disturbed By money lacks and loving lacks. Feelings were nicely curbed. It needed time, I’d thought. When I’d have had my days Of watching and of seeing, I would learn the ways To understand the lay of land. The world would no more faze. Well, I’ve had my days of looking To estimate the sense Of how the world is cooking, What’s unhooked, or hooking, The problems seem immense. And still, To me, I must say, Nothing makes much sense.