Issue V signals a remarkable year since Tryst has been a presence on the internet.  The Anniversary Issue is a double issue packed with over thirty-eight contributors.  Add to that number a growing list of readers which reached an all-time high at 1,019 visitors to the site in the month of May alone and I can only surmise that "someone" is reading these issues besides my contributors.  As an editor I try to remain in the background as much possible and let the work unfold, speak for itself.  Besides nobody wants to hear a speech and what the editor has to say - I certainly don't. But, it seemed a befitting occasion to say a few things on the behalf of my contributors: Tryst simply could not have existed without its contributors.  Contributors whose work, journeys, dreams and visions were entrusted to Tryst's care.  Loyalty and trust are some credos I do not ever take lightly or for granted.  My gratitude to my contributors knows no bounds.  Thank you for reading our journals.  Enjoy--Tryst Editor


The above photo image, "Blush" is by Helyn Davenport who has been my feature artist in two previous issues.  Issue V marks the end of a three-part feature series on Helyn.  


A new section, "News & Reviews" has been added to Tryst.  Guidelines and Links Pages have been updated.  Please be sure to read over the guidelines page even if you're a past contributor.


What are the defining moments of happiness as cause for celebration?  I suspect most people would recall a wedding, birth of a child, bar mitzvahs, quinceañeras, holidays, vacations, birthdays, job promotions.  For artists, I would think book releases, published poems, art exhibitions, a growing portfolio, accolades would be cause for much fanfare and celebration.  But memories that are date-driven give rise to the question, "shall we wait until that time is at hand to celebrate, to mark the occasion?" and I think that involves too much waiting and planning.  Is there a blueprint for happiness?  Could it be that any given moment in which we are most present, aware of ourselves in relation to the world is a defining moment of happiness; even if we're thrown into a catastrophe, war, and the next day is not assured, when we're most aware of how fragile and valuable life is?  But then, is it necessary to wait for a tragedy to strike before we become aware of our own mortality?  

This Anniversary Issue was a cause for celebration not just for the occasion but for life's exact moments captured on film - on paper - on canvas.  Whether that moment is as T. Birch expressed it in "Leap":

for what we all feel when it happens -
our movement toward something

unknown; and delicious

and its consequence

spectacular in its excess 

Or, as Charnley expressed it in Tom Sheehan's, "Charnley and Leonard the Blind Man":

Everything is love, Leonard, or no love. Everything. You don’t need a girlfriend to have love. I don’t have a girlfriend. My wife’s been dead two-three years now. I love this poem. You made me see what it’s like, this poem. I just want to know what it does for you. If it does anything. I am never sure of things like this, such argument or reasoning. You sew a seed, take care of its bed with tender care, it grows. If it doesn’t, better find out why.

Or, the "duende" of Jim McCurry's, "Concierto de Aranjuez":

I love my friends, the women I have loved and lost, the departed elderly ones, all the old ones that I recall from the early Forties on, yes, and the gone students, and the dead animals, too, all of them, both ‘road kill’ and pets. And I fondly imagine, at times, that I am loved--have been loved-- by them, in return. 

Or, here in the steady beat of Coleen Shin's, "Born Again":

We are here, there, now, before-
rehearsing our parts on an airless stage.
Faith, laid on the palms of atheists.
Hope, within pain's fisted crush.
Birth, into a personal second coming
or the dreams of other's, we are unborn.

And there in Lisa Zaran's, "There I was":

It was the kind of night
Where the stars come out
Swinging. Suddenly thousands,
Hundreds of thousands, each
One like a memory, sky full
Of old scars.

Or, Carolyn Adams', "Death of a Rose"; and, Helyn Davenport's "Dance of Trees"; David Winston's, "Father & Sons"; 

...I thought of all those immeasurable instances where one could bask in the greater sphere of existence by defining happiness as individual and unique as John Carton's

Sit with me awhile longer
and help me name 
these gathering crows.

And I wanted to shout, "Come, celebrate with us! Share in this moment enough, take the journey and let your own joys be realized."--Mia

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