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an unknown saintBy: Ricky Garni
a letter from a distant saint a velvet rose in her hat she can’t sleep at night and so she takes long walks “they’re not to nowhere” she says nobody stares at her even when it is winter and snowing and she is looking for cloudberries but not too hard touching the snow with goatskin gloves as her lips confess and she sleeps in a big wooden box she always dreamed of being a painter and of wearing perfume chanel, I think she once said frankincense tabac sage cardamom too and other things although she noted almost fainting “when you’re a painter” you can think of other things not like when you’re a writer and a big spot of ink appears on the page as you sit wondering the pen carelessly touching the sheet. you wonder “were those my words that I lost in a pool...?” she says it is that way too with god “never forget” she writes and at night the bees come and find rest on her body
Copyright © 1996 Ricky Garni
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Mamma See?By: Rosemary Wall
Mamma, Mamma,'ook at me! I'm swiding Mama, come and see. MAMMA! I fell down. Oh! Mamma, 'ook, a funny cwown! Can I eat my pudding wike dis? Mamma! My bear needs a kiss. Mamma - see me in the twee? Mamma! Take a picture 'a me! Mom, I can read this book! Here's my scribbler, take a look. Mom, she's my best friend, can she stay all night? She's really nice, Mom. Oh, is it all right? Muth-err! Really! I can't wear that! No one EVER wears a hat! That looks stupid...really gross! Oh! See that guy Mom? He's the most! Mom, we won't be late. Is that a tear, Mom? Oh, wait... Mother, can you come to dinner tonight? Hey Mom! We're pregnant! We think we might... Gramma! Gramma! 'ook at me! I'm swiding Gramma, come and see!
Copyright © 1996 Rosemary Wall
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He's Expecting A Thousand Dollars In The MailBy: Patty Mooney
“Like infinity on top of infinity,” he told me, his buoy light eyes signalling green, go, bright green. “The stars in your face,” he said, “are like angels inside of midnight. You are the most gor-ge-ous, be-ooo-ti-ful woman I have ever seen.” Buoy lights, buoy lights.
Copyright © 1997 Patty Mooney
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A low picket fence frames the cottage and the whitewashed walls glint in the early dawn a curl of smoke runs from the chimney's grasp the rustle of a tiny skirt barely disturbs the morning stillness Bare feet skim the rich brown earth and the dirt between her toes is an old friend Her hair loose in tendrils like two yarn braids dancing in the breath of the dawn Face flushed like a wild rose Daffodils and hyacinth their petals still trembling with fairy teardrops clutched in a tiny hand Breathless, she runs through the door into the warm firelit kitchen with the smell of cinnamon. "For you, mommy!"
Copyright © 1997 Suzanne Butz
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An answered epiphany Don't want me nauseous. That is not into that abyss of who awaits. Faith is the from the bottom- The feeling of redemption i hold- The indigni--worse yet-nonexistent in the wrong god. Truth is true. Believe in is not the one i serve- One on old end tomorrow. "Alone" should be answered me to my soul To trust. Instead only to rationalize Any one account internal revenue auditor Interpret-that I could never, An opinupreme being Means not if i had one paranoia- In eternity, rough supreme judgment because of the opposition no judgment in love be found in judgment epiphany.
Copyright © 1997 Kevin Crone, Texas, USA
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Into the Memories of a FriendBy: David Ross
As my tears fall to the Earth My tears will be absorbed by the Earth As my heart sinks with the sun It will be dark without the sun As shattered hopes dissolve into the past So will the catalyst that caused a dream In a while there will be a sunrise Un-noticed by my blinded eyes People will be unaware of my soul When usually they can hold it and be proud The pain I bear is small And yet I cannot help but fall Into the memories of a friend I beg you God for a better end I just simply beg and pray For a gentler moment of the day.
Copyright © 1997 David Ross
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RageBy: Grady Michael Rawls
Alone in the shadows again...
I stood at the height of existence
and viewed the sky's of eras long past.
I have contemplated the meaningless forces
that call to me and my own.
I have stood in the light of love and peace,
only to recall the nights.
Nights in the dark imposing powers of evil and shadows,
I was home.
Life was meaningless,
life was empty,
lives were unfulfilled.
Death was my life,
and my life was dead.
Time stole the peace and life
that became meaningful in the darkest sense.
Many feel the light is the home of all good,
but I know better.
The light casts the shadows that I live in.
Light is the well from which I sprung.
The dark cannot last while light is present,
yet would be nothing without it.
The light is cruel and oppressive,
conforming all in its dark webs.
I can smell the sweat of thousands,
mixed with the stench of the dead.
The shadows call all to her,
only the strongest can respond,
and go to her.
We walk half in the goodness of light
and the evils of darkness.
Shades of gray hide us from the eyes of the foolish,
and senses of darkness.
The bitter smells of blood
and the strange smell of flowers combine inside me.
The darkness is the ever present pit in the night
It swallows life after life in its insane search
for the gift of eternal blessings.
The people of the shadows
look into its ever present maw every day.
How many people will fall into its eternal lust,
never to come home.
I have seen and I have fought this
from the beginning of time.
I see the lives fall,
I see the night come.
I see the phoenix rising from the ashes
now the end has come,
When will you rage?
Copyright © 1997 Grady Michael Rawls
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Personal Poetry Page Link: Grady's Poetry Page
Other PlansBy: L.M. Cunningham
I hit the headboard and fortune Tumbled spilled through the cracks caught on the mattress putting it back together well, that wouldn't be any easier than selling those Donna Summer CDs late at night though I shook my ass and took a bow For some reason I can't sell Disco and I can't sell Fate
Copyright © 1997 L.M. Cunningham
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Personal Poetry Page Link: L.M. Cunningham's Home Page
SilenceBy: Jessica O'connor
In the silence of the morning, A hundred dead souls linger from the past, Floating through the foggy streets. Searching for meaning in the afterlife; Finding it deep inside the heart of this town.
Copyright © 1997 Jessica O'Connor
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JoyBy: Emily Miller
It came without notice like a summer rain a tingling deep in my soul then breathing deep, like I've never known air before A glorious wonder, nearly perfection dancing in a circle then,on a mountain,triumph a game of basketball one-on one with myself alone in a summer rain falling on my face tears of joy
Copyright © 1997 Emily Miller
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DaemonsBy: Arn Bullock
Our daemons, Where do they lie hidden, To leap upon us? Are these daemons Exterior to self, Stealthily stalking paths That parallel and intersect our lives? No! Daemons exist within. Each individual has their own Perceptions of reality, Reality viewed through prisms of Past experience and values. To know your daemons, One must pursue the quarry down Synaptic corridors, Through the labyrinth of subconscious To their dank dens. Diligently search and you will Unearth them in each their cave Kneeling reverently before Holy Cross, Standing lonely when hand of love beckons, Sitting timidly before flashing neon - RISK, Turning angrily from self's mirrored image, Trembling fearfully before the censure of others, Seeking crowds to abolish solitude. Can you flee to Distant shores, Line of white crystal, Bottom of bottle, Surfeit of sex? Flight spawns its own daemon- Knowledge of flight. A vision of daemon pursued By other daemons still within. Only one flight absolute- Firing neurons terminated Through closure of death. Better to face Your daemons, To know them. Track them to their lairs, Shed the darkness that surrounds With purposeful focus of intellect, Search of soul and spirit, Evocation of salient emotions, Delvination into distant past, Conversations with self and others, Reading to comprehend The universality of your daemons. Illuminate and understand, So when your daemons Dare to skulk from subconscious Into present of conscious self, You may confront and battle Knowing their form and substance. As they sidle forth Make combat. Lock eyes with Opaque yellow orbs, Taste fetid breath, Grasp slime of scale, Avoid slashing teeth And ripping talons, Accept flickering tongue on face Dripping acid of destruction, Take daemon by swishing tail And force it into beckoning Daemonic mouth. Vertebrae by vertebrae Push it down into writhing form Until daemon has devoured foul self, Reduced to size that you may chase him Back to his lair. Free of this daemon You are strong in self, Ready to confront the next Which will inevitably come forth.
Copyright © 1996 Arn Bullock, Lindsay, Ontario
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Chocolate NightmareBy: Priscilla Bromfield
Often I have a dream in which I am caught in a spiral and whirl into an abyss of deep, dark, warm and heavenly chocolate. Soon my veins feel the flow of its velvet touch enriching my blood with cocoa-scented deliciousness. Not able to breathe, not able to scream, I blindly battle the furious beast with teeth, hands and tongue. Then my mind is consumed with sugarcoated images of the creamy delight sprinkled with nuts and raisins and freshly ripened cherries! And, finally, I awaken transformed into a chocolate human being-- a simply sweet thing-- that wishes merely to be eaten with guilt.
Copyright © 1997 Priscilla Bromfield
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Shallow HandsBy: David RossI held my hopes with shallow hands. An hourglass of friends without the sands. I scream a shattering reeking cry. That won't be heard until I die.
Copyright © 1997 David Ross, Tasmania, Australia
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HeroineBy: Jessica O'Connor
My hands are like ice,
My eyes like fire.
Burning holes through your brain
Freezing your body.
When your you're with me,
You have no thoughts,
Just a paralyzed body.
You love me more
Than you could ever show.
You can feel me
Pumping through your veins.
You give up everything for me.
The feeling I give you.
You would die for me.
Someday you will.
I give you all that you want.
You don't have to thank me,
Your money does that for you.
Your friends don't like me,
But who cares about them.
It was your decision to embrace me
No one gets out of here alive.
Copyright © 1997 Jessica O'Conner
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AloneBy: Laura Ann Essenmacher
Sitting in a cold room
Surrounded by steel and bone,
Feeling feelings of inhumanity.
What has become of us?
War. Destruction. Fear.
Our fathers preach Peace.
But their cries fall on deaf ears.
So eager for our own concerns -
Blind to our peers.
I spit on the ground you walk on.
Not because I hate you,
But because I hate what you stand for.
Your hatred of society.
Your disgust with your fellow man.
Your feelings that man will never change,
And the hatred of your own fears.
All this I said to my shadow,
And I think he laughed at me.
Copyright © 1996 Laura Ann Essenmacher
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The Childrens' ReposeBy: Alisha Freeman
I watch the children playing at the park
A certain thing each one's int'rest does spark:
Dylan likes to swing as long as you will
Give him a push--he never gets his fill
Shaun's thrill is to climb up the highest slide
The she comes down fast, beaming and wide eyed
But here is the child after my own heart
Making mud pies is her specialty art
There's something about the gladness they share
That in the world today is all too rare.
Their laughter is pure, unrestrained delight
For indulgences they are not contrite
Each moment they glean, not one do they miss
Their eyes are not tainted with prejudice
"Learn from the children," I tell myself
In them I find mem'ries stored on a shelf
How I used to love to spend afternoons
With some old pie pans and discarded spoons
And a pail of water scooped from the creek
Then off to my secret spot I would sneak
'Twas a sandy spot where the stream ran slow
No one else of that special place did know
There was a hollowed-out stump on the bank
In which I roosted and played "walk the plank"
Then, after some hours of such pirating
Into the harbor, my ship I would bring
And count up the treasures I had amassed
The worth of those findings was unsurpassed:
Precious gems too numerous to mention
(Rocks of every shape and dimension)
Elegant furs and exquisite hats too
(All woven from ferns and leaves of bamboo)
Once I finished assessing my booty
I set to accomplish my next duty
Which was to feed my hungry-pirate self
There was simply no time to sit and pelf
I carefully mixed the ingredients
My hunger could not take precedence
Just the right amounts of water and sand
Not too spicy or excessively bland
Now I don't mean to brag, but you'd agree
The best pies west of the Mississippi
Were mud pies I made many a midday
They were an imagination's gourmet
This one was lemon and that one French silk
And to top them off was fresh, creamy milk
Each had precisely the flavor it should
And tasted as scrumptious as pastries could
No one could tell me not to have a slice
Until I had eaten my beans and rice
As I ate my imaginary treat
I mused with what prospects life is replete
And how fortunate I was to be there
Smelling the fragrance of the wooded air
With Solitude, my dearest companion
Now I don't see him nearly as often
I might have been an actress on the stage
But what we'll become no one can presage
I would have liked to travel the world o'er
And sail far away to some distant shore
Instead, I became a dutiful wife
Thus I shall be for the rest of my life
And for my children on cool afternoons
I'll bake pies with old pans and timeworn spoons
Copyright © 1997 Alisha Freeman
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Personal Poetry Page Link: Alisha's Auberg
Could I Live Forever Please?By: Sara Gooding
A timeless past
a future so vast,
Where will I go,
Who will I be,
What will I be finding?
So much to do,
But I have a while,
I'll do it with pride,
I'll put on my smile.
If I become old or sickly too fast
Will I forget this timeless past?
I wish to stay young and healthy forever,
To travel and greet is what I endeavor.
So I'll be on my way,
If I have little time,
I'll swallow my fear,
and put on my smile,
and hope to live forever.
Copyright © 1997
Sara Gooding, Canada
Looking into the night
that used to tempt me
the sleep that used
to call me
the blindness, that used to
has faded now to
has made me even
has given me the truth...
that all bad things
Copyright © 1995 Vicel
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