Teagans Poetry Anthology
The poetry of his friends
IntroductionOver the years it has been my pleasure to read a lot of poetry. Some of it you read and think,
"That's nice" and pass on to the next one and quite naturaly, some poets you look forwards to
reading more than others. |
Table of ContentsDark Gardens Kathy Anderson Evening's Shadows Willowdown Rebel Yell Sasha Walker Dismal Sleeps, Blue Tattoo A kiss of misty morn, Gloria Carpenter Dust to Dust, Deborah Bel Lunar Inspirations, Summerain Poetess Pastel Pause, Samantha Kennedy Why I don't do drugs, Didi Menendez Sestina Burlesque, Heartstarter Yesterday/Today, Helen Howell Butterfly Kiss, Michael Dixon Cloud Talk, Etain Druantia The Blind Mans Prayer, Kurt Semel To Dad - A Tribute to a Craftsman.... Lady Mac My Poor Poor Children, Elliott Color me love, Doll Angel Lucid Chimera, Uootem Winter Dance, Macena Maginity birthday 5th, OWG The Fleecing of Mara, Little Bird Another Season of Love, ShadowRider Touch of a human, Thunderstorm Love is a Feeling We All Know, Peter Moyes "If I Could Not Speak The Words, ~D~ Death of a Dancer, Emerson Dawson Vindication, Inspiring One |
|
"A Prayer to Nature" Wind Breathe into us your spirit of adventure Keep us asking questions and searching for answers Carry us safely to our destinations, guiding us always to the right path Rain Cleanse us of impure thoughts Bathe us in love and tranquillity Sun Keep us warm in times of bitter cold Melt our hearts so they bind together as one, but allowing each to be whole within the other Moon Light our path when the darkness threatens to engulf Let us know there is always light in those darkest hours Sky Open to us freedom to be who we are and the confidence to explore those freedoms Earth Be the foundation for us to build upon, steadfast and reliable Mountains Challenge us to achieve our goals Make us understand and appreciate every step along the way and all that we see when we reach the top Clouds Cover our eyes when we try to find faults in others Help us always to reflect inward and grow from our findings there Storms Keep us alive with your strength and power by teaching us not only to endure but respect those times of trial in our lives that make us stronger for having survived them AMEN Windswept back to list Dark Gardens Emotions find fragrance Emitting violet sensations Mindful synapses burst bloomed In dark gardens Under the moonlit trees Utterance is given to memories Anguished against grey shadows In dark gardens Sweet nectars slip my tongue Singing electric through impulses Voiced by my hands holding quill In dark gardens Compassion is an echo Cobalt blue on heartsome red Felt for feathered friends In dark gardens What is wrong is an end Wishing for refreshing newness Ley lines from this circling round In dark gardens Powerful disability mingles Maudlin on the end of dispairs Dreading the next violin In dark gardens Knowledge comes softly Kneeling on my furrowed brow Brandishing disharmonied hours In dark gardens Forlornly I walk amongst lillies Loving the essence of these stranger s Straining to see into my valley Of dark gardens Whomsoever walks on this bower Borrows a spare part in time Thorns prick them there In dark gardens Peaceful ponderings pander For a few golden moments of magic Made by souls mixed and married In dark gardens. Kathy Anderson back to list Evening's Shadows When evening's shadows brushed my soul with their velvet lips I lay upon my bed of dreams, scattered with twilight's cushions, and watched the tiny stars that stole out from the earth to stream across the horizon and whisper their familiar tales within my ears. Who can count the years or tears the many stars have witnessed, the tragedies and passions with which they regale my senses as the universe and Time wheel over me as the active world sleeps - or is does it also listen to the songs off the stars? They tell me of the seven white swans who ascended to Heaven to meet celestial mates; and the seven bright stars who fell in love with seven silvery rivers and threw themselves to earth to woo them; they tell me the ancient tale of the swarming fireflies that flew out of the heart of God to become the original Suns whose children are the stars, and the dragons and salamanders they slowly incubate in their white hot, molten wombs before deposting them in the brains of prophets, poets and children. They tell me of empires already in their dotage when Mu first reared its battlements out of the ancient Pacific slime; of the Sun that so loved one of its planet's moons that it bent down low to kiss her - at which the maidenly moon demurely retreeated and fell into the planet's ocean, shattering into a thousand fragments and extinquishing all life upon that world . They tell me of the race of Elves who left the Earth in her infancy to travel to her invisible sister planet on the far side of the Moon, forever hidden to the eyes of men by the darkness of space and the shadows on their hearts. They tell me of lovers and poets, artists and shaman-warriors; architects, dreamers and gardeners; sailors on uncharted seas, doomed voyages and unlikely heroes - and when the Morning comes and Sleep finally enters my grey and mortal brain, when the sordid Sun comes knocking at my door with his realistic truths and overbright colours, they quietly steal back into the earth and the infinite spaces hidden within her breast, whilst I must dress myself in the gaudy tatters of day and stumble through this weary waking life, a comet on some peculiar fitful orbit, now flaring brightly, now barely visible against the bright darkness of noon... But come the gentle evening again, then purple shadows brush my soul with their velvet lips and I lay upon my bed of dreams, scattered with twilight's cushions and the flower of my heart opens its petals to the perfumed songs of Infinity and the siren blossoms of the stars. Willowdown back to list Rebel Yell Jettisoned, from foreign soil, the pain of steel-fire reverberated through his tired and blistered desperation, and at that precise moment, through the bestial uprising of malevolence came the gate keeper’s beckoning an unfathomable horror lay behind him now, deep in the fox holes of his previous moments, as the craven, in power, hide behind the convenient camouflage of his selfless sacrifice, and in prayer, we sing our disdain yet, in his ascending smoke-like transition through the veil we are blessed in the knowing of him, in the honouring of the fallen, and in the lighting of candles in requiem of their repose they always said that he was on the fast track to the other side, always racing against the time we knew, would catch him, never knowing that far beyond his rebel yell, he was a hero of love’s making… the love for his country and it laid him out a new home of green leafy blanketing, that plowed its path through long white rows of stone teeth, grinding on the lost moments, of what could’ve been Sasha Walker back to list Dismal Sleeps The Dismal is quiet in that hour before dawn, when the sun is not here or there but suspended; a faint breath of light caught on the edge of nothing. In that hour she sleeps, and tucked within her gnarled arms sleep all that name her mother; otter and coon, bear and bobcat- gray fox, red fox, white-tail deer; mink nestle their pelts deep into moss beds spread like comfort along bank and bough. Even the cottonmouth lie still beneath rock and log, copperheads lie above; their night-damp skins shimmer like new pennies. I alone am awake, but I am not awake alone. In the Dismal silence ride the voices of time; they travel years in a whisper, hiss at my ear in the low tones of the damned. They speak with dead tongues, spin memory from dust and it settles- kisses my sweat-wet cheeks and drapes my conciousness in webs of what was. Outside my window, swamp bleeds into delta as night becomes day. Listen: Cicadas, slow to wake, rub their legs together and I hear clackers popping through razor grass; my fists clinch, I wait for the dull thud of claymores to follow the din. I can see foxfire blooms in the peat, but my mind sees arc light through the trees; airbursts over Albany- and the voices hiss "run, run..." I reach for an aid kit that's never there. A Pileated woodpecker drills his perch and M-60's rattle my teeth in mad minutes without end. Tracers fire above the ledge of my sill, their red tails trail smoke like drifts of fog. Along the rim of reason, concertinas trip with pings and snaps that nails my flesh to sheet. The Dismal comes alive by degrees; her children wear paper shoes that slide through brush and leaf with deadly ease. Squirrels rustle their nests, warblers call for their mates, and somewhere inbetween the voices pull away- threads of their goodbyes knit tight stitches down my spine. Morning brings life. Otters slap the river in search of brim, they break surface in pairs. Coons scuttle the deadfall in search of snakes, snakes take to the flats in search of sun. Deer circle the cypress, stretch long and lovely necks to prune moss from their canopies; black bears sing to their cubs. My hounds edge their run on anxious feet, their hungry howls echo in the trees. Somewhere in the swamp's heart, mink skirt my traps with skilled indifference- their pelts stained moss green. When the wind is low I can hear them laugh. And I am awake, alone. The Dismal is quiet in that hour before dawn, when the sun is not here or there but suspended; a faint breath of light caught on the edge of nothing. In that hour she sleeps, and tucked within her gnarled arms sleep all that name her mother; otter and coon, bear and bobcat- gray fox, red fox, white-tail deer; mink nestle their pelts deep into moss beds spread like comfort along bank and bough. Even the cottonmouth lie still beneath rock and log, copperheads lie above; their night-damp skins shimmer like new pennies. I alone am awake, but I am not awake alone. In the Dismal silence ride the voices of time; they travel years in a whisper, hiss at my ear in the low tones of the damned. They speak with dead tongues, spin memory from dust and it settles- kisses my sweat-wet cheeks and drapes my conciousness in webs of what was. Outside my window, swamp bleeds into delta as night becomes day. Listen: Cicadas, slow to wake, rub their legs together and I hear clackers popping through razor grass; my fists clinch, I wait for the dull thud of claymores to follow the din. I can see foxfire blooms in the peat, but my mind sees arc light through the trees; airbursts over Albany- and the voices hiss "run, run..." I reach for an aid kit that's never there. A Pileated woodpecker drills his perch and M-60's rattle my teeth in mad minutes without end. Tracers fire above the ledge of my sill, their red tails trail smoke like drifts of fog. Along the rim of reason, concertinas trip with pings and snaps that nails my flesh to sheet. The Dismal comes alive by degrees; her children wear paper shoes that slide through brush and leaf with deadly ease. Squirrels rustle their nests, warblers call for their mates, and somewhere inbetween the voices pull away- threads of their goodbyes knit tight stitches down my spine. Morning brings life. Otters slap the river in search of brim, they break surface in pairs. Coons scuttle the deadfall in search of snakes, snakes take to the flats in search of sun. Deer circle the cypress, stretch long and lovely necks to prune moss from their canopies; black bears sing to their cubs. My hounds edge their run on anxious feet, their hungry howls echo in the trees. Somewhere in the swamp's heart, mink skirt my traps with skilled indifference- their pelts stained moss green. When the wind is low I can hear them laugh. And I am awake, alone. Blue Tatoo back to list A kiss of misty mornn It was the kiss of misty morn that drew my step toward a call ~ a lonely gull adrift on sleeping waves, a gentle lull ~ as herons met my sight ~ not one, but two. In silhouette they stood apart, in wait A sudden dip of beak, and shake of head, a break in tension, as small circles spread ~ an unsuspecting morsel meeting fate. The shift of morning clouds would soon be done in herons’ wake, slow motion gliding by. A mesmerizing scene to patient eye, I stayed transfixed, until I felt the sun. I smiled, and turned to go. With shoes in hand, I left light footprints on the timeless sand. Gloria Carpenter back to list Dust to Dust Laying her down on the mountain T'was her last wish to place her there. We sang to her on that mountain As t'was our wish for one last prayer. On that mountain we wept once more With promise kept and laid with care. By the mountain we prayed once more One promise kept to one so fair. Deborah Bel back to list Lunar Inspirations Somewhere past midnight I wander lost among the star formations and hang around with the moon looking for some lunar inspirations. We have such long talks the wise ol' moon and I In hushed tones,like secret friends together we ponder every Y We talk about eternity and the momentariness of dreams, the mysteries of the ancients, and God's secret schemes. Sometimes we talk for hours, and so it came to pass that we started to talk about things that never truly last. I was deeply humbled and saddened to the core by everything I loved for a moment then was gone forever more Like the song of summer that beauty sings the glow of a firefly with imprisoned wings. The diamond patterned frost on my window pane, and the hush and wonder of a summer rain. Shimmering silver etchings dancing on a midnight wave, and the shooting stars that wishes couldn't save. Memories pressed between pages these precious bits of time. tender keepsakes all-- in this human heart of mine Then the moon reminded me in his soothing, quiet way not to yen for the sweetness of the past lest I miss the beauty of today. Summerain Poetess back to list Pastel Pause Lower than the moons smile, I shall kiss his sorrow to stare upon a star, or two, away; The ground insinuates that I pace forever parched, it sips my tears perpetually arranged. On memoirs of a 'tomorrow' supper I'll call his name to a broken sky, but he shall apply his appeasing sleeve and mop my weathered horizon goodbye. The syrupy breath of twilight will loiter, and elevated grasses shall crave, with a whispered moan. A rebelling blaze in my breast will glimmer guiding him further, a signpost to home; The terrain will emit Daises, a formation of white that reflect and swell my perception this night. Oh! I shall soak in the Jasmine that grapples my pane an aroma, inducing, a ridding of shame, yet while the dawn kisses tenderly, my thoughts to the day he will fade on Golden pastures, my outline in grey; His eyes, penetrating mistreated membranes, imprinting my substance and through earths powder, I shall collapse, without much resistance. I will link my imaginings and tie him to elation composing oaths of deep-seated love, for my soul is his creation; I awoke on disguised pledges, and I drove them all about an anthology of scar tissue, tossed and hurled out- My Poet sings unmoving, to a hushed, but hungry sphere And my colours fall fading, a pastel pause tear. Samantha G Kennedy back to list Why I don't do drugs I am a control freak I am driving home from a poetry reading Wired. I wind down by turning the radio loud. Yes down the winding road. You critiquing this piece. Yes you. Do you have a problem with me using winding down a road? Go ahead and tell me it doesn't work. That it is cliche'. Go ahead and try to make me lose control. What? You do not understand where this attitude is coming from? See that cop parked by the side of the road as we drive home? See that he is not in uniform? Driving someplace at 10PM in his Japanese car, Pulling out the blue and red light onto his dashboard Pulling out his little ticket book, Giving a spiel to some kid that maybe forgot to put on his left signal? Don't you wonder why a cop that is not on duty, would go out of his way to give a ticket for some misdemeanor? Maybe today he saw a baby pulled out of a canal. His mother going through postpartum depression, decided to kill herself not caring about baby gurgles coming from the back seat. Maybe he got to a drug bust too late. Maybe he got home with a hard on and his wife was in PMS hell. Or maybe. He doesn't do drugs either. Didi Menendez back to list Sestina Burlesque (For Teagan) It has been said solid alliteration must not disturb the musical modulation, and that a sure, set iambic meter should syllabic two-step with rhyme, providing that the connotation does not interfere with denotation. One could look at strong denotation as supportive of subtle alliteration, and concentrate the connotation to amplify the import of modulation; arranging stanzas to satisfy rhyme with flagrant disregard to meter. To use iambic panti in the meter could elevate the cadence denotation until it becomes unstable structured rhyme. Utilize finer points of alliteration to help emphasize tone of modulation and try not to alter connotation. But to rely heavily on conotation could cause noticeable errors in meter, not to mention lesson stressed modulation. And assonance lends flow to denotation as consonants do alliteration, swaying the internal, external, substernal rhyme. And should a showpiece refuse to rhyme, will the strophes lose positive connotation or gain distracting alliteration? If the perfectly marching meter declines to keep time with denotation, will the whole thing rest on modulation? One could selectively scansion modulation irregardless of unsteady rhyme, and place the denotation squarely on the shoulders of connotation, possibly pull the panti from the meter, and upset the consistent alliteration. So one could hope that connotation will dance in rhythm with meter, stressing unstrained sounds of alliteration. Heartstarter back to list Yesterday/Today The day is grey and cool and wind whispers through the trees as if to say I know you pray but this is your today. And of today it will be the same as yesterday when like a leaf upon a tree not yet is love set free? As nature changes green to brown I too have weathered time and retreated from the yesterdays I still see in my today. Oh, wisdom to a fool I see and the rules are still the same but like the pain of birth to sons love overcomes the ache in one. And love builds bridges over past with passion as the map to help us find the time to say "I love you" now today. And of love tomorrow it can be the same as yesterday for once in love then always so deep down inside your soul! Helen Howell back to list Butterfly Kiss Close your eyes whispered she Wiping an eyelash gone stray Now make a wish instructed he And blow to the wind away She giggled then and softly blew Watching the eyelash transcend Rising above in her heart she knew With he she did not need to pretend A part of him they had just let go Nevertheless he stayed around Singing in her heart she did know A kindred spirit she had found I trusted you with a part of me To her in his arms did he convey I wanted to know if you could see The love for you that I display For an eyelash is more than few With many others they do contend Just one was able to break through A desire for you it did extend Away to the unknown you let it so It could have fallen to the ground But untamed are the winds that blow Listen close you can hear their sound She said, your a silly sausage aren't we I let you go but you did stay I trusted the unknown to let it be If an eyelash would float astray I watched it soar into the blue Up to the sky it did ascend But it knew its home fair and true Upon my cheek it did descend A love for me you did bestow A single eyelash in those abound A love returned is what I show In the wind you hear so profound Close your eyes whispered he Wiping an eyelash gone stray Now make a wish instructed she And blow to the wind away. Michael Dixon back to list Cloud Talk Clouds speed across bright backdrop a flickering film we squint to see not understanding Darkness encroaches shadows deepen daylight shimmers briefly then disappears We sleep Blind but not deaf still we slide down the volume turning from the song witnessed at dawn Fingers stretch to feel a way though heart reaches further a wisp of love unfurling entwining souls together Scissors snip Desperate for freedom claiming our islands while beneath the aquamarine one world connected Wind speaks in whispers felt answers etched into aging flesh from youthful slumber we awaken to find meaning in the shapes of clouds. Etain Druantia back to list The Blind Mans Prayer Oh gods, if there are gods, console me now. You took the light you gave when I awoke to this world. Can you replace the dawn? The dawn I cherished touching my window, rising silent from darkness to sunburst. Can I forgive you? Stealing the sight of flowers within my garden. Roses, the fragrant violet, lilacs message of spring, their scent within my nostrils, their image strong memory. No longer breaks the evening sun to gold reflections on mirrored seas. Only speaks its late warmth to hollows of my cheeks. What solace can you give for my love?s sweet face, She died without my vision of her last tears. Lend me the mournful flicker of a dying candle, and I will sing your everlasting praise. Kurt Semel back to list To Dad - A Tribute to a Craftsman Almost ninety years old He still carves out beauty Place a piece of rough wood In his hands And his eyes Sharp as an oiled blade on a whetstone See the piece within Patiently waiting for his wharncliffe knife To chisel off ledges Hollow out notches Seeking high relief From stop cuts Head bent Curled pieces of cypress Filling the air and the workshop floor Never losing the temper of his blade Pulling the work of art right out of the grain Finding the lost duck within the walnut burl Digging through maple to The hidden soldier Setting pine horses free Years ago I stood before him A hard block of confused and angry youth He made the first slice With love as sharp as a coping saw Cut to the quick and laid me open Chipped away my fury with his flat edge Whittled my chaos with minor blades Gently smoothed edges roughed in With his sheep-foot pen Until I became the woman I am now LadyMac back to list My Poor Poor Children (a poem for Yusuke) I sit with Rain River at side with thoughts of poems; "jack" and Town and the City Wolfe inspired literary failure and imagine drunken Kerouac tears floating like feathers in a broken wind The Rain was a melodic and beautiful gift read on a ebon encrusted April three a.m. night of American madness madness madness where the news earlier tonight screamed of six children shot at the Washington national Zoo and I think to myself' that she, Kwannon, Bosatz; where is love love love ...................................Goddess of mercy Oh, how the devils(laugh and dance) deaf to the Mexacalli Blues poor poor children You have seen Yaksha but as Kusunoki Masashige seven times Seven times shall your children sing forever graced I have held the broken wing and wept I have lived the twilight duel Thrice have I given and received Love in rose petal softness My being holds your being poor poor children My eyes weep your tears With the suchness of snow I am the mother that Suckled you my poor poor children And today the red sun rises over love And the warmth burns over both hunger And the man and the woman who dance And lovers touch excited with passion And the warmth continues to burn as Children born and aged cease So my poor poor children Welcome home For my tears were like rocks thrown at The moon And I, I am only sand and the need for Love and to be loved which is both my Greatest weakness and strength under The flowing of life And a red rose is picked for a young Lover's heart while a pink rose is placed On freshly turned earth and the cycle that Is forever continues unbroken as life is Love my poor poor children The rains flood and feed as I cast my net On the blue peaceful waters to touch your Hand my lover on the shore where I first Beheld your eyes, where our bodies were Bound together as the stars are fixed To the sky My poor poor children I am The spring from whence you First arose and today the Red sun rising brings the Warmth that burns over love. Elliott back to list Color me love Why have my thoughts continued of you? I cannot seem to escape from them. My quiet moments seem to be violated by memories of you. Suddenly I feel oddly shy, Not that this is a reason to hold back , in fact, I deem it a sign to press on. As I walk the long winding roads, early in the misty mornings of this forest , you are here. O' Yes, obliterated by time, yet you are always here. A hint of your voice seems to creep in upon my solace. Is it my feeble mind? The sound of your laughter dancing before my eyes climax's the moment. Why do we remain so far apart? Have our spirits travelled to higher places or is it the European mountains that taketh our beauty and carry it elsewhere? Perhaps it is the "wisdom of the old world" as not to allow us concentrate clearly and fully on one another. I sit in my studio as well, without smoke, a scented candle, Dimly lit, glancing at the jittering burning pattern that seems to leave my mind in an untrusting aura. As I watch the autumn leaves change, spin, and pattern themselves after us, they too, tell many stories. My hands wish to reach out to grasp a new canvas. I withstand this half image in my head, I only know that I will cramp up inside as I try to super impose a creation of us. Suddenly I stare at my hands, so worn, so sore, I bend my fingers slowly as to stretch them one by one. I feel as if I am about to perform. This time my piano remains silent. I know it is time to paint. My brushes seem not to conform to the the tasks that they may need. O' my, I sit on my chair, now brush in hand. amusing myself with thoughts of you.. I can not endure one single more thought of you. I toss my brush across the room, watch it spin. It emulates the leaves in the forest twirling. I painfully run my fingers through my freshly waved locks. What colors does our love depict? Shall I paint vivid colors of water? Shall they be faded shades? Shall I paint the spinning, swirling of the leaves passing upon my windowsill? Suddenly I see a flower purging its way through the leaves. What would bring a flower to my window seat? Could it be a bird whom carried it's way across the shores? Was he sent as a reminder of your presence? O' yes, now I reach through my window the rain is pouring upon my arm as so much upon my cheeks. My hands grasp for this flower. Suddenly it is gone. The noise of the wildlife, broke my concentration once again. Gradually I am entranced. Here I sit brush in hand, another brush falls to the floor. I sit aimlessly. Deep in thought, in pain. My head lies upon my forearm as to relax my perpetuating soul. I wrap my arms around you in my dreams only to awake . I find my brush lying on the studio table. You seem destined to be an enigma forever. Will these thoughts continue to haunt my aching soul? Do I need to paint an abstract subject of a heart unsteadliy beating? or shall it be tear stained eyes? My eyes are closing, slowly, slowly. My mind tires from hearing your voice sing. and so I lie my head upon my pillow where it belongs and I make certain to close the door behind me. Darlene Pringle back to list Lucid Chimera lucid chimera... a flight of fantasy on new moon to cloud-hidden stars or a vision of something more or less -- a dream that exists only within me. does anything I sense make any sense... resemble the slightest hint reality? or do I stand perched on the edge of some sort of insanity... can I truly exist in this world; it feels so cold and dark, yet so warm and light-drenched... where am I? why do I come to this place?, again... oh, such a questioning for sages... perhaps for who else could understand the symbols hidden in meanings of such thoughts as I hear again, the echoed chanting of ancient ages? am I quiescent... motionless, I think as if I am the suspended air of haunting night this silence overwhelms the soul, but still I hear so many voices... are they memories? or am I in motion?... floating in an obscuring mist unaware of horizons and solid earth is it just a repeating futile emotion that carries me to this other-place? transparent is the soul, like ebony sky thin air imprisoned free spirit I am... but do you even care? could you comprehend images I see within? the way this world could be...? looking through those mortal-bound eyes you may never feel the yearning for wings to reach new skies -- may never sense the knowing that is discovered in the mystical realms of the engulfing sea. alas....the world I dream of may never come to be... but it will always exist whenever I think of "you and I" . a lucid chimera... a flight of fantasy, or a vision of something more or less -- the dream within. Uootem back to list Winter Dance Beneath the silent silvery moon glow Starlight faeries twinkle ginger dance Frosty crusted meadow dance floor of snow Two stepping diamonds glitter to romance Throughout the phase of the full moon they prance Gleeful in two-part bouncing harmony From dusk till dawn for mere mortals entrance Spellbound, hypnotic, frolicking beauty The howling wind twirls in sweet melody The boughs of the pines bend with approval Dawn breaks with a sudden chill reality This dance was merely full dressed rehearsal! As the lights come up with dazzling whiteness Starlight faeries perform in new brightness. Dulcinea back to list birthday 5th Jim Dickey turned 51 today dressed in his Sergeant E-5 Greens joined by his bros in their military best they always dress up on birthdays Sister Judy came by brought a rose from her garden and some homemade peanut butter cookies Jim don't eat sweats but she will while she tells about the old neighborhood and then a mention how proud she is of her brother and the other service men from the "Nam" Says she met Mary Garcia married to a Navy guy down the row they rode in together on the bus from 63rd was his birthday today too Sis nibbles her last cookie looks at the soldiers all grinning back at her "you have such nice friends Jim" she whispers with a tear she leans and kisses the top of the white stone cross OWG back to list The Fleecing of Mara Her hands embraced a ruby bloom; the blood she licked away was sweet. A thistle replaces her missing arm, its bloom prolonged by rusty awning drops collected during summer storms. She used to have platinum blonde locks, styled to frame her high cheek bones until bicycle tires pressed them into red clay. Auburn suits her skin tone, now faded by weather to a pasty wool. "Maa Maa" she chanted when I flexed her joints, louder when I twisted her knees. I wanted her to dance, not caring about her blinking protests. She was my princess and could do anything I imagined. She was my confidant back when she had a good head and pink, molded lips retained my juvenile fantasies of the boy next door who toted acne cream in his hip pocket. She leans against the corner of the old detached garage; plastic eyes, one wide open, the other dull behind a gapped fringe of curled lash. I can see her though. Little Bird back to list Another Season of Love Like an ancient misty eyed rain from trees drops of green paint dissolve onto flat hands that used to wave in summers applause Now, stout and alone a trunk with outstretched arms what was bountiful is now barren still he lives and thrives and hopes there is but another season of love as an icebergs force is unseen so are his earthly impaling roots half again as much a man lurks behind what is visible rattlesnake mottled skin imprisoning a soul not yet shed; brittle with an aged wisdom a solitary icon in a wilderness of desolation each with thoughts of immortality come take a walk with me he beckons would you die for me he asks icy answers are carried in the wind until another season of love ShadowRider back to list Touch of a human A bird in flight plunged into the bushlands deep Nothing heard it scream, nothing heard it weep Of its pain as it lay there in a huddled heap Shivering upon the leaves it stayed Unable to call out, alone it laid With its hurt not known, the light did fade Silent cries in the darkness, such easy prey For ravenous animals, it could not say Out loud how it felt, its whereabouts betray A new day dawned, the bird alive though bleak Warm hands gently gathered its body now so weak Soft breath blew gently over its open crushed beak The touch of a human causing it no fright Only healing, soothing warmth, infused light Of softly murmured words easing its plight Though no one was ever aware of its true pain Kindness from the human made its hurt slowly wane Showered with this love, soft as feathery rain. ThunderStorm back to list Love is a feeling we all know Love is melted butter in your underpants, a warm, creamy good feeling best not fully explained in public. Love is a fireman's helmet, a bright red vision of safety everybody secretly wants to wear. Love is levis fresh from the dryer, warm, tight and best worn with nothing on underneath. Love is a battered tin can that keeps you company on the long lonely walk home from school. Love is Friday, September 18, 1992, and any other day you want it to be Love is a umbrella. It looks classy on your elbow and keeps you dry when it rains. Love is a daffodil, a potato, tomato what you will, Love is a nerf basketball soft, squeezable, and comes in every color and lasts forever. Love is a steamer trunk, it'll hold just about anything and go anywhere you want. Love is the first fog of the year. That takes all the familiar places and makes them mysterious again Love is running out of gas on a deserted road. It makes you stop and look at where you're going and how far you've come. Love is giving a dog a bath it's wet and difficult, but for the good of all concerned. Love is sucking helium from a balloon, It makes you say funny things, and makes children happy. © 98 Peter Moyes back to list If I Could Not Speak The Words If no voice I had for words would you still be able to hear? Would mere actions be enough to vocalize them loud and clear? Would those words still flow from me with every beat of my heart? Could my eyes then still convey my wish never to be apart? With a soft brush of my hand would I still be able to show, feelings that are held for you the ones I'd pray for you to know? When lips pressed soft upon you would you feel desire in the flame? Could you feel the fire burning as my soul would cry out your name? If those little words again I could not be able to say, would you know that they were felt if they could not be said each day? If I could not speak these words would you know that they were meant true, each time that my heart whispered.... I am still so in love with you. ~D~ back to list The Dancer The dancer died today stalked by some dishonest John who stilled the very movements that he loved The darkened parkway chalked the sum of terror that was done against the one beloved The dancer's day did end she must have known such fear in those last moments of her life Discovered by a friend bullet holes shown unconscious pose what caused this fatal strife The dancer died today and there the barman stood and wept a tear recalling how she did not smile like before Customers did not pray instead they came again to order shots and beer and ask about the sign there on the door The dancer died today the manager has time he has to fill and customers prepared to buy their fun It says top pay for any girl who will do all the things that babygirl once dared that pleased all the lonely men but one the dancer died today Emerson Dawson back to list Vindication So, we meet again (Bastard) Another six months past Christmas, wasn't it? You, your lovely wife, your son (at least a he) and she's pregnant again (God, please, not a girl) Not surprised though. never could keep it down. All the family is here reunited again - whoopdeeshit You always act so cool oozing condescending charm like nothing happened I WAS TEN!! I didn't know didn't understand how would I?? a child I admit - it felt good - at first only later I realized. tried to push you away then but you kept coming bigger, older threatening to tell destroy my good girl image the family looking back, would have been better instead pain burrowed deep threatens my Now Inspiring One back to list |
|
|
