TABLE OF CONTENTS - POETRY, page 2

Venial Sins - Paul Nachbar
Lemma Me Lemma - Quinn Tyler Jackson
Magnetic Personality Sorter Poem - Quinn Tyler Jackson
What Passion Waits - Quinn Tyler Jackson
How You Get My Groove - Quinn Tyler Jackson
I Feel Your Breath - Quinn Tyler Jackson
Straddle Me - Quinn Tyler Jackson
Fever - Quinn Tyler Jackson
Catsup, Catch-up, Ketchup, Giddyup! - Thomas (Torg) Hadley
Magnetic Personality, Sorter a Found Poem - Kay Lindgren
The End of the Process? - Paul Nachbar
Epigrammatic Improv - Kay Lindgren
Alternatives - CL Frost
Jagannatha - C.L.Frost
A Photographer's Death - C.L.Frost
An Age-old Story - C.L. Frost
Ritual - C.L. Frost
Good Ole Days - C.L. Frost
Germ Play - C.L. Frost
Solitary Serenaded - C.L. Frost
Fiberglass and Fate - C.L. Frost
Another spoof on that ole' song.....: - C.L. Frost
He - C.L. Frost
Shakespeare's Type - C.L. Frost
Have You Heard the Flowers Singing? - C.L. Frost
Roachy - C.L. Frost
Target Practice? - C.L. Frost
Vinegar Love - C.L. Frost
No # 46 - Paul Nachbar
Sadie the Great Dane - Kathleen Cesaro
Nature - Kathleen Cesaro
War poems? DId someone say WAR poems? - Quinn Tyler Jackson
Peaceful Co-Existence - Jon Marin
After We Spoke on the Telephone or - Bucky Spalding (Mars Manix)
Unknown - Thomas (Torg) Hadley
Gwen's Spirit - Wallace W. Rhodes
The Ballad Of Bionicle McGonicle - Jonathan Berman
After the Deluge - Kay Lindgren
Swagger - Quinn Tyler Jackson
Haiku - Quinn Tyler Jackson
Senryu - Quinn Tyler Jackson
Ping - Peter Ingestad (Krax)
With And Or Without Them - Paul Nachbar

Venial Sins - Paul Nachbar

Take X number of venial sins
Petty errors of the heart and otherwise
Slips of the whatever
Booboos of the brain
Lesions of the law
Sournesses of society,
Collate, shake and stir
Mix and blend:

You have
In these times:
A diagnosis
A psychoses
A confession
A crime
A scandal
A theory
An ideology
A whatever
Or a poem(s)

Let the others
Do their thing:
I prefer for now
This
Somewhat quiet
Corner.

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Lemma Me Lemma - Quinn Tyler Jackson

A lemma I had,
but the lemma went bad
and now, my lad,
I'm just a cad,
no lemma, how sad.

I had a posulate
a minute too late,
and now, irate,
with teeth all a-grate,
my theorems deflate.

I had a fricking QED,
but as can sometimes be,
at a quarter past three,
without it, you see,
the only one who's fricked is me.

I was so bloody awfully sure
I had a solid conjecture,
but, it seems, just horse manure,
that can't endure,
to my demure.

I had a fact,
but the fact was sacked,
not wholy backed,
just somewhat cracked,
that fact, it seems, lacked.

I had a pile of nifty Greek,
the kind we math'maticians seek,
the kind in which the papers speak,
but my Greek was weak,
the formulas ... bleak.

I had a proof,
but the proof went *poof*
and now, aloof,
I'm just a goof
without my proof.

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Magnetic Personality Sorter Poem - Quinn Tyler Jackson

Lacking accountability,
and sparse on integration,
through some fine evolution,
I've had the vision
to avoid unity.

And though my relationship
with individuation
is bound to change the revelation
it's soft at the foundation.

The novelty of my dreams
is bound to the connection
and so on, to completion,
is part of my identity.

The chaos of my aimless loss
leaves me unaccomplished,
but entrapment in depression,
would leave me unelated.

Though self-absorbed and superficial,
I'm hardly goaless in irresponsible
reckless abandonment.

You may think me incongruent,
narcissistic in my boredom,
but I'm not so visionless
as to lead to isolation.

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What Passion Waits - Quinn Tyler Jackson

What passion waits beneath the flaming lock,
No simple answer to a lover's ask,
What soul will tremble when you smoothly talk,
What lover is up to that daunting task?

Caress with the perception of your eyes,
Consume with the first hunger of your soul,
Undress and prepare for passion's loud cries,
Untame my body as you take it whole.

Don't hold back, tear into my manly heart,
I do not mind the tigress claws you wield:
Mark me with the scent of your flowing art,
I'm far beyond resistance and will yield.

Dance me as you do and I shall return
Each measure that you offer with my own,
And as the rod ignites and fevers burn,
Knight me at the hot scepter with your crown.

And when the moment finally comes nigh,
Reject all attempts to hold back -- let go! --
As stars kiss one another in the sky,
And we two find ourselves in frantic throw.

My God! what flashed before me instantly?
Was that the face of angels in the mist?
What hot shining from those eyes did I see?
Was that the Perfect Moment that we kissed?

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How You Get My Groove - Quinn Tyler Jackson

How you get my groove on,
without even trying,
and you get my move on,
and my brain all frying.

There are colors I've seen
in these so recent days
and places my mind's been
in so many new ways,

If I described them all
the words would be half wit,
just how 't is you enthrall
I couldn't describe it.

How you get it going,
and sparking at the grain,
how you get thoughts flowing,
and flying in my brain!

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I Feel Your Breath - Quinn Tyler Jackson

I feel your breath upon my chest,
I taste your flaming sigh,
I tremble that I've been caressed,
But never wonder why.

I breathe your lips as they breathe mine,
E'en wine is not so swift
To intoxicate every line
Or such a spirit lift.

With my hands I find the gentle small
Of a back arched for me,
I watch the rise and feel the fall
Of this eternity.

I smell the sweat that fills the air,
And wonder at its slide,
As it trickles through your burnt hair
And pleasures from the ride.

I scream inside ten thousand chants,
Some ancient, some quite new,
And frolic in the circumstance
That has me knowing you.

And if one hundred years should pass
Before I loose my fire,
How each year locked like this, my lass,
Would never make me tire.

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Straddle Me - Quinn Tyler Jackson

Straddle me, ride the ramrod of delight;
Kiss me. not just a simple, tender kiss,
But a deep soul scorching fire of the lips;
Drive me slow, to the point of light.
Squeeze, grind, gyrate with all your lusty might,
And with your swollen breasts against me, press
Against my public bone - get your release -
That's what I want for you - release - it might
Dream dreams for you that you did not know could
Be dreamt as a free gift from another.
It might satisfy you, fill you with song,
Take away pain, turn all the grief to good.
Straddle me, ride me like a steed to where
You need to go; you cannot ride me wrong.

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Fever - Quinn Tyler Jackson

The alones hone my bone
as the tones atone the groan
and sweat sits sundry
on the drone of the moan
xylophone.

Pin and needle, sin and cradle,
lost the laugh ladle of the
made parade charade
of little Bone Peep
has lost her sleep,
and doesn't know
or grow or woe wear
and tear or bare stare
to find them, grind them,
unwind them, do the
unkind spine brine
when, and then the Zen
nothing koan zone,
all alone, hot off the phone,
trying to stitch the switch
of the crotch watch notch.

Byron, Byron, walking
in stalking talking of the
beauty of the mid-flight, of
clamor-less eyes and stare
starry skies of all the fall of
what the gut is all that's good
and should of dark mark of
dark stark remark and plight.

Aspect and her rise, probably
wise lies' surmise, looking to
a prize, and then comes
the Fever.

It's a fever lever, the soul cleaver
remover of the hover of angel tears,
fears, careers, fakirs, queer quiet
quixotic, erotic, symbiotic,
Pan stoic hydrophobic.

Rabid reality at the chill door,
no more in store from the Shelley
of ratskeller hell and the smell of the fell
well of tell.

I am the syncopated cup, filled up,
one half neat complete half beat incomplete,
with a lip at the tip of the whip, unable unstable
to sip the drop drip of the zip chip quip.

Don't get funky, junky, rhythm with 'em,
hocus focus the locust in the worm
dorm storm of the forlorn, bending the
pretending unending crescending.

Yau tau now, aleph me, not just some
humble drum sum of me, lambda limb at the
quim of me, swim in and of and above
and of love prove grove bereft cleft
of me.

Hey, vow! Hey, Jude! Tear tracks on the
gram, backwards, inwards, outwards,
forwards, after words, in thirds, fourths
sex fifth's avenue of revue the chain
chew spew tattoo to you too.

Fever chills and spills on the broken
token smoking choking window sills
of stills, pictures, tinctures, punctures.

Don't be such a stupid mother function without
unction at the junction.

Blow slow the crow know zeta beta pi why
franchise eyes of scat cat that surprised
supplies supply me as you fly me and buy me
another fevered pitch snatch of the latch
of the inter dementia null hatch.

Wolf in the gulf of the glyph myth
with pith when Rimbaud knew the slew
of two and eternity was the heat of
sweat yet regret net.

Fever, damn it, feel her, laud it, want it,
flaunt it and in the moth modicum modal total
of the yau yodel:

Lemma tell yau, lemma smell the stale
now of no escrow endow.

Tear into the flack of the crack of
what went of my bent unspent back
with the hail nail, don't be a dour
nail, Ismael, holy grail entail at the
whine spine undead bread of the
needle and the bed thread.

Geez the wheeze and please release, the lease
on your loose no longer stronger obtuse of
caboose abuse.

It's smoking broken!

But the fever still's stoking.

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Catsup, Catch-up, Ketchup, Giddyup! - Thomas (Torg) Hadley

fourteen days of toil
ten hours of spine wracking work
sweaty glory shines

too much to read, argh!
i cannot do it justice
i've missed so much light!

i see Kay shine now!
i read Gina reflecting
i weigh Dusty's wall

it's all too much for
me to say, the light that shines
all within/from you

now i bound, i chat
each moment is a moment
i learn, i glow, i know

the past propels me
the future astounds my mind
the now is my gift!

bless you, bless you, let
bliss radiate from your heart!
walk brave, my scribblers

the oldest wisdom
is graffiti upon Rome's
time-pocked, ancient stone...

be this our Rome, now
our hearts our home, just somehow,
rest assured, write on...

you can see my eyes
and i yours, if we trust our
Heart of Hearts, you see...

for why else would we
have made such Brave Company?
Ja, 'tis plain to see...

you, (yes, you), do shine
in your words, in my wee mind:
vanquish we now Time?

i am a kayak
greenblue burbles from my blades
orcas leap, laugh, smile!

the light shines upon
within, because, or without
you...please Be the Light.

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Magnetic Personality, Sorter a Found Poem - Kay Lindgren

Discount accountability,
differentiate integration
of Internet identities, for unity
is useless. Evolution
ignites quintuple vision.

From a zigzag foundation
to binary relationship,
tatters of individuation
augur impending change,
revolutionary revelation.

Aspiring to silicon completion,
speeding up the baudy connection,
inventing a new identity
brings adventure and novelty
to consciousness, out of dreams.

Cyber missions unaccomplished,
and word-toss boggle loss
conducive to mouse entrapment
lure pupils, with fractal chaos,
into virtual halls of the aimless.

Irate response to the irresponsible,
online abandonment of discretion,
a screen reflects the self-absorbed
Narcissus, abscissa of superficial
obsession, coordinates of the goaless.

Lines of thought incongruent,
obtuse angles of isolation
converge in musings narcissistic.
More doom bodes boredom
in lascivious lives of the visionless.

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The End of the Process? - Paul Nachbar

They....
In their time:

Having built and flown the airplanes
Having designed the lightbulb and the various systems of illumination
Having created the means of communication from one end to the other
of the vast empires
Having discovered and advanced the means of more rapid transportation

Having cured well, most of the diseases with tragic exceptions
Having erected those great momuments to industry,progress and commerce
Having designed in all things beyond what seemed to be nature's limits
Having measured the masses of humanity for the sake
of education, modernization, liberalization, maniuplation or even entertainment

Having extended the believable lifespan of man
Having organized and adjusted the body religious and political
Having created or distributed the products of human toil beyond previous
conception
Having built the machine and extended the range of observation and
intervention into things both large and small.

I do ask now: of the aggregate, not simply of particulars
" is there more or less authentic love than beforehand here?"
And "is the world more or less heartless than before?"
I say, holding brief neither for nor against these things
Nor for or against the surrender to or protest against such things
I do not know. I mainly hope.
Do you?

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Epigrammatic Improv - Kay Lindgren

Inspired by muses quite maniacal,
I scale Olympus with an agile leg.
But, when it comes to things mechanical,
I have the genius of an addled egg.

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Alternatives - CL Frost

Not in dewy tears leached from sallow pores
But in great waterfalls, the cliff wept.
In springtime, the tear torrents swept
Away red rocks and lichen spotted shore
Like blood clots from a limestone face.

Near the rock where every emotion flows
In fortissimo cleansing crashes against the stone,
Grass cushions the water's flanks and tendril lace
Dances arabesques around buds with natural grace.

Scorched dry, the desert boulder kept
Starkly silent, couldn't parry with a trace
Of water against the lancing solar flames nor
Ineptly mimic the firestorm's hiss and roar.
It mutely burned in its place.

And so, for centuries, nothing grows
On the desert bleached and stoic as a bone.

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Jagannatha - C.L.Frost

How they surge forth - a thousand arms
writhing, dark palms imploring,
wet brows quivering, fat parched lips
wincing, bellies jiggling, toes
pattering forth in a toneless roar,
silk sashes shuddering; brown chests
pulsing, rocking, swaying to ancient beats;
saffron hair-flowers spinning up, up
through buzzing moist air; loosened petals
tumbling, swirling down, down like confetti down

while the thick oak stage with iron
wheels groans steadily towards, over
them; crushes each adorer as the flame
red eye of the Wooden One with steel-
gray cheeks and knotting snake arms gazes
down, mute and unblinking.

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A Photographer's Death - C.L.Frost

Mad, mad, they cried, and perhaps were right.
For him, to immortalize a nanosecond of flight,
The emotion before it fled, the avalanche in mid-fall
Was not craziness but passion: It meant all

To capture on film the wave's curling tip
The instant of catastrophic plunge, that first dip
Fixed forever - a monument of crescentic jade;
To arrest the moment when froth sprayed
Like lace from snapping emerald jaws
And spewed drops congealed to small ivory balls
Spat from a sculpted dragon's snarling face.

He'd rush to the toppling tidal wave, race
To where tower walls creaked before collapse,
Submitting to risk and trusting in luck perhaps
That he'd record the boulder's first soundless slip,
Sparks spinning before explosion, the fatal flip
Before the acrobat crashed, limp legs splayed
In multiple, forever, in photographic parade.

Perhaps they were right: Mad, mad, they cried
When they read that he in the tidal wave had died,
Clutching camera to make materially immortal
Fleet unstable seconds, the elusive and ineffable.

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An Age-old Story - C.L. Frost

It was just the age-old story
Of men vying and dying for an instant's glory.

Asphalt basking in the sun
Held the heat like a secret weapon;
The mephitic caged-in air
Spat out sparks and prepared
To roar and screech when let loose.
All trembled in the molten glare
That in milliseconds would ignite
Every shriveled leaf, each gnarled bough,
Every millimeter of parched soil,
Even the most pacifist of human souls.

Wasn't it just the same old story
Of men vying for some petty glory?
It always began as mere debate:
Is man good or evil?, can cats think?,
Is character learned or innate?
But debate was more than a semantic game.
It was a war of egos never tamed
Of the tiger's lawless fury,
Of the eagle's paranoid insistence
That he was most far-sighted.
Each scoff burned with dramatic fire;
The contenders never tired
Of proving they were right
To a sighing jury
Of their fellows and the gods.

A dragon lurked in every soul
Impatiently bating its lethal breath.
Words would clash, planes would crash,
Nations would battle unto death
Until even the galaxies would know
Who most deserved earth's penny spoils.
The flames would dance as they destroyed,
Cackle triumphant as they burned
Every rose, every momento,
Every culture ever raised,
Every prize ever earned,
The science and art of every age.
Hot cyclones would bluster round and round
In a vicious circle never ending
While the anger of men contending
Would devour the planet from pole to pole.

No, not just some lunatic's fable
That many would perish in the fray
To prove who among men was most able
And set Earth ablaze -
Supernova sparking in holocaust rage
Before it shrank to a lifeless cinder
Adrift in an indifferent, endless night.

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Ritual - C.L. Frost

The couch where, Sundays, we retreat
After mass, to gawk and eat
Through each replayed football feat

Like fireworks flowering over flags,
Ribboned boxes, bulging festive bags,
Lit trees, scuffed bent knees and victuals -
We're seasoned carriers of ritual.

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Good Ole Days - C.L. Frost

Don't swat the gnats when they bother;
One may have been your great-grandfather.
Don't shoot the snake or crush the ant;
One may return as your infant.
Stinking sweat beneath skin folds?
The flesh once grew as basement mold;
Ralph who spits to sicken and to mock us
Once swarmed in phlegm, a streptococcus.

And what was I in my last life?
In the good old days, did I bask
In glory on sun-kissed sands? Don't ask -
Roachy, you weren't Ceasar's wife!

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Germ Play - C.L. Frost

Gasp in, wheeze in,
Operatically sneeze out -
No audience are you pleasin'.
Oh now the kiddies pout;
Oh how the mommies shout
"Shoo those buggers out!"

They'd close the curtains if they could
Against the germs, fight back.
But the virus is a wiley hood
And can steal through any crack.

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Solitary Serenaded - C.L. Frost

The cocoa fragrance of an ideal,
The sparking warmth of this intimate's feel:
The bright orange dancer who never encroaches
To devour toes in hungry heat, never poaches
My inner wilderness; nor demands charring compromises, Crackling death threats as he mesmerizes.

In my thousand years of solitude
I may enbrace beloved dreams.
A minute of society, I'm destitute -
Man is truly what he seems.

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Fiberglass and Fate - C.L. Frost

Sign towards silence behind locked doors,
Bolt the windows, seal the floors,
Shut the drapes against each glaring face;
Their python arms would crush as they embrace.

Fiberglass your walls against pounding heat,
Grenade hearts tick towards blasting as they beat.
Seek cellar coolness: Still, your fate's the same,
Unknown - nature of mere man may maim
For zircon booty or mere game.

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Another spoof on that ole' song.....: - C.L. Frost

Springtime is icumim in,
Lewd sing boohoo,
Grass flyeth up, throats dryeth up
And how the snouts doth pour.
Sing boohoo, achoo, cuckoo
Hives fryeth up, eyes cryeth up
And sinuses doth roar
Lewd sing achoo, boohoo
Boohoo, boohoo, boohoo
'Tis cuckoo,
Achoo, achoo, lewd cryeth up
Spring is icumin in.
Achoo, boohoo, achooo!

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He - C.L. Frost
(for my imaginary lover)

With gaunt cheeks or brawny sides,
He satisfies all "Classified"s.
With pleading eyes or chiseled chin,
Bellowing, bold, quiet as chagrin,
Rugged, refined, always kind -
Lover born and bred of my mind.

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Shakespeare's Type - C.L. Frost

The Bard's barbs were all handwrit;
Knowing naught of bytes or bits, his wit
Surged from pen in cursive fits -
Anachronistic, futuristic, a Bard who sits
With eyes on keys and mouse in mits
Seems unfit, a pretender or a counterfeit.

Though he sing lyrical, he'd not be Will
Unless his lines flowed from a chiseled quill.

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Have You Heard the Flowers Singing? - C.L. Frost

Have you heard the flowers singing?
They sing the sky-shattering blues
Of butterflies struggling in the net;
Bellow basso profundo, the red of blood,
Of hollowed housewives who fret
To cut the ties they would once choose
And coffins sinking in the all-embracing mud.
Have you heard the scarred moon singing,
The day lilies snickering, ringing?
Sneering petals, too, shall know the mud.

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Roachy - C.L. Frost

Attach a leash to your roach,
Strut proudly in the lead.
When critics gawk and reproach,
Say "He's an exotic breed,
Sired specially and pedigreed",
That you've the papers to prove it
To all who would reprove it.

Say "My roach is not an 'it' - a 'he'
And he's very cheap to feed.
So I pamper him with luxury -
A hotel where he and wife can breed.

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Target Practice? - C.L. Frost

An angel, not by evil deed,
Nicked her wings and fell from flight
To a world of courser breed.
Angel wounded, burning white -
Will some poacher shoot her in the night?

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Vinegar Love - C.L. Frost

Do you love me, are you sure?
Notorize your feelings, swear an oath,
Certify the bonds between us both,
Pay Love Insurance; give me warranties
And guarantees, assure this will endure.

How often must I swear my love?
Not once each day or each hour,
Nor once each minute: I've enough of
Repeating and repeating. Our
Whines turn love's wine sour.

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No # 46 - Paul Nachbar

Odd balance sheets
Of blessings and of bruises
Publicly or privately said:
Yours, mine..
Etcetera
Nice..
And
Not.

Contentment, lack
Endless night..
Oh dread!
Perhaps illumination?
Hm
Or...not.?

To stay
Or change!
To change?
Not to change...
Or never change?!
Oh well.
Could one
Should one?

Who knows!!
Moving on now
At least for now...
I guess..?
I might return.
Or not...
Home.

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Sadie the Great Dane - Kathleen Cesaro

Eyes of amber adoration,
ears of velveteen,
feet as big as snowshoes,
and a tendency to lean.

Oh! She loved the freeway breezes,
ears and lips would flap.
Popcorn was her passion,
that, and sitting in your lap!

Scarred for life by human monsters,
nearly wound up dead.
Brought her home to help her,
but she nurtured us instead.

Always seemed to keep us roaring,
never let us down,
thought we got a canine,
we got love inside a clown.

---Katie September 1994

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Nature - Kathleen Cesaro

Precious Nature is our mother,
wed to Time, our father's name.
Love will always be our brother,
as our sister, both the same.

Mother whispers unheard secrets,
holds us closely, 'til we sleep.
That's when Father slips away, lets
clouds advancing bid her weep.

Though depressed at Father's passing,
when he's gone, we'll come to know
Brother and our Sister's meaning,
Mother's role to help them grow.

Father--Heaven's admonition--
moves with haste; we mustn't plod.
Save the earth, our sibling mission.
Nature is a kiss from God.

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War poems? DId someone say WAR poems? - Quinn Tyler Jackson

<<Quinn searches the folders>>

pol pot khmer rouge
mai lai agent orange
auschwitz leibensraum
napalm atom bomb

nagasaki hiromshima
vlad the impaler dracula
emperor chin ghangis khan
bow and arrow gatling gun

and you tell me
in an innocent voice
man is basically
good given the choice

and you insist
in an innocent tone
these were the acts
of madmen alone

lock step goose step
brown shirts guns at hip
pep rallies for the masses
manufactured poisoned gasses

mao tse tung giant leap
forward backward army jeep
d day dieppe falaise
drop the bombs and watch the blaze

and you contest
going to great pains
man shows his best
as madness reigns

and you have said
with your innocent glance
man ain't half bad
given half a chance

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Peaceful Co-Existence - Jon Marin

There's absolutely no ignoring
A fourteen-and-a-half pound cat
Parading up and down your back
At two forty-five in the morning.

With leaden paws he pleads his case:
"My tweety bird's slid out of sight;
I know that you will make it right;
Come and I'll show you the place".

It's under the piano, out of reach;
A wire hanger does the trick.
My left hand gets a gentle lick
While my right shoves towels in the breach.

A pounce, a bite, a kick, a leap:
Waylayed by the fearsome kitten
Tweety bird gets clawed and bitten
While I go back to sleep.

There's absolutely no ignoring
A fourteen-and-a-half pound cat
Parading up and down your back
At four twenty-five in the morning . .

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After We Spoke on the Telephone or
An Artist is Born - Bucky Spalding (Mars Manix)

I stand before the blank canvas--
each cell of my being resonates with openness,
a shimmering light rushes in.
Colors pool at my ankles, and my naked feet
splash in crimson and violet lakes.

My throat fills with the tang of electrified air--
rich as honey, leaving no room for breath.
My eyes are blindfolded by sensation,
short-cutting the tangle of rationality
and gray blocky thoughts.

Am I awakening or dying?
Does it matter?

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Unknown - Thomas (Torg) Hadley

Y'all:
[pause]
{deep breath, deep breathing}:
(calm)

if you have
stood guard duty
you'd understand

if rain, cold, no food
dripped down your nose,
run down your backside
puddled in your boots

you'd know..

if you'd waited for
the Terrrrrorist
after greeneggs scrambled
and bullets in your hand
you'd understand

if your son had taken his
first steps
as you drilled your troops
to succeed in Blood-taking;
you'd understand....

if Armored Infantry was
your PlayDay,
if C-4 was your firecracker,
you'd understand...

if your Brother, your Father,
your Cousin, was WormFood,
you'd understand...

if Ideology was prescribed to
lived within,
and Paid For with Blood,
you'd understand....

IF you survived all of this,
and could write in empathy
with another Soul
You Would Understand....

All else is ephemeral sycophancy.

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Gwen's Spirit - Wallace W. Rhodes

There’s a strange music in the wind, I have never heard
It tells me of many things without the spoken word

It graces a chilled October morning with a blue and cloudless sky
It tells the tears rolling down my cheek, there’s no reason I must cry

But I am not ready yet, my grief’s not begun to wane
Yet you help me along the way with another sweet refrain

Twilight has now fallen and I see a single evening star
I know it’s the light of my angel coming from the vast afar

Your rustling of the treetops tell me your tiny spirit’s here
And thoughts of all grief and anguish will no longer be so near

It is Gwen, my tiny dog, who spent years by my side
Whose body became so sick and painful, it could no longer abide

So she took another form, as an angel in the wind
And she shall dwell within me for a time that shall never end

The gentle wind has spoken with your wordless sweet refrain
This little one’s spirit will have blue Octobers, never any rain
And she will be my angel, her love’s spirit always will remain

So wind, dry the tear, mend the heart, let the soul dwell in peace
Love within us, our newly found realm, never shall it cease

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The Ballad Of Bionicle McGonicle - Jonathan Berman

Bionicle Mcgonicle, he had a robot monicle.
His moniker
was something sir;
from this incident did occur:
Apon read a chronicle
Of a trip
To the river mississip’
A thought occurred-
This is really quit absurd!
By drinking down such fanciful tonic all
my troubles won’t go away.
“To the docks!” he did say
to the driver of his cab,
a youngish brute wearing an ugly plaid.
Upon stepping to the curb
The cabbie made a face;
“Hey you did’nt pay!”
“No worry friend,”
he gave the man some currency,
“I’m in a hurry, see?”
Then on his way the cabbie did send.

At the docks
Wearing only but his smock
He made his way to a boat in the bay,
And proceeded to stow away.
To freedom he thought,
But with worries he was fraught,
What if he was caught?
Such a fate was aught,
For when he awoke,
A voice then spoke,
“Well you’re quite the crazy bloke.”

He was stuck on the head
With a piece of wood.
Something like this he once had read,
But think no more, he could.

Later that day,
He was found
floating on a bale of hay.
His eye, half eaten by a flound’. (er)
The doctors
Did petition
To keep him under locked doors,
Untill his pain went into remission,
And all was safe for him.
His eye was replaced,
But his vision became quite dim.
With visual scanlines interlaced,
And his viseage defaced,
He returned to his home,
In a geodesic dome,
Never to leave again.

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After the Deluge - Kay Lindgren

After the deluge,
dove and crow together, though
not of same feather.

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Swagger - Quinn Tyler Jackson

[This poem is not new -- but is unpublished -- and not widely distributed, so here goes. -quinn]

swagger

I went a way
others had worn
the stones were glassy
at my feet

with pride and say
and swagger
in my walk

and wild Jehovah
with His staff
beat sense and
senselessness to dust

ridding me of the father
son and holy ghost

I held my head
higher than the crowd
defied the Janteloven
of my class

on the well-worn
stones of glass

and though the scop
will sing of glory
honor and some such
antiquated fame

my feet were shorn
of all their skin
while wide Jehovah
leveled me

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Haiku - Quinn Tyler Jackson

I hear ten thousand frogs
All screaming in the night
Praying for rain.

As ten thousand soldiers
Lost on Life's Road's Shoulder
Come home again.

They drudged the damning bogs
And fought the damning fight,
Did not complain,

As their honor smolders,
Their beloved beholder
Denies the pain.

Though I've ne'er marched to war
These soldiers have before
Sung that refrain.

And in the marshes, friend,
The frogs' song shall ne'er end,
Nor summer's rain.

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Senryu - Quinn Tyler Jackson

Guest in that canoe,
Wondering screaming ...
Oh shit, we're sinking....

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Ping - Peter Ingestad (Krax)

ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping
ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping
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ping ping ping ping ping ping@bredband.net

personkonto 510325-4115

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With And Or Without Them - Paul Nachbar

Can't live with the boxes,
Can't live without them.

Can't live with the foxes,
Can't live without them.

Can't live with the poxes,
Can't live without them.

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