A large green salad..what type of dressing would you like on that?

The Cycles

A silent shadow races across the snow below a hawk in flight.
Its wings making subtle adjustments against currents unseen.
He banks, his prey is in sight.
He tucks his wings and falls from the sky, talons keen.

The predator attacks, the silence is broken.
My breathing stops, tension unspoken.
His wings spread, he starts to fly.
With prey secure he rises toward the sky.

I blink my eyes, my breathing returns
as the hawk seeks the cover of a snow laden pine.
The scene has ended but the memory burns.
The violence of nature imprints my mind.

The mountain returns to its placid state.
No memorial left for a life lost.
Nature provides, prey meets its fate.
Death for life, a natural cost.

© 1998, D.B. Sweet,All Rights Reserved

Submitted by D.B. Sweet at Soho/Study/7126
posted 9/15/99

Early Morning in May

A stare off in the night,
looking upon the moonlight.
Whisper in the shadow,
bettween the dawn and day.

It's early morning in May.

The blades of grass,
all look like glass.
covered in dew,
from the dawning of day.

It's early morning in May.

The sun is up,
and the grass turns rough.
Clans of birds find the shade,
in the middle of this day.

It's early morning in May

The day turns late,
there's nothing to hate.
Work comes to a final end
In the evening of this day.

It's early morning in May

The darkness sets over the field of wheat,
as I finally lay my head down to sleep.
And the memories linger,
and turn into dreams on the end of this day.

Goodnight America, from the day in May

Submitted by CL Matt at SoHo/Square/1335
posted 7/10/99

Certain Seasons

a single snowflake shines in the cold,
taped to the window
of a little girl's abode.
she's curled beside her bed
teddy firm in hand.
cold outside so cold outside.

a piercing, thin-laced sun
painted on a piece of paper,
multi-colored petals
strewn with care,
a little boy giggling at the rain,
born again he's born again.

blazing reds, seething golds
rising from the tar
woman gazes across the barren far.
Firebird coalesces on its tires
interjecting the e'ergreen view.
lost inside still lost inside.

slowly drifting crunching tickling
earthcolors each cradle a space
swirling down dying,
so many men to rake up.
leaning on his tool denying the pain,
all again lose all again.

Submitted by  Anne at /SoHo/Coffeehouse/9508/
posted 5/22/99

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