When the World Will Look Back
---------------------------------
When you look back in time,
You will be sure to look and find,
The people from all over the world,
Finding the hearts in every boy and every girl,

Many people and historical things,
Mother Theresa, Princess Di, Martin Luther King,
From The Great Wall of China, to the Statue of Liberty,
To the leaning Tower of Pisa and the Empire State Building,
Historical things we can look at and many people to admire,

So many wonder and wishes to send and fire,
The wars we have won the hearts we have lost,
Help us learn and earn our loving trusts each of us
Humans can keep our hearts in tact.
When The World Will Look Back.
God Bless

by 12 year old Alyssa Marie Muniz @SoHo/Cafe/3602
posted 9/19/99

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The Road
(A Poem for the Lost Cause)
-----------------------------
To the road
stretched between
the place you begin and end
you stumble in worship
a sad junkie rhythm
crave the blue city
in sleepless search for neon
mourn the silent exile
of your estranged creation

Your road is endless, unchanging
arriving cursed at every destination
to repeat the same failures
suffer the faithless embrace

This journey means nothing
and gives you no way back
a ghost, forgotten
as if unborn --
Too late you understand
the road left you only this:
a broken love
that blessed you once
before the road took you

by Soho CL Isabelle @ SoHo/Nook/3829
posted 7/17/99

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Possessions
---------------------
An elderly woman with salt and pepper curls
And bent roots for hands
Clutches the cracked straps
Of a scuffed leather purse
Close to her heart
Like valuable treasure.

The crooked fingers uncurl and twist open
the brass clasp between a thumb and forefinger
and a speckled hand dips in the dark hollow
to pluck a palmful of crumpled creamy muslin
and pink embroidered roses.

The thumb and forefinger grasp a twist
Of the ivory weave
And dab the furrowed skin
Above the pucker of her lip.

A leggy teen in black braids with blue hues
And paisley tights
Wraps bent elbows around thick textbooks
With laminated covers And cups them to her smooth belly
Like innocent children.

The ringed fingers tap the bindings
In time to a private beat
A fugitive melody escapes from muffled ears
And half closed eyes slide sideways
As her plaited hair
Rests against the dingy bus window

A sallow veteran
His hair dusty spikes on one side
And tramped down hay on the other
Weaves arms sleeved in olive
Protectively around a concave torso
A corporal perfumed in mothballs
He whispers worldless sounds
As his rheumy eyes gaze at the hazy glass

The gray grime lines his jagged fingernails
That scrape at a spectral rip
On the ribboned pocket
Of his canvas shroud.


by Deborah Lomax SoHo/Museum/2485/
posted 3/12/99

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Night of Truth
---------------------
An hour to go,
I sat on the sofa
pushing buttons on a worn remote control
back and forth between news and the inane.

I didn't know what was on the TV
and didn't really care.
I paused only to note
the appearance of That Girl
concocting one of her wacky schemes

A scheme soon to be quashed by her ever-responsible boyfriend, Don.
My salad sat untouched,
its leaves wilted by too much dressing.
I had no desire for food--only resolution.

After our last conversation,
I swear I recalled every day,
every moment,every glance we exchanged,
trying to decipher the code
but somewhere along the way
I lost my ring
and they don't make that cereal anymore.

Some part of me thought
I'd never see you again
That it was over
But here I am,
perilously scaling that invisible wall
anxiously waiting . . .
waiting . . .

Eight o'clock came
and I waited
still unable to breathe and pacing, mentally,
those well worn grooves
in the dark part of my brain

That Girl disappeared,
crisis solved
and you arrived at my door,
cool and aloof,
carrying only a cigarette
and a handful of regrets.

by Pagan Poet Girl SoHo/5653
posted 3/8/99

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A Break in the Music
---------------------
I want to play a haunting melody
I want to lay down on the dirty floor
I like it when my hair drifts in front of my eyes
Breathing in the outside letting my inside out

I want to sit on the stairs
And rest awhile
And count the silence which floats away
While my fingers amble down the ivory path

The piano lives when I touch it
Blueish-yellow notes wafting on the midnight air
Coming out from under me
As it tears my soul apart

My days go by as I sit
Carelessly on the piano bench
The weight of the mood pressing down on my shoulders
I strike a key

The day begins
As others rush by
Their clock runs faster than mine
My watch stunned by gravity

My fingers tremble and shake
I anticipate the yesterdays
I look back on tomorrow
And remember what it was like to dream

My hands caress a blue moon
Breaking on the shadows of last night's mortal eternity
Subtly moving out in waves
As air rises from chambers deep

I feel barren today
It's all just rote now
Mechanical fingers tapping on cold keys
My soul was warm the other day

You should have heard me
I could do no wrong
My heart beat in each of those 88 keys
And the steam rose off the chords

But today you see no steam
Only emptiness
While haunting melodies gather somewhere else
I sit down and sigh.

by SoHo CL Moodswingin (Liam) SoHo/9719
posted 3/1/99

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The Hero
---------------------
This is a tale of a man named Bob,
He did his best to do his job.
Every day he went to work
At Northern Savings where he was a bank clerk.
Bob was a brave man and true.
He was very healthy - had never had the flu.
Bob was admired far and wide,
For, to do his best he always tried.
Counting numbers from one to ten,
Bob was the best of all the men.
Bob was big and Bob was strong;
His muscles were large and his legs were long.
In one area Bob's perfection missed,
For, he was vulnerable in the wrist.
He could not type; he could not write,
But this does not mean that Bob could not fight.
For, there was one day long ago
When valiant Bob was the hero.
Bob was doing his daily work
When into the bank walked a steely-eyed jerk.
The man looked the bank up and down;
Bob looked at him with a frown.
To Bob's desk the man did walk
As Bob opened his mouth, about to talk.
But rather than what he was to say,
From his mouth escaped a "Hey!"
For from his pocket the man had let free
A small but deadly thirty-three.
"Hey buddy, give me all your cash
And do it quickly, in a flash!
If not, watch out, my gun might slip
And shoot you in the foot or hip.
Or maybe hit you in the head,
Your brains will be on the floor in a pool of red."
Bob went to the safe to get the bills
And on the way took some headache pills.
He put the money in a sack
And to the robber hurried back.
"Here you go, you evil man.
Try to get away if you can.
While you were not watching, while you were not near,
I pushed an alarm to call the police here."
The sirens rang out in the street
As the steely-eyed jerk jumped to his feet.
He grabbed Bob's neck and held his wrists
As Bob's strong hands clenched into fists.
He stuck his gun next to Bob's head
And toward the basement began to tread.
"Poor, poor Bob, you thought yourself brave,
But to my will you are a slave.
All along it was my intent
To leave the bank through the basement.
I knew that you would press the alarm;
I watched you do it with no fear of harm.
Through the sewers we shall go
Until we reach a place I know.
This place is dark; this place is dim
And I have somewhere there for you to swim."
With that the man took Bob down the stair,
Bob walked slowly, with great care.
He felt no fear; he was not afraid
Even in this dark place where rats and robbers stayed.
Finally the pair reached a light,
The day after an endless night.
They entered the room, a grayish cell,
In which a large tank gave forth an ominous smell.
The man pulled Bob to the top of the well
And from the ceiling a giant hook fell.
The jerk tied Bob up with a chain to the hook.
Bob saw a bubbling liquid over which a platform shook.
A pulley pulled Bob over the mixture
And from there he hung like a ceiling fixture.
"If you were wondering what lies below,
It is hydrochloric acid -- twelve-molar or so.
The fumes will soon burn through the chain
And then the acid will burn through your brain."
With an evil laugh the jerk then left,
Leaving poor Bob alone with thought of the theft.
Valiant Bob then developed a plan,
"I can make the best of this situation, I know that I can.
With my strong arms and my quick wit,
I will save my money despite all of it."
He broke the binds with just one arm
And climbed the chain away from harm.
He swung the pulley to the side
And crept up the stairs to the robber's side.
The steely-eyed man never heard Bob arrive,
He never thought that Bob was still alive.
Bob sneaked up as the man counted his money,
Bob knocked him out with a "Move over honey!
Your time is up; your reign is at its end;
There's a new sheriff in town, and it's me, my friend.
Now give me my money and hand it over quick,
If not I'll hurt you so badly your mom will get sick."
Bob grabbed the man and pulled him toward the door,
But the steely-eyed jerk tried to wrestle him to the floor.
The man grabbed Bob by his weakness, his wrist,
And Bob did not know what to do; this was a new twist.
The man was not supposed to fight back,
Bob was supposed to win his brave attack.
Bob felt his wrist grow limp and weak,
He felt such fear he could not speak.
But valiant Bob could not be defeated,
In his mind this thought he repeated.
"I will not lose. I must prevail.
I must send this robber straight to jail."
Bob's wrist suddenly felt less ill,
He knew he would win because he had the will.
His wrist was strong. His wrist was deft.
He moved it to the right and left.
He felt the power in his skin,
And again to fight Bob did begin.
With his wrist he picked the man off the floor
And hurled him away, toward the door.
He picked him up and left the room,
Again they were surrounded by the sewer's gloom.
He walked the man through the dark
To the bank from whence they did hark.
Bob brought the robber to the bank
And grabbed a policeman of a high rank.
"Excuse me sir, oh officer man,
Please listen to me for a moment if you can.
This man I hold is common trash,
He robbed the bank and stole our cash.
But do not worry, I have it all
And our dear robber will have to take a fall.
No more will he live a life of joy
While he steals the money of some little girl or boy.
This man I ask you to escort to jail
Where soon I hope justice will prevail."
And from the bank went the steely-eyed jerk,
He was avenged by a mere bank clerk.
But mere bank clerk our Bob was not,
For he saved the day and a lesson was taught.
Despite your weakness or where you fail,
Do not worry, good will prevail.
Just try your best at what you do,
And you may be a hero too.

by Kirstin at SoHo/Museum/3468/
posted 3/3/99