One of the specialty Brown Bag Lunches coming right up...

My Fathxr's Old Typxwritxr

My Fathxr's old typxwritxr, I camx across onx day;
I found it in thx attic, hx thrxw it not away,
It was an oldxr modxl, bxforx 'lxctricity;
And it works vxry wxll xcxpt for just onx kxy.

Pxoplx, likx Dad's typxwritxr, may not work propxrly;
"It won't makx a diffxrxncx," you might say, "for only onx pxrson I bx."
But you should say thx oppositx, bxcausx as you can sxx;
To bx truly xffxctivx, a group nxxds xvxrybody.

So, whxnxvxr you think you'rx only onx,
Rxmxmbxr this typxwritxr I got;
And say to yourslf, "I am a kxy pxrson --
and I am nxxdxd a lot!"

Submitted by CL Sarge at SoHo/Village/4567
Posted 7/17/99

Untitled

a grey matter child stirred beneath the stone today
craning sleepy neck pouring eyes over the debris
the flotsam bobbing an inanimate dance
upon the coldest shore
the death silence pressing migraine temples
into red-eyed pain
twisting under its mad deluge
static slow crescendo
to inhuman algorithmic fury
eyes pinching to deny
releasing...
questions flood
closing downward
bending from sheets of iron wind
cast back to times of simple glorious boredom
sleeps of endless innocence
taken for opulence
strewn upon the road
insignificance washes over chilling gaunt countenance
need for reality
lost to its own falsity
nothing matters but this

By Gordon Bazsali at SoHo/Exhibit/4887
posted 3/8/99

Wild Garden

If silence were golden
malleable and pure
it would be warm and welcome
an anxiety cure...

Occupation of time
procreation of Gods
seems harder than plastic
no wonder I'm at odds
Dead winter air
sees us quickly wilting
our once solid hearts
are terminally guilting

Can we arrive at
an amicable pardon
water cannot rejuvenate
this once wild garden.

By Pagan Poet Girl at SoHo/5653
posted 3/8/99

My Old Teddy Bear

Lying in bed with my Old Teddy Bear
His one missing eye and his raggedy hair,
His seams are all split, and stuffing falls out,
But the way that I love him is never in doubt.

He gets lots of cuddles when I go to bed,
He saves me quite often from things that I dread,
He shares my best secrets and knows all my dreams,
Together we're one of the world's greatest teams.

He listens intently whenever I speak,
Always with interest, and never a squeak.
Never unfaithful, he knows that I care,
And he's right, for I love him, my old Teddy Bear.

By Colin at Soho/Atrium/1101
posted 3/1/99

In My House

In my house
quiet I sense the night creeping
through windows
slinking along freshly scrubbed floors
to lie in corners, waiting for the dark...
In my house
this strange new entity
I find myself tilting at noises
that are not yet familiar
the ice machine gushes like a frozen Niagara.
In my house
it is warm silent dry hot cold
weather permitting
I'll go outside and build a garden
if the snow promises
not to stick to the rake
or my new garden shovel.
In my house
I am restless
afraid the stove will blow up
or the neighbors will steal my laundry from the line
in the summertime.
In my house
when I sit up in bed listening hard
but hearing only the hum of my alarm
as it slumbers
I see naked shadows pass by
in diaphanous form
pacing the hallway between bedroom and bath.
In my house
I look for signs of other life forms
not those little green men that came from afar
mistakenly packed in boxes yet unopened
but the other kind are the kind I seek...
those filmy creatures that speak
to me in my dreamtime
those who dance in my periphery
and tell me in epiphany
that all is well in my house.
By Pagan Poet Girl at SoHo/5653
posted 3/1/99

Want to browse other sections...
Main  -  Family & Friends -  Emotional   -  Life  - Nature
Dedications - Inspirational  - Humor  - Resident Poets