Without poetry, literature, music and art, man is not a man. Each and everyone of us in the heart is a poet. If this were not so, we would not be able to appreciate books we read, TV shows or movies we see, paintings, pictures or sculptures we see. We may not be aware, but we are born to appreciate beauty. When one becomes one with nature's beauty, what we percieve is poetry, may it take shape in the form words, artist's brush, image on photographic paper or chisel of sculptor. Beauty is nothing but the truth. It is something to see, to appreciate. This is a page for all of us who love poetry to express ourselves. On this ladder of poetry, where one stands really doesn't matter. One is poet is enough. On these pages of poetry trail we present footsteps of young poets:
When it was too cold, he came out of his mold.
---Raymond Mc Cormack Jr
3
Unrelenting,
--Harding Stedler, P.O.Box 1482
4
Dream houses with snow covered roof tops,
--------Shyamkant Kulkarni, March 12, 1999
5
And which of these will wisdom bless
I know I want to go to sea
--Juby Sadler, 1521 James Street, Grove, OK 74344.
6
Corpses lay in open graves
In musty rooms with mildewed shades,
Addicts thrashed on unwashed sheets;
Gardens rustled ripe with weeds;
God forsook his flesh-made Son,
----Heidi Gunter, 3451, 22 nd Ave.
7
----Raud A. Kennedy, 4 Harvard Pl; # 2
8
Hiding itself from the city streets,
And here on the over-used, old desk
...Larry D. Griffin.
9
He’s the kind of man who sees time
Perceives no error in Charles Adaams’
Applauds the economic utility
Deplores the seeming fix we’re in
Suggests we take a cue from Macintosh
***** Daniel Green, 1248 Belleflower
10
There was a time when I tasted sunshine.
---Kristy Baker, 741 Hathaway drive,
11
Gypsies in the dark of the night
---- Gerald Zipper, 215 W. 90 th St.
12
Mom, where are you now?
13
You stop
By John sweet
14
I woke up
And the clouds
Like silent glory the wind
By Edward L. Canavan
15
Eyes dredged with burdens
By Abbey Matttes,
16
This mist lifts eerily-
young and sings like
The ancient night. Air is
Horizon struggles as he
Tree tops below rustle
soothes and lulls Nature's
Arrival. The morning chill
--Virginia Donald,
17
The silver clock can never speak;
---Jane Stuart
--Harding Stedler
P. O. Box 1482
Won’t rub out of your eye
You were cutting out
I'd give the world to know
---James Neylon
215 Kings highway, apt. A 6
Shaded by a Monterey cypress,
On Eden, if ever there were
-----Michael Fraley
22459 47th Ave.,
I am wandering lonely, ceaselessly,
Wherever I go,
In vain I am searching
Whenever I go to a new town,
---Shyamkant Kulkarni
Dreams!
By Mary Lou Kennerly
Her eyes are blue
By Amanda Vaughn
25
I search so hard
--By Amanda Vaughn
26
Most things are smaller than I remember
My daddy’s rhyme drums in
-R.A. Burns, 1546 Oak Lei Dr,
27
We travelers of night
---B, Z. Niditch, P.O. Box 1664,
28
I shared with you,
---Somer Wilson,
29
Later you will see the news
--- David Beard,
30
The old ones have no power
They long for the young
---Lorain Tolliver,
31
There is weeping in the black weeds
---Janet Noel Sadler.
32
If there were no thoughts to find,
---Sarah Nelson,
33
A red rose petal
---Raud A. Kennedy,
33
Ocean waves pound the shore.
Sudden flash of blue
My Christmas cactus,
--Wilma Daugherty
Yes I am this.
---Sheila Williams
Many a times I wonder,
Many a times I see wealthy homes,
A tomb of once upon a time,
Many a times I try to count,
In the midst of a night I remember,
A home, sweet home is never
---Shyamkant Kulkarni
Silent sentinels
... P.M.Wilshaw, 59 S.Ocean Ave,
posted
For some years now,
Saddened, these obsequies
I confess
Uniform insignia are simple;
I would prefer, of course,
...Daniel Green , 1248 Belleflower St
On the desk sit the remains of my>br>
Last meal; matzo Brie
Inhale, exhale, I keep getting
I grow great this way,
Would you like a lesson?
... Aviva Rosenthal, 1587 Stilwell #
posted
cold and impressed, posted
Many beautiful things in life are free…
The hours of haze in springtime
The black in me,
On some nights, drunk and out of control,
--Kevin K. Allen.
In the moonlight
Hanging new chromed hardware
Which I skillfully adore,
Speaking at meeting which I don’t,
Drawing up my feet at an action movie,
Reading Lytton Strachey between the lines
Wearing a new blue striped shirt,
Studying Latin I on vacation,
Weeding the backyard after rain,
Making love Sunday afternoon,
Or eating out in confront after
An unwilling part of me
Cannot stand any moment of living,
Lurks just offstage everywhere,
And whispers through cupped hands
For smoke, drink, or chocolate,
Anything short of immediate pain or death
To distract me from the strain
And embarrassment of now.
----A. C. Brocki
801 Georgina Ave.
Santa Monika, CA 90402
Notice That Anonymous Lake
up in waterfordTwp.
Actually it’s a wide watertable
Risen to visibility,.
Displaying itself a brazen blue a new
Like a plateglass pane.
Where you can count risqué
reflections
When the sun slants right.
And see its partial screen of
Surpassed-puberty trees
Make a leafy try are disguising its
“Privacy of nature”
Which is the best
Hedge-around reason why, as I
When driving by
Almost missed spying it.
Solitary winter bedroom
The Round Oak’s woodfire warmth
Are rooms away.
Over in the parlor.
The grandfather clock-ticks seem slower
In the chilling dark.
My padded comforters pile heavy,
I tighten into a fetal ball
To keep in close
All body warmth remaining
As the icy shadows
Begin their creeping invasion
Of my bed’s edges.
My thick-socked feet
Huddle near the still-hot soapstone
As I begin to set my will
Against another protracted night
Of Arctic sleep
When even dreams can pull no heat
From a slowly receding sun.
Morning is awakening
To icy sheets, icy soapstone
And light struggling in
Through frost-thick windows
And a shivering that cannot stop….
…Jim Dewitt, 2526 chatham woods
Grand Rapids, MI 49546
Memorial
These quiet weeds
Wilting between flowers
And sadness continue
To brush in single stroke
Against a jaded fall,
Above, a laughter
Of geese fly in squadron
Like veterans returning
From foreign campaigns.
There, A sound
Of chimes in crystal
Air weds with secretive wind.
I feel your heartbeat,
Hear your breath
Lingering like leaves
Who have lost.
Their better branches.
Hearing my name,
I turn away
Answering
The wrong person.
…Richard Luftig
33591 Kehr Rd.
Oxford, OH 45056
Cheer
The water here,
full of iron and sulphur,
Immune too sweet smelling detergents.
But the stink of
These toothless people,
By their smiles
distilled into perfume.
---Henry Tokarski, P.O. Box 0340
Blazkeslee PA 18610.
Realistic
The need
For wind
Is overpowered
By the fear
Of flying
So we walk
Like the dead
Than they ever were
With
Much less
To hope
For
Nothing yet
Empty boxes, empty bottles, and empty promises
And the only things that are full are usually full shit.
It is too easy to hate people and too hard to avoid them.
Between the windows and the walls
There is enough indifference to be had but
Very little comfort,
The nights slide by
In the same obvious disguises
Running to and from
The murderous days
Pay no mind.
The days, the months the years
Only larger measures
Comprised of smaller moments
Exaggerated or diminished
By whatever happens next.
We are here
Inside ourselves
Far from clocks
And calendars
Slaves to the routine
Of going thru the motions
The best we can
Until it all comes
To a screeching halt.
…E. Canavan, 5617 LA Mirada Ave. #302, Los Angeles, Ca 90038.
A Lonely Traveler
Shyamkant Kulkarni
Editor: Shyamkant Kulkarni
Poetry: Rekha Kulkarni
Publisher: Shyamkant Kulkarni
Back to Eagles Flight
Then,
Somebody sold him , a bracelet of gold.
But the story is
still untold, The price of gold he paid
Was a life without smile and love, just glittering shine
a fake mask of gold.
2
Friend
When did your ideals end?
Handshakes, Rattlesnakes, Truths, Lies.
When did your heart blacken, whither and die?
Of all the faces that you wear
There is none that can compare
to the smiling face
from which you stare.
P.O.Box 466, Gardner, MA 01440
Messenger by Day
a messenger in red plumage
twice summoned me today
through window glass.
Eventhough I tried to pass
his presence as coincidence
he persisted inmy taking note.
We met each other eye to eye,
separated only by inches of daylight.
I marveled at his trust
and close proximity
in which he came.
I think I know the reason
for his coming and wait for
the phone to ring and last weeks's
death rattle to subside.
Cabot, AR 72023-1482
have evaporated.
Snowman with scarf and red carnation
had long been melted,
White carpet and footsteps on it
Scattered everywhere and going nowhere
have disappeared.
Snow balls, mounds of snow,
marks of wresteling, and an outstreched hand
in one corner have gone.
The young couple celebrating the first birthday of
their first born son,
Other celebrating honeymoon
have gone.
Grandma in the second block, who
slipped and fractured her hip
is quietly sipping hot coffee in hospital bed.
Parking lot is now empty.
A civilization borne five days ago
With this snow storm
had vanished forever
without any trace, with
a sweep of warm weather
leaving behind memories of short lived
Shangrila.The Voyage
With men who shelter in the lee.
The brave man sails in spite of fears,
And sets a course that never veers.
The coward keeps his boat in the port,
And plays at sailing like a sport.
With skills to meet the times of stress?
With men who have integrity.
With men who fear, but still will fight
To set a course they is right.
With men who cannot be deterred
From living boldly by God’s word.End Days
Red clouds crept across the sun.
Promises were left unkept
Mothers groaned, and drank, and slept.
While foxes watched from silent caves.
Children grew, and scorned, and cursed;
Nursery rhymes died unrehearsed.
Old men coughed, stumbled, raved,
Laughter crumbled into gloom.
Assassins mocked the swelling womb.
Babies sucked on poisoned teats.
Poets dreamed, alone in bed.
Of rivers whispering words unsaid.
Prophets mourned forgotten creeds.
Prayers for mercy went unheard;
Lovers spurned the sacred word.
In the days when meaning came undone.
W.Seattle, WA 98199Eventually
Are you awake?
In the dim light of the bed
I might as well be dead.
I'm awake, I answer.
I can't sleep.
Nor can I.
I open my eyes.
The ceiling is cracked and stained.
from damp.
The former upstairs tenant
took a bath
that never ended for him.
I know why I can't sleep,
and I wonder if it's
the same for her.
Her eyes are moist
in the street light
coming through the thin curtains.
No, it's not the same.
I push the covers aside.
I'll be right back, I say,
as I dress.
Where are you going?
The same place
as you,
eventually.
Charlestown, MA 02129
The Hideout
the room was fine and appointed.
from the window you could see the river
broad and brown . Through glass
came all the sounds of the traffic,
I wrote a single love poem, I had words,
the power and acquisition there obtained
that I would now so many years
later give anything to have again.
Bishop House, 518 East Court Street,
Dyersburg, Tennessee 38024-4714.Ikon
as Dali’s watch melting off the table’s
edge, and is reassured he’s not alone.
ski tracks passing either side of a tree
trunk going on without a backward
glance.
of a third eye peering out of the back
of his head to see where he’s been
as well as what’s ahead.
being just as we were a million years
ago. Thinks our software’s obsolete.
or IBM, delet the unimproved, plug in
new inventions, leap into the unknown.
St, Sarasota, FL 34232.
Kinder Kind
The clouds, the grass, the very earth,
Yielded to my exploration
And surrendered their secrets.
A time when I slept on hair
Still wet from a bubble bath,
And counted promises on soap bubbles.
A time when I could revel in pictures
Found in boiling clouds. And, even now,
As I resign myself to the mundane passage
Of days filled with fluorescent lit skies
And paper clouds, I think I can still feel
The grass beneath bare feet
And a secret whispered into my ear.
By the passing breeze strong
Enough to carry a kite.
Apt 206 D
Colorado Springs, COGypsies
under star-flecked skies
dancing and singing
ignites spirits
dispensing pleasures
smirks of the turbaned lady
through dirt-stained windows
rousing the dreamy youth
flashing faded rainbow stains
withered suns and wilted moons
silver spangled sandals remnants
of opulent night of Istomboul
crystal ball flickering secret
messages prophesying
mystery fortunes
I sit beside her
placing coins in sweaty palm
crowding shadows
through folds of dusty curtains
clamor of gypsy caravans
disgorging their leaping dancers
serenading the rebald moon
laughing dancing singing
beside the roaring fire
a word beyond the curtain
celebrating the magic of a
summers's night
New York, N.Y. 10024My Mother
You stood there
Whenever I needed you,
But in your dire hours
I was not there, anywhere
Did you call me in your
last hour?
I followed you holding your finger,
you carrying a pot filled with water
On you head,
We walked for miles and miles,
in rough terrain
water bearly clenching my
Thirst.
The Sun on hour head
Scorching and torturing
Still both of us,
we made it. But in the end
when we sat down
at the dinner table,
Why did you leave so early
in a haste, getting mad,
without finishing
the last bite?
When I see
Flock of seagulls flying
South in the sky in V shape,
Quacking loudly,
Tall grass in open fields
Dancing on the wind,
Small girls laughing and giggling
I feel I am with you.
Without you,
Heaven is not heaven,
Roses are not roses.
Let my tears wash stains
and sorrows
hunting me in this forrest.
-------By Shyamkant KulkarniUS
counting the
number of times
I’ve hurt you
I stop
Apologizing
In these rooms
Love has become
The strongest
Weapon
The child will
Have no choice
But to choose
Between us
Waiting
Has never been
A holier Art.
2003 tracy st.
Endicott NY 13760Perfect
And the sun
Had lost again
Marched in
Taking the sky
And the land
And all upon it.
Was easy
And undemanding
As I walked
Into the
Comforting
Grayness
With nowhere to go
5617 LA Mirada Ave., APT 302
Los Angeles, CA 90038.Solemn Soul
unknown to me,
Stiff hands that had grown to
weather the storm.
He gazed as if in a world unknown,
For his soul had burnt
out from a long winter’s night
Him alone by a window of
freedom of guilt,
He might as he may but he
could not get out.
Had his heart been encrusted
with a shell of protection,
Or was it just me that felt this affection?
The days of his life more dead than alive.
His Soul to whisper this
solemn song of regret,
Wasted and gone are
the years of my life.
For this gift which was given
was lost like the wind
Your thoughts, Your feelings,
Your breath, You shall Cherish.
For in the end
these things too, Shall Perish.
1507 Harding Ave.
Eau Claire WI 54701Morning
Drifting apart like pale
Hands. The morning is
A butterfly. Glazed water
sparkles as it exhales
Fresh and opens herself
to restless daylight.
Tries to separate the
vulnerable moon from sun.
with crisp and cool
anticipation. Their breath
Soul as the sun
Emerges- shouting his
turns golden as time
Stands back to watch.
16754 Brauer Rd
Poulsbo, WA 98370The Silver Clock
it does not know the hour.
Hands turn hands while minutes talk,
the angelus sings silence.
Alone in this numbed quietness
where sun sleeps and moons walk,
The sliver clock can never speak;
time does not know the hour.
I asked for tender memory-
A blooming flower, a rhubarb stalk,
Slates covered with colored chalk
But time instead whispers to me:
the silver clock can talk!
1000 W-Hollow
Greenup, KY 41144.
18The Lucky One
They see him as the lucky one
my dear old dad now
approaching eighty
Had his left foot blown off
By a land mine which
qualifies him as a
handicapped war veteran
for pension above and over
the social security
As it's told by the other
villagers able-bodied but bent
over the years
And not without some envy
Yes he had his foot blown off
Yes he did. But at least he
gets paid for it, doesn't he?
What 's true is true and he too
Is a war profiteer
Just like the major powers
And the arms manufacturers.
--P.Sohar
14 Sydenham Rd,
Warren, NJ 07059.
19 Step Above Gravity
In the silt of spring,
I wade the clay-worn paths
Framed ragged with old rock
And imbibe the gift
Of a thousand years.
The same rocks Indians climbed
to cross the Ouachitas up hold
my footsteps to the summit.
There, I breathe sun-filtered
air and view cloud-free
tomorrows from the sky.
Something more than magic
Stitches the trail I weave
And lifts me to heights
Beyond lasting Earth.
Cabot, AR 72023-1482.
20Halloween Pumpkin
Something you have to say
Like a finger inside
You feel the pressure of
Gradually find its way.
It's nothing you can hide
Forever... nothing that love
Or clear your throat to say
That apple that you swallow
The necessary lie
That won't go either way
Love will more than allow.
A pumpkin with a smile.
His brains a pile of mush.
What you were thinking about
Or what remembering while
In no particular rush.
And what the candle keeps
You much reminded of.
What such an idiot glow
Knows of the one who sleeps
While making a face for love.
W. Springfield, Ma 01089.
21Peace Garden
The peace garden is a place
Where guinea pigs graze on
green lawns, giraffes
meander at their leisure, and
sunshine is a welcome break
from the incessant rain we’re
having, Marabou storks make
a strange spectacle, craning
their necks to preen their feathers.
I’m surrounded by
the sounds of birds chirping
and children vocalizing.
Peacocks are too tempting,
but no one’s fast enough to
catch them, the only disasters
are matters of tears, hot tears
quickly dispatched and
forgotten.
such a garden, let it be in
bloom again, May the
creatures inhabit it fearlessly
and stroll through the
meadow I unharmed, nodding
and turning their heads to
each other, speaking in
voices both quiet and warm.
San Francisco, Ca 94116
22That Princess
From place to place
In search of that familiar place
To call it my place
Where I can rest.
I get tired of those weird looks.
Of foreign accents, unknown faces,
New customs, houses with new faces,
Dark lanes, congested squares,
Jagged roads and diversions,
With red stop signs.
For that old place to rest.
For a friend to open my heart.
For familiar place, of which long ago I lost trace.
For those sweet tunes still lingering in my ears.
For those dark eyes with a sparkle
Which once invited me in a dream
Of that lost city.
I try to forget faces with frown,
To turn pages now turned brown,
To compare those sketches now about to fade
May I hope to find, before I am exhausted,
Those lost dreams, the owner of that face
For whom I left my home and all the riches
For one glimpse of that princess,
For whom my heart is aching for ages.
23 Dreams
Hold fast to dreams.
For if dreams die
Life is a broken
Winged bird that cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams,
For when dreams go
Life is a barren
Field frozen
With snow.
1101 Coal Rd
Munhall, PA 15120
24
Cold Eyes
with little green specks
they look into my soul
with love, with hate
Anything
But emptiness
They tell me of others
Orphans and
Tramps
Worse off than I
But they are strong
My sheltered life
Has left me weak.You can
understand their sadness
But not mine.
I am supposed to be
Happy.
They say so.
But I am perhaps saddest of all
I look into those blue eyes
With little green specks
So empty.
So like my own
What sorrows they have seen
I ask them how they
Survived
The mirror has no answer.
3310 Holmes Bend Road
Columbia, KY 42728When She Came
Squinting harder to see,
What am I?
A deep dark hole
Oblivion
I am everything
That is nothing.
And nothing special
One of many, yet I feel alone
Is that why melancholy?
Crept into my room
And took me
As her own target with my
Black heart
And soul
I hope she tells them
I struggled
No one understands me like
SHE does
Is that why SHE came
Is that why melancholy took
me as her own?
I gladly go with her
She understands
We are one.
3310 Holmes Bend Road
Columbia, KY 42728Fireflies
As children we caught them by jarful
Tried to read by their light
We squished their
phosphorous to make scars and warpaint
Even girls would tear off
abdomens to make
Glow-in-the dark nails
But tonight‘s beasts seem
Something from a 50’s movie
Ferocious as a child and just
waiting for some signal to
swarm and smother me
Alone in the night’s cave
my mind like a mantra—or a riddle;
the lightning bud is brilliant
though it hasn’t any mind
It blunders through existence
With its headlight on behind
Cape Girardeau, MO 6370lInsomniac Poet
Pass over
Dances of disbelief columns
of thundering math
Answers to uneven refrains
timepieces and weather vanes
knock over so many epitaphs
more silent than snow
many hours of shelter
planning, refusing ,demanding
that open-eyed second necessity
in hour own history’s right arm
Remembering the blackboard
at school with bad words
everyone wanted to admit
writing on Fridays pacing
around wishing the clock
would change
and our bandaged memory
would slide away
and every remedy would
have some rhyme
Even on tonight’s mind
racing and searching
For love’s homeland
Would rescue us from exile.
Brookline, MA 02446-0013. Friend
Your joy and laughter.
Your hopes and dreams and your ambitions.
I endured your pain and sorrow.
I have cried for you,
No, not cried.
But wept, long and bitter tears,
I have smiled and laughed
With you,
I do all this because
My friend, I love you
9022 S. 41 W. Ave.
Tulsa, OK 74132Later
Film of how the town went under,
How fourteen inches of rain
Drove the river.over the dike
Down the street and in the
Front door of your house
Licking at the walls,
You will remember bringing
Possessions from the first floor
Piling them on the bed.
The house filling likes a glass,
How you climbed out the window
Handing the children down to the boat,
The propeller scraping on the cars,
Praying your sister is safe at
the shelter and that your husband
will find you there.
Your china hutch is undisturbed
The piano is intact.
You see then when you dream,
From your grandmothers crystal vase
The canary yellow mums
And red-hot gladiolus
Shine deep under the water.
And when the thunder wakes you,
you shudder,
The rain alive and drumming
Trembling in your veins.
4141 S, Seneca, # 807.
Wichita, KS.67217 Patronized in a Nursing Home
Often they are too weak or scared to scream.
They may be tortured by
the vicious and mean,
No contest is less equal
than youth against age.
to command respect.
If they're not deaf, then they
can hear the jeers.
If they’re not blind, then
they can see the sneers,
Yet, they have to take help
with humiliated regret.
to desire the gift.
Old ones can pass on to their kind:
a trial-and error map of bumpy years.
The map is the last and best
of what is left
It’s really to be treasured,
a priceless find.
It speaks to anyone
who sees and hears.
8305 Summertime Lane,
Culver City, CA 90230
Searching the mid-world
as though a soul
is weighted by the cloak of night
And needs more light to life
the darkened shade away,
For early day to change
the sobbing into songs.
There is a weeping from the black woods,
Some huddled form, perhaps
not born, but lost in death,
can’t find the way,
and all the tiny flowers
along that path are gray,
There is silver light that
touches night things as they
move or stand
And outlines clumps of trees
or miles of sand.
The dark side of a day
that’s passed is pewter-colored images
an infant’s eye might see.
They‘d be: a dusty band of
travelers resting near a midnight stump,
in silence, searching for the bridge,
The unborn child, and God.
9 Fairfield Road, Havertown, PA 1908A Way for Love
I know you’d still be on my mind
If there were no words to speak,
Our passion would still, be unique
If we had no songs to sing,
We’d have melodies to keep humming,
If we had no flowers to send
I know our love would never end,
If there were no books to read,
You’d still be all I need,
If there was no tear to cry
How dry would be each eye.
If we had no smiles to share,
I’d know that you still care,
If we had no laughter between us,
Our lives would still be glorious,
If there were no dreams to discover,
We’d still have each-other
If there were no tomorrows
Together we’ll always be close.
If we had no paths to follow,
Our fates would somehow flow.
If we had no sun to shine,
I’d still be your and you-mine
If there were no things to die for,
I’d still have you evermore
And if there were no stars up above,
We’d still find a way for love.
1760 Michael Ann Dr.
SW
Los Lunas, NM 87031Floating
Swirls in the blue water
Of the nightclub’s toilet bowl.
The stink of anxiety
Seeps from my pores.
The headache in my temples
Pulls at my forehead,
Telling me something is wrong.
Too many nights
Out until the morning birds chirp.
Too much chit and chat
with people who are high
On everything but life.
I have too many fears
To think of the answer
I already know.
When I say it aloud
To the face in the mirror
It sounds like a lie,
A chameleon butterfly
Turned green
Amongst the moss covered
tree branch.
4 Harvard Pl. # 2. Charlestown, MA 02129Two Poems
Close, cloud-filled skies
Enfold me in comfort.
I am so small.
In the quiet night
We share tears.
From the sea wall
The brilliant sky unravels,
Dissolves into night.
Glimpsed briefly on my plum tree,
Gone on wings of song.
Exquisite celebration!
Who tells you when to bloom?
101 Mansfield Ave.
Huron, Ohio 44839
34Head Huntress
God’s head huntress,
Unafraid of darkness.
All the time searching for your nests!
And each time you crowl
from under your rock.
You will feel one hard knock.
As David against Goliath in times of old.
I will use your head as my trophy of gold,
you are uncovered Satan,
We Christians are serving notice, today.
‘Head Huntres will kill and slay.
You have bullied us for long enough,.
Your lies have been
discovered and things are
about to get rough.
Your head will come off and Stay off this time!
For God has given us back our minds,
freed us from the bounds
that enslaved us for years,
Head huntress will make sure
you don’t have time to shed a tear.
And in case you devise an evil plot.
Its in vain , I’ll drop you on the spot!
Where eve failed,
the Head Huntres Will Not!
4143 S. Circle
Orlando Wilts, Fl. 32805
35Spiders Web
What makes a thunder,
What is a pleasure,
What is a treasure,
And what is a home?
Big palaces made of marble,
Lined with golden panels,
Floored with Turkish carpets,
Decorated by highbrow artists
With fancy curios and worldly treasures,
To be found in the chests of
Sinbad the Sailor,
Only to discover that was just
“Sweet Home”, now, perhaps
A prison, a place of treason
Perhaps a garden forever forbidden
To that Eve and Adam and their children.
Perhaps only a museum
With private bath and coliseum.
Or a cheap hotel or costly motel
With free cocktail.
At times it is a storehouse of
Whatever not sold at garage sale.
To lose a count, of places
And numbers of rooms I inhabited once.
Many a times I try to define
What a makes a home, a sweet home.
Driving on a highway,
In the dark, beating wind and hails,
Heading to a small apartment
In search of warmth, happiness,
And tenderness.
Built of rocks and mortar,
Steal and wood bought in barter,
But, it is a web woven of filaments
Of love and laments,
Where dwells that spider
That brings two together.On Guard
Patrol the sky,
search endlessly
passing nigh
unnoticed, till they
espy a target and
screeching, descend...
a huge, feathery cloud
zeroed in on scattered,
crusty bits scoffed ere
they vanish...winged vapor
amid sun-warmed mist.
Center Moriches, NY 11934-3332.These Lines
I've been assailed
By notes, phones, e-mails
and obituary columns
that friends and neighbor died.
are a parade
Whose marchers send oblique notice.
That I, too, belong to their generation.
To some depression,
the beckoning finger
Of the band -master suggests I'm qualified,
To step off the curb,
join the staggered pace.
lives proximal
To both ends of the century,
scarred by wars,
Great Depression, and fateful consequence
Linked to dramatic change.
to wait awhile, To welcome
great-grandchildren,
share another Generation in historic times,
but I'd be consoled
If those I love will
sometimes read these lines.
Sarasota, Fl 34232
One Who Knows?
On the screen a twenty-year –old
Elvis Costello twitches
Like a stick of beef jerky
On the brink of expiration.
Matchbooks from every bar in town yawn
at me, feathers and bereft
And the birds outside are
Sleeping off the rain.
And macaroons, half a bottle of Manischewitz.
I'm so hungry, and
I can't get a handle on this.
God helps me if that phone
Doesn’t ring soon.
Them mixed up;
Survival dyslexia my only
Humorous vice.
I go across the street sometimes
To get more beer, more sugar,
To get mixed up with goyim.
They started it,
Like a plant in a closet,
Living on love and purple light.
I know one,
But to hell with
What I know."Madness" and
"Unkosher" comes from the same root,
you know; "to devour".
Here's one; I'm so hungry
And I know its God
On the other line and so
I let the phone keep ringing.
My mind chokes on nothing,
as if it were something.
E San Francisco, CA 94129.2the rain and the comfort zone
beaded by the salt free patterns
that move the left and right by order
of a stern wind.
my meager sponged footsteps
would trip the reflection of grannies
gray skies.
why run,i would often wonder.
it was easier to slip-
to make an ass of oneself,
for trying to beat the weather.
a friend would be long gone soon,
where by now a titans sun would smolder
and peel back the scales from a snakes back.
in texas he would be searching still,
to find that one leafed piece of mind.
whose mother had once taken in
the lot of us,
she had known perhaps a bit
of our pain,living on the road.
on piles of decorative oyster shelled plates,
we ate more and better
than the last three weeks of abandon.
in the peace and sanitariness of that texan cove,
i felt a king crowned with honor
and belted in pearls and wreath.
life sometimes makes the sense
we often read about or cry over
on the shoulder of a theater seat.
jeremy szuder
432 s.main st.#7
los angeles ca.90013
World Beauty
But we pay the price to find them…
We discover them on free time
That we so earned
The seas, the forest, the mountains,
These magnificent scenes…
Of the beauty in life…
----Nancy L. Dahl, 461 North
Mansfield, Ypsilant, MI 48197
41 Blossom?
Contract the past years
And bring remembrance
Of war waged
And men falling
And spring a leafless spectacle.
Springs are made for worlds
Where leaves can grow in fragile air
Not for continents heavy with smoke
And men’s dust blown on wind too soon.
And when brain rebounds like mortar
And sends eyes to fields
Of charred horizons,
How can springs of bud and delicate green
Be warmly sought.
…D. Napolin
464 Main St. Apt 205
Port Washington, NY 11050.
42 My Name Is Nguyen Due Minh
You lie in your bed made of lice
and dried shrimp and I’ve come back.
I’ve come back to touch your face
and reclaim the blood you spilled
from your womb.
I want to remind you of the bundled
namesake you once held against your breast
I’ve come to speaking the same language
your lover spoke to you.
I’ve come to shield you from
the bullets hanging in the sky
And to promise you that you shall not die without me
I’ve come back to lie with you at your side.
There’s no need to cry, You called me, Con Lai
Even as I stood
In line for the boat headed for the refugee camp,
People on the street pointed
and told me I was a mongrel,
Fathered by an inferior and raised by a whore.
The white in me ,
The disgrace my stepfather hit me with
whenever I was asleep on the floor,
He tried kicking the white devil
out of me because he couldn’t,
In good conscience, shelter an
enemy of the people, or risk anonymity
Hooking plows to oxen.
I tried to extract those foreign colors from my body,
Took a razor to my skin and sliced through
sheets of flesh to relieve myself
Of the frustration at my failure to be like everyone else.
My name runs ragged, upside down on my stomach.
The scars look like cooled, striated paths of lava
With pieces of glass, I counted the days on my cheeks
that I outlived the streets.
My skin replaced layer after layer forming
the callused vertebrate of my nightmares
Coming up to take their short breaths,
then sinking back down again.
The other half-breeds and I slept
in-groups next to the newsstand.
We fried bananas and sold them
to people on their way to work.
We talked about getting off on the right foot,
But fought with the new arrival that escaped from prison.
We recognized our own by the shouts
from the neighborhood kids
“Con lai, go back to America!”
505 University Ave, Apt 66
Rochester, NY 14607
A Single Black Rose
There is beauty in a black rose
Not seen by the naked eye.
A unique strangeness
Felt by the heart.
It radiates
Only in the night
Like a lonely firefly.
The day cannot comprehend
Its mysteriousness
It confuses,
As does the wind,
Swirling dry leaves
Around you
As you walk,
In baffles,
As does
The meaning of life,
Anyone who may encounter it.
Its existence proves only one thing;
There is beauty even in darkness
The Snowflake Dance
The snowflakes dance.
I catch one,
And the cold sensation
Dying on my tongue,
Revives memories
I am not ready
To discard.
I am here
Alone, Frightened,
Afraid
The pictures may fade
Afraid
They will be forgotten.
In the moonlight
The snowflakes laugh.
They will melt.
And yet shall remain;
Holding on
Afraid to let go.
----Mary Bauer, 92 Crisfield st. #4
Yonkers, NY 10710Night Tokens
If the terror shapes
In my dreams at night
Of a black iron leopard
Gnawing at my feet
And a mindless circle
Of teen gang members
Eager to dirty their knives
On me for the color
Of my skin
Are merely symbols in my mind,
Why do I let them?
Threaten me enough
To stop my heart.
Bad Habits
Wrinkled face and
Eyes with lost pride,
A lady unknown is in
For a distant ride.
Noon sun is burning forever
Seems cool night will come never.
Bus is running,
Inside everyone is sweating,
Crowd pushes her ahead,
Her dark eyes are filled with dread.
"Look son, look there,"
Wizened dry face lights
With a pleasant flare.
"Land is wet, grass is green,
New shoots growing.
Feel cool and moist breeze.
Listen the music from heaven,
Cows lowing, bells jingling,
Cuckoo is singing,
What my heart is longing.
She presses a sob,
For moist eyes to mop,
She remembers again,
Home she left never to regain.
Crops burnt for want of rain,
Distant search for
A drop of water in vain.
Empty pots and pans in home,
The Village is like burning Rome.
There wasn't a grain
To save her husband dead,
Beloved cows and bullocks sold,
Her only hope remaining,
Where the crowded bus is heading,
A distant city, a hut dirty,
Packed people and lost humanity,
Her earning son and new vanity.