Crossing the Garonne

the bridge strains    to rise

 above the quais    and the river

 crosses under   my feet

 a  d i s s e c t i n g  serpent of deep   momentum

 a smell of dark   color

 sea birds cavort and   cut circles  in blue

 bits of white   far above my sphere

 i see turrets outline Toulouse

 papercuts define  the sky

 i mount the steep   hill wrapped

 in a moment in time

 by cool green air

 i stop  on the crest to watch   the interplay

 of birds and clouds sketching   against                        

 intense  azure

 surely Mallarmé inscribed   his poems here

 on this solid backdrop

 the stage of our insignificant   lives

The Spy

I am being studied by a spy,

With wise and solemn chocolate eyes.

Various expressions flit across his face

While regarding ME, the subject of the case.

Eyebrows up, eyebrows down,

Ears flip forward to catch each sound.

Head cocked and ready for action

Motivated by my impending reaction.

I smile and motion "Come to me"

The spy bounds forward with graceful ease

Armed only with a wet, licking tongue

That proves more effective than a gun.

He disarms using his furry laughing mug

And then receives my wildly enthusiastic hug.

The spy wins overwhelmingly in this bout

Mission accomplished, over and out.

THERE ISN'T AN UGLY SOUND FROM THE SCISSORS, BUT AS FOR MY WHISTLE

TODAY IS NOT WITH A DOT OF DON'T, WE ONLY HAVE THE APOSTROPHE OF

Daisy's HAIRCUT on the floor being that trail of living of volume

not rejected, reciprocate the perfection of a clip with the clip-clop

after tangles are lopped off to keep the ponytail appropriately.

And a whole new day comes when the towel is taken off, get attached

to the rack like a saddle in a quicker ergonomics to the glamorous...

a typo to this stitch of wanting afraid to exit yet having to heave

in fascination that it goes without you and the remainder has its own

door of courage, the knob a corsage for the course where a dust pan gets

a poem which is padded with the organza exfoliated off organs finding again

blue and white without a blur rippling only around teary eyed shampoos

that can't be rinsed of a dither that turns into dandruff instead of end.

but keep looking at the border and beautiful bob arrives rather than boo.

THE Ghost Of Christmas Yesteryear

Thelma Elizabeth Barkman

Only echo sounds of christmas yesteryear,

as icy winds sweep through christmas trees

once were fully trimmed

like wind swept pages turning back,

happiness was full generous giving

chestnuts roasting, overhead mistletoe hung,

on the fireplace poinsettia sit crimson red

with a toast to the lighted tree

christmas songs of lore being sung

toes tingling crunching sidewalk snow,

fingers stinging the frosty air whips on

though the streets subdued brightness dimmed

warmed in memory of christmas the spell remains,

families more caring more dear

a tower of music on the guitar

infrastructure for where to fit the chorus out of the chairs

and it becomes a swinging of no sorority or fraternity,

the ballad not balled up for the dormitory.

the quads are part of a cheering squad except for a climb down

the stairs.

when)

Sasha

Not a day goes bye when i don't think When

If or how you'll be back again

When your gone the nights seem long

and the days seem to drag which is oh so wrong

my life seems to stop or sometimes go slow

when i realize how much i love you so

when will you be back will you ever return

will i ever find out and will i ever learn

there are so many words i think of again

the word is not how, if, why but when

UNTITLED

Ed Markowski

jazz combo...

after

a long solo,

the piano man

whistles,

through a gap

in his

tee      th.

Chocolate

Watching it, wanting it, thinking only of that moment

as I close my eyes and imagine it right in front of me.

Touching it, feeling it, salivating for it; my senses are in turmoil because

it craves for utter fulfillment.

Tasting, biting, licking it as it slides down my chin

The sweet smell of chocolate

Yum! what a delicious sin it is.

MEM0RY IS THE MUSEUM

--Lys Anzia

When does a stone

become a rock?  When

does a rock become

a mountain?

We have asked these questions all

our life.  And only

now do the answers

really matter.

ROOM FULL OF VOICES

room full of voices,yet who really hears?

the laughs,the sobs,the chatter..who cares?

room full of voices,one mine, the rest not

conversations of recent and some i've forgot

room full of voices,some high and some low

stories from today and some long ago

room full of voices,talking and singing

happy shouts,joyous jabber and even some crying

room full of voices,all running together

from big and small,from sister to brother

room full of voices,one even belongs to me

so now i use this pen to set that voice free

 

Wallowing head.     

                      by Lee Allen

Wallowing head

Empty words

Indescribable reality

Terminally crying

Senseless waste

Chokes pain

Voids compose

Dancing voices

Hope collides

Reason denies

Wreckage sinking

Redden eyes

Drowning tears

Staining fears

Aloneness hears.

Wallowing head

Empty words

Straining walls

Weeping life

Concrete coldness

Shivering bleakness

Howling obscenities

Futility incomplete.

Willing to Lie:
Andrea Gonzales

This world thinks my belief if more channels

But don't think of this as a seduction

Cruelly the lives of many sought for violas

But they never came

They moved on.

First you must take off your shoes and give them to me.

They kick yourself barefoot

It makes sense to you only when

You are dreaming awake.

I believe in you

I'd give up my fingernail for you.

I wish you were dead

I wish life could love.

I wish vials could talc.

Office edit favorites must to be

Resources and bashes worlds in hate.

Don't climb on the iguana.

I'm willing to lie.

But not for you.

Firecracker Tears---------*

Tears cried on an idle day in July

were burnt from the tracks of the Phoenix

moving in closer from the sky

They were jagged , yet whimsical

after floating on clouds

and creating runaway train impressions

Circumnavigate if they must by velvets' crush

they began to crystallize upon hitting the sand

turning them into dust

Returning home into the tide

they hitched with the auspicious sailor

waiting for the tempest to give them a ride...

I know this man in a magic chair

He wheels he spins goes everywhere

You quickly see him then he's gone

Like a spinning wheel spinning threads of Gold

He gives a smile and then a wave

A glance that warms  your soul

The wheels they spin go round about

Like a gentle wind from the sky

He's off again in his Throne of Glory

His gift from God goes wheeling on

Stop Look and Listen as he passes by

Turning wheels go round and round

Spinning music to his sound

I know this man in the Magic Chair

Do you know his name?

Do you know his name?

THE MAGIC CHAIR

EUFEMIA DEE TATHAM

-0-

 

-0-

Sam Foster

-0-

Sonja
           

-0-

The Home Secretary

Oysters twitch on pallid plate.

Purple lips preach words of hate.

Solomon's judgment; divide and screw

those seeking shelter split in two.

Exposing corruption just a stunt.

So what if plod is with the Front.

MERLIN

NAJRA INAINUP

His pointy hat in all of its glory

The yellow stars and moons consume his robe

And be forewarned, this ain't a love story

For this man, he has changed the whole globe

He mutters gibberish and waves his wand

The pointed is changed to whatever he wants

And thus, he is considered quite beyond

Inviting modern scientists to experience haunts

He has aided many, including great kings

His knowledge of life, gives power to all

Powerful enough to make men grow wings

As holy and as wise as Apostle Paul

         His greatness is valued throughout many lands

         Stretching from vast oceans to battered sands

 

-0-

In response to something of a question:

from one friend to the next, its just another set of tears to face...

and no distance can disconnect, what we have to give and take

(friends name),as your well aware i still live in orangeville, and i can tell you i feel the same sense of removal as you do.  for all the faces that i rarely, never see, the only people i seem to know exist on this computer screen.  subtract bertu and kevin from the web, cause i see them everyday, but i don't even come as close to them as to know who i'm so far from.  whether it be (friends name) for whom i destroyed in a swift action of hoping to gain something more than a friend, now for how ever many months have past... i can count the times i've seen her on the fingers of one hand.  and so i crumble, to know that what was happy can never truly last, cause love it seems takes a cheap shot whenever it feels a need to laugh.  and pain will collide with the train wreck of denial, that to think everyone who surrounds me has nothing compared to what i constantly am ashamed to live through.  destruction leaves it wake, as the stench of death remains before it dissipates, while all the while !

 those who survived choke on the fumes of breathing to stay alive.   and i'm talking about those that tried to end the pain, but thought only to no avail, that pain denounces freedom, in restraint it kills its prisoners.  first (friends name), then (friends name)(he didn't want me to tell anyone)  and all those i could only imagine as to no surprise, that suicide would come easy.  friends falling, with my vision spinning, blurred behind the thought that i'm dreaming.  but stuck in this forsaken hell hole, that i'm only screaming loud enough, to wake the dead.  except myself.  no, i stay in my grave, and decay, letting the maggots feast on my brain.  hah!  for how i wish to reminisce on all those times before we cried.  for all those times where weed played nothing but a part of a little wholesome fun, and we talked more than we joked.  and your right, abundance of addiction, craving escape from daily drenches, as nothing solves the blues like weed for two, but troubled times!

  lead to troubled minds.  (friends name), i have this intense idea, 

and as i write this i have forgotten what i've said but the jist is this:

the love we seek, the pain we need, we cut ourselves to bleed, and need our friends to heal.

to all those that suffer, we hold on even stronger

to not forget passion defined is the memory of laughter.

i foresee a terrible disease, that prays its hate on those that love

just so it can have its fun.  its the terrible laughter we're forced to hear.

and i apologize, for i can offer no comfort, just the words of thoughts that i've come to live by.  and to ease this pain, we can only hope, that who we know, for who they were, will change nothing of what they are.  friends, those chosen for the bearing of a fate undetermined, but foreseen in the eyes of the beholder, incase their will starts to break.

to all those that i have loved, i'm afraid i know nothing of its meaning.  as i take for granted all the words i've come to hear, i thought them only as pity, for i was too afraid of fear, that one day i'd be standing here.  next to you, and next to them, amongst the sea of faces, dead.

Once upon a midnight dreary I sat upon my bed so weary

Sitting on my bed just waiting when suddenly I felt a fright

For nearly I was napping but then came the sound of tapping

Just about to fetch a nap then arrived the tap, tap, tap

All I heard was tap, tap, tap coming from my closet door

Only this and nothing more

Walked up quietly got on the floor and slowly opened the closet door

All there was were stuff just thrown upon my closet ground

I slammed the door and ran back to my bed saying everything’s alright Ned.

Ran back to my bed but sure I was alright

Heard something mutter in the room “I’m here for you now”

Just a voice and nothing more

Creepy as it seems it was all so real if I only I could make it a deal

Underneath the bed sheet covers waiting until my mind shuts down

Then suddenly the voice is there not only one place but everywhere

Tried to think it was only a dream but voices all around crazy as it seemed

The voices say to me I’m going to die

Merely this and nothing more

Fearing the worst shocked as I was really scared of what it does

Waiting and waiting for it to be over until the dawn of sunrise appears

My bed starts to shake side to side I got so scared and then I cried

Crying so much fearing my death today was the worst day of my life

I was about to die from a silly voice

That’s it was and nothing more

Kept saying to this is all so fake wishing I were never awake

The sheets were thrown from over me and then onto the floor

A creature was standing over me that’s all that was there and all I could see

The ugliest thing I ever had seen it was all over and on top of me

It opened its mouth and pulled me in

That was the end and nothing more

Travis Roman 

A BlOOD HOUND'S OATH

S.M.CONNORS

The scent of a Women is on the rise

A sweetness that's hard to find, Thoughts linger in my mind

This succulent tasty morsel, its sweet and thick like honey

Flowing like the sea,

I wait in anticipation, Its a need like no other

For this Nectar feeds me, Fills me with such Desire

This Passion, This Lust is like nothing ever before

Its the scent of a Women that takes me there

Time and Time again, I'm always on the prowl

Waiting-Wanting, until the time comes

I will consume her, Leave nothing behind

No tracks of my existence

Just the scent of a Women on my mind.

When Clocks Retreat

     Kevin R. Carr

It's over now

that page is turned

reach deep for calm

and walk the wire

stretched overtight

to bridge the tic

and span the toc

in twilit dreams

of starlit peaks.

Remember late

to walk instead

in daybreak hour

and be addressed

on lighted streets

of inner thought

that lie ahead

when clocks retreat

and fear is less

believable.

This Messed Up World We Live In

What is this world coming too? Why is life so bad? Why is there so much death in this world? This world makes me so sad! How long will this world last, for future generations? We waste time building atomic bombs, to annihilate other nations. Children are starving living without hope. While their parent are too busy  wasting their money on dope. So many children are forced to live in the streets, while Bill Gates and Donald Trump live in million dollar suites! A homeless man begging on Wall Street with only two dollars in his can. what happened to good will and helping out our fellow man? The President is sitting in the oval office attempting to establish his power, while terrorists are taking our own planes and flying them into our towers. We need to make preparations. We need to be ready and willing, to stop the next Tim Mcvey from blowing up a Federal building. People sitting in first class sipping on Champaign, while children in Afghanistan are being bombed by our planes. P!

 aren't are too busy and they assume their kids are fine, while their kids are planning tragedies to follow Columbine! Maybe these kids wouldn't be trying to build a bomb, if maybe every once in a while they could spend time with their dad and mom! I don't want my children to grow up not knowing what peace is! I wanna make this world a better place for the future and my kids!!!!

THE SEVEN ACRE FIELD

There am I 

in the seven acre field

where the corn is high

and I lie waiting

since spring

my bones are cold

touching the earth

where seeds sown

did wait

like me to swell

and spring to life

 I watched

them plump with

root and cotyledon

thrusting through

life for them

but not for me

what is this death

that sweeps upon me

steals my presence

and is watchful

of those who walk

the earth alive.