March & April, 2007




Morning is rising open your eyes
Look and listen fiery colours light the skies 
Dew drops glisten as the birds are 
singing Just stop for a second and take a listen, 
All is peaceful but upon the moors 
A farmer awakens to begin his chores 
He starts his engine and begins to choke  
To The steady rumble and filthy smoke 
As he revs the beast and the silence is broke.

Stop for a while and take a listen
The common sound of morning glisten
I open my door to collect the milk
A common spider is spinning his silk
I take a breath and then it hits me
The air is clean and my day is free
My watch reads seven as I look and listen I ask my self is this not heaven? 

Usually on a Saturday
I’ll wake shortly after noon
Spending the night before
Madly dancing with the moon
This old’ liver is sore,
And is desperately begging for a dry spell

Usually on a Saturday
I’ll fumble with the blues
Recapping my favorite licks and chords
Singing about a better world
And woman who went away
Hopefully I’ll get them down on paper this time

Usually on a Saturday
I’m at it again
Slicking my hair back
With that fresh egg yoke
Through my pockets
I can almost reach my knees
But that’s ok !
Gilbert C.
Knots of Life
Bill Albright

Problems become knots
Seek the end of the thread
From which you may begin
To seek what seems
To write the knot of now
For never will it be if
Knots remain untouched.
By Nandlal K Pancholi
Mush and Bush are bosom friends
Former borrows ,  latter lends
Bush-Mush Mush-Bush
 The alliance  awkward and abstruse-
To everyone
The pair both confuse and amuse
The former stalwart,latter a dwarf
Former tickles,latter laughs
Bushy  with Mushy flirts and blurts:
“I dump my dollar in dictator’s dustbin
He is military ruler,my king-pin
For him I’m ready to commit any sin
you understand what I mean.
“Mushy, use my dollar for proxy war in J & K 
And with it you can in power stay Mushy, 
I love you,I love you My dictator friends are but few 
Mugabe is not a guy like you 
A paranoid in my view 
See how often against me poison he spew 
My exchequer is for you to plunder 
And commit blunder after blunder 
Please keep AL quaeda under check 
For that take from me blank check 
Capture that vagabond waif Osama 
And in return take from me whole Oklahama 
Seven eleven is burning blob on my skin 
Mushy, you understand what I mean.
Mushy mumbles and himself humbles:
Bushy, I love I love you
I have faithful friends but few
Our friendship is most uncanny
I assure you honey
Your exchequer is my pocket money
As a kid My father never gave  me so much money 
As you’ve given me ,my honey Bushy I love you. 
I love you I have no lucrative friend save you 
You are my best friend in my view 
Our friendship will go in history As an unsolved mystery.
    Phyllis Jean Green

Bring me back as a tiger
once, at least.  White, gold,
orange, bronze, your choice,
as long as I lie weightless
and lithe along a branch
with no more on my mind
than shifts of light
and dark that believe
they masquerade as trees.
Stripe me visible
only to me.  See my paws
sport rugged pads.  Claws
are just sharp enough.  
Let my breath  come easy.
Tell me when to breathe.
Give me the sense to luxuriate
in the lush fur that serves
to hide until it strikes.  
Hundreds of spaces lurk
beneath so I can genie
to phantoms now curved,
now eeling long, in a flash.
Ripple my sides and widen
my eyes to amber lamps
as I leap to thrill to the chase.  
Oh,  and do be sure I fill
my belly strictly out of need.
Leave the jungle as I found it.


Alcohol and Heroin was my best friend
I always thought they were going to be there in the end

Pulling the glass closer to my lips
To pass out in a drunken fit

Drawing back the blood from a vein
Nothing was ever going to be the same

Fears going away in drunken rage
They locked me up and put me in a cage

In this cage was a bed
And my arms were blood red

Cleaned the blood from my arms
And looked out the window at the farm

Later that day I saw a light
It was the bright star in the dark night

I went to group and to a meeting
It was the only time I did not feel like fleeing

I sat in that meeting and someone told me Just what I was to be

That was the night I found a new hope
That I was not ever going have to do alcohol and dope

Richie Winscom


 Put The Cup Of Coffee Down 
  G David Schwartz 
  Put the cup of coffee down 
  You don't need to tout it around 
  Over fine white carpet 
  Where it will ground 
  Put the cup of coffee down 
  The pretty liquid it is  
  Slipping and falling 
  Dripping leads to balling   
  When my lovely sweet wife sees it  
  And yells, yells so loud  
  To put the cup of coffee down  
It is hard to start.
You dig your nails in to the rind.
You feel the juice splashing all over the place.
It takes time to peel.
You feel the excitement.
It is almost ready to eat.
All the juice drips down your hand.
You desperately need a tissue, but your mouth, 
your tongue, and your jaw tastes and feels the sour sweet smell.
You need to put it in your mouth.
There it goes down your throat.
Now all the juice splashing in your mouth, 
repeated several times more and it's gone fast.
Zachary Heart
She's fallen back asleep now,
Her eyes that once saw-weep now,
She can't take no more,
He broke her heart for the last time,
She's walked through the door.
He tries to justify his nasty way,
He makes her feel she's to blame,
She's so strong now she doesn't stay,
She doesn't feel love or shame.
She opened her eyes cause she thought he could see, 
He showed her how cruel a person could be, 
If she said something wrong or out of turn, 
He'd overreact and make her learn, 
When the hat was placed on the other head, 
She overreacted because it hurt, 
But he made her feel that she should be dead.
He continued to make her feel like dirt.
And this man he said he loved this girl, 
Clearly a mind whirlwind or twirl.
He couldn't fully love her for who she was, 
He doesn't even realize the damage he has caused.
She's fallen back asleep now,
She no longer wants to see,
She wonders what true love is,
And how it could be.
It wasn't what he gave her, for, this is matter of fact, 
Cause if he really loved her a cruel man, he would not act.
She's fallen back asleep now-her eyes that see don't weep now, 
She knows it's not because of something she's done, 
But because this man a corner he cannot turn.
Louise Ferguson

Dark and Scary
Taylor Utz

I was in my bed with the light turned out.
I put the covers over my head,
so the monsters won’t come out.
When I thought I heard nothing,
I didn’t hear a sound.
I looked at my closet,
And thought something turned around.

I jumped out of bed,
And bumped my head.
I scattered to my mom and dad’s room,
As I reached the door I heard a big boom.

I turned around to find something laying on my floor, 
I wanted my mom and dad more and more.
The look in it’s eye,
The pain that I felt, why oh why?

I got up the courage,
And walked right over to what I thought, 
According to my hallucinations, was a great big Grrrrrrrrrr. . . . .
It was actually Miss Kitty,
With a soothing purr. 


Sudden Sadness
harihar patel

          Today I feel sad.
              Sad for no rhyme or reason.
           It must be the fog or 
              the dull evening sun.
           A darkness descending;
              the whole atmosphere depressing.
           I am my shadow,
              sitting in a daze,
                like the tired dust on my face.
           My breath is deep blue;
              my smile a melody of tears.
            My heart plays an out of tune 'raga',
              on the strings of faded love.
            Ain't easy to lose myself in drink;
               nor forget nightmarish memories.
            Is your smile ever wet with tears?
                Does the horizon coil around you,
            like the umbilical cord of the unborn?
                For no earthly reason,
             I feel sad today.
         Can I be trusted?
         Can I trust you?
         Can we trust you?
         Can you trust us?
         When you watch over me,
         can I have a sound sleep?
         Can you sleep like a baby
         when I watch over you?
         Can we leave our doors open 
         when we go to the farm or market?
         Can our school go to school?
         Can we feel secure?
         Can I listen to you without reading any meaning?
         How much power can you have?
         Can we trust you with so much of it?
         When you tell me look!
         Will I see anything?
         How long can we be together?
         How long can I trust you?


Compassion is Just a Feeling
Jason Bourne

Staring into the world,
Feeling their sorrow.
You would have them impearled.
You feel like you owe.
Litter them with rations,
By the morrow,
To even Athens,
As swift as an arrow.
Sail your empathy on a boat,
But you are so hollow.


I look for a sign.
If I could see His footprints,
or some honest to God relics,
like a lock of His hair
or the ring He wore.
If the LaBrae Tar pit were filled
with haloes and harps
perhaps, I could believe.
If there was a place like Graceland
where I could
touch His bathrobe and bedroom slippers, 
Then, my faith wouldn’t have to be so blind.

joan pond


OYIBI, K. Lazarus

This is Africa where we use fuel wood

To cook our food

We walk long distances to fetch drinking water From streams and rivers Our major means of transportation is by walking Or riding on motorcycle Africa, where kids play in the puddle and And parents collect water when it rains.

Oh, my Africa!

Where we sit round fire to warm ourselves in the morning And by night, we sit round to listen to stories.

A continent so blessed with fresh air to breathe Trees for shades And fruits as fresh as they could come down from the trees My Africa!

Your aroma and sweetness is best comprehended with roasted yam Dipped in fresh palm oil.

This is Africa



Millions of people blind themselves with three words...


no matter what happens or what obsticles block their path, they cover their doubts with these three words...


some people can see through to the other side of the problems they have and can deal with them. most people just keep sayin...


thats just because most have trouble seeing into their own minds and even their own thoughts get misunderstood. it lets them Have a blank spot that they fill with three words...


if the normal everyday person could look at their situation, pick out what needs to be changed, and actually change it, then maybe there would be no need for people to give up and just say...


if people actually took responsibility for their mistakes, actions, and flaws, we would be all be able to see past the frustration. The frustration is what makes us give up and fall back into just saying...


Because there comes a time when you have to look past the difficulty of changing and see that there is a point when it stops being ALL GOOD. You have to be able to change for the good and leave the bad behind without just settling for GOOD.

A time will come when your realize that being ALL GOOD is not actually all that good.

If we go for great then it will really be ALL GOOD.



“Eleven fools are playing and eleven thousand fools are 
Witnessing the game,” said G.B. Shaw about Test Match.
But One Day Match totally changed the nature of Cricket.
So, when 11 Indians are playing 110 crore hearts beat here! 
The question of everybody now is “who is going to beat who?”
Betting on matches goes beyond control all over the world.
Beating all emerges one as winner after a month and more; 
Until then day and night in the mind cricket comes to the fore!
What is the significance of sports in the world arena today?
Sports stop enmity and breed fraternity among all nations.
The passion for war to win is transferred to sports in spirit 
That activates the skill of all players to contribute the best.
So, Wars of the World have become the wares of the worn out.
When this is so why there should be wars in the name of any; 
Is it not funny to go to war to solve the problems of mankind 
Like the savages did thousands of years ago before civilization? 
Defeat or victory cannot be predicted and so, it is immaterial; 
But the materials of the defeated may be destroyed by men, 
Whose expectations are not fulfilled in the world cup match!
So, has the attitude of men changed although world chooses sports?
Tashiba Nelson 
When you're hungry, Bad-Tasting-Food taste real good. 
I've been Hungry!
I eat and I eat but my hunger just stays, 
so DAMN I can't get enough of this Bad-Tasting-Food. 
I'm Hungry, my stomach is bulging down there 
but there is a whole in my chest the more that I care.
So I eat more and more and more of this Bad-Tasting-Food 
made with compassion or an intention to cheer.
Bad-Tasting-Food - Is it really below 30 on this bright sunny day. 
Bad-Tasting-Food - Ohhhh, I wish this bitch would go away.
Bad-Tasting-Food - I prayed real hard and still there was no change.
Bad-Tasting-Food -Did I really gain all this weight in these few days. 
I'm still hungry!
Keep it coming; let me have another round of my Bad-Tasting-Food.
Let me have another round, damn I just failed that test.
Let me have another round, he was sooo… not impressed.
Let me have another round, my family life is a mess.
Let me have another round, my best friend don't see my distress.
Let me have another round, I refuse to act depressed. 
I stay hungry…where the F@#K is my food!


darnell fulgham

I saw the moon come up last night at five While on my daily amble up the drive.

I met it face to face, just broken free Of the horizon, red as red can be Behind the naked trees. I went to see how cold It was this morning, saw it sitting in the old Oak tree, a silver dish with patterns beaten in it-- Or perchance a wash of white that when it Brushed the mountaintops had left the valleys blue.

It climbed down through the pines and sank its teeth into The ridge that marked the planet’s edge from where I was. I looked back toward the east and there I saw the sunrise. Suddenly it dawned on me that they’re a team,


Ankit Gupta (2nd April 2007) 
Tenuous beads upon a rose,
Chequered spots of colour; buds and petals, 
Warm and comforting grey haze, 
Cool and refreshing dew on lush lawn, 
Not in myth and lore, But in her whole femininity. 
A pervasive lull in my senses,
Voices fading to a wispy winter breeze, 
The world; a colourless sight, 
Rendered an unmoving manikin, 
Such the trace of her subtle fragrance, 
Lingering still within me; well preserved. 
The smell which choked a spirit,
The touch which left its mark,
The sight which cannot be framed,
Every morsel of her radiant aura,
A trigger to a mindless reminiscence,
Her distance and amnesia; no barrier… 


My sweat dreams
I had a dream last night.
not one like the others.
this one,
many would say i'm mad,
or crazy. No. I'm not crazy.
just ingenious.
I stared at the night sky.
it was death black,
the stars were gone.
my hopes were gone.
i'm lonely in the middle of the street.
i'm crying. no one wants me.
nobody loves me.
the asphalt was burning.
I wanted to have a good dream. 
I can't.
Cause dreams have nasty habit of turning bad when you're not looking.
I guess I was blind that night.
Its not a dream with blood, or violence.
No. My shear terror of loneliness and hopelessness.
That's all i know of.
And this is how i express my feelings.
on a sheet of lined paper.



A cow grazes in our memory

blood escapes from the udders

the landscape is dead from a shot


The cow insists on its routine

its tail drives away boredom

the landscape revives in slow motion


The cow abandons the landscape

we continue hearing the lowing

our memory grazes now

in that immense loneliness


The landscape leaves our memory

the words change name

leave us weeping

on the blank page


The cow grazes now in the emptiness

the words are mounted on her

the language makes fun of us

The Raven
On my twenty-first birthday
I wanted a raven
With its ebony black feathers
Its martyr like air
Shunned and revered all at once.
I saw the promise of mercy
Beneath its dark perfection
Felt its comprehension
Of my inherent twisted gloom.
My reflection cast in its beady eyes -
All that I desired to be 	
And I knew I could be
With just a brush of its wings
Ridding my ruined heart of uncertainties.
" Could Ya Please Pass The Poem " 
Sitting, waiting for the first course
I hold to thoughts and some remorse
Where some words will fall short of why
Death will call soon and I will die
Wrong was my place on that dark day
Dropped to my knees, crying I prayed
To a GOD faceless to me
They say call out he'll set you free
Death row is where I now reside
A cell designed where me they hide
From what some call society
Stripped of all my dignity 
Complain I can't I've carved my niche
Into some hearts I cannot bitch
For life is short and I took thier's
Where walls crowd me, ceilings we stare
So my last meal I'll have a spread
That taunts my soul and of the dead
For change I can't undo what's done
Forgive us father, your loving son
Mark S. Farley

Burning of wood, melting of skin,
scent of death, you'll never win.
All you own, going in flames,
wracking your head, beating your brains.
Questions unanswered, death all about,
why did it happen, the dancing dead shout.
Step up the stairs, into the light,
business is finished, try not to fight.
Now your in heaven, joy all around,
we have relief, cause your looking down.
Watching us over, make no mistakes,
keep us from harm, what ever the stakes.
What's Peace?
Rachel Munce

Peace is in the air,
it's everywhere.
Under the couch,
in a pouch,
it's everywhere.
Peace looks like rain,
dripping on the pane.
Peace looks like birds,
Gently singing on a calm day.
Peace feels like velvet,
of a baby's blanket.
Peace feels like leaves,
of a growing baby rose.
peace is love,
hugging your mom.
Peace is hope,
for your father
to come.
                            Peace is silence,
                            silence is golden. 

by Marcia Schechinger

From tattered pants pocket he opens a paper carefully unfolding it from a quarter, to a half, to a whole. Easing his slender frame upon a college bench, he warms himself within the cuts of embedded initials Bifocals rest unevenly below his nose cartilage as he reads the smudged print He bows as if dozing then speaks through me to my blanket and books, "she had hair of copper that flowed in the wind. A crinkled frown would form on her forehead when the words weren't quite to her liking For hours she sat on her blanket composing and decomposing as silver rings of nicotine cast curls of silken halos around her head"

Quickly he silenced clutching the paper
as a warm gust grasp for it, then looked upward toward a cumulus cloud and smiled as if he knew of life's continuity with heaven

Emily to me
Emily said a cup of sunshine
Hum, sort of a recipe.
A cup full of blue sky
A cup of fresh air
and How do I take this
mixture to work for me.
An Irish sun in my face
Brine air to fill my nostrils
Closed eyes to refresh all seasons
Mind now flooded
with post card changes.
Wrapped in a cocoon
waiting my metaphorisis
or perhaps an epiphany
adjusting to the gate in my walk
and what shall I bank?

James Jones

I never knew you... but the entire world new your name Now you are gone and the world will not be the same I never met you in person... but for you I shed a tear As I found the news that you were no longer here I never had the chance to tell you how much you were thought of...if only by me, now I will have to wait until again your beautiful face I will see I still have a thousand photos that cover every wall My place has been nick-named the Anna Nicole Hall Collecting them...the hours I would spend, now staring at them I hear the song "Candle in the Wind" The music is now fading and it has began to drizzle rain...a tear slowly travels down my cheek again My broken heart and very soul, have been stolen by you dearest Anna Nicole Soon to soon you were taken from us all, but, dearest Vicki lynn you may live forever in my Anna Nicole Hall James Jones



by Ruth Walters


 In my youth, my callow empty youth

my eyes were misty.

I learned about sex from Cindy,

but nobody ever, no nobody ever

taught me how to love.


In my youth, my callow empty youth

my pockets were full.

I danced, I drank, I learnt to use a gun

but they never, no nobody ever

taught me how to have fun.


In my youth, my callow empty youth

my wits were sharp.

I learnt to duck, to dive and to deceive

but they never, no nobody ever

taught me what it is to really live.


Navajo tears
Maurice Doctor

Let's reflect on the past of our history Our warriors didn't like to be in misery Coming together to eliminate genocide The white eye committing too many homicides The elders couldn't stop all the madness Healing rituals made, but still called savages No more playing in canyon walls Many were beat down until they couldn't crawl, PEACE!

Was just a piece of paper and worthless

We followed the rules, but good times were hard to cherish Young mothers were raped and the old men became slaves Hate beating in their hearts how much could the take My people couldn't see their homeland No homes and the soldiers laughed when it rain I still shed tears for my people in the old days The sad images in my mind still plays That's why I hold my hands to my face and cry Navajo tears

The Flag of Sorrow
Tom Dupuis
They grab for it like monsters
Devils without their tridents
Hungering for honor
Behold this flag of sorrow
Once mounted in the ground
It stood for peace and justice
A proud and honored symbol
But now it’s scorched in evil
Demons versus demons
The cause has disappeared
Satan remains thirsty
On the tip of every sword
Blood will run for days
Hate will feed the flames
Inside the soldiers’ burning eyes
Failure is now the enemy
The flag escapes the battle
Held by a battered soldier
Running with false pride
It dangles by a thread
Behold this flag of sorrow
The wife’s cat
  by Michael Lefanto
Sometimes the cat talks to me,
tells me things I should consider
writing about that might work.
Stupid as that seems.
He does come up with good ideas
now and then.
So I listen

Passing By
William B. Deutscher

It is not what I expected, really,

This streaming advance toward broaching decay And fast movement forward further away Rendering obsolete the new, now gone Into old moments of quaint memory, Yesterday's oblivion burying The au courant in plots of History Onward always onward finally past, Slipping back then forth again distracted By something else in the most fleeting time Imaginable although it seemed slow When I was younger and the years looked long.



Poems Copyright © designated authors 2006.
Page Copyright © 2006.

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