Welcome to the Gryphon's Nest!

The gryphon lined its nest with such
As none will see again
But treasured most the deepfelt words
Sung from the hearts of women and men

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Eyre: Lilac Walls (Still) | Haun: A Walk In My Heart
Locke: Poem for My One-Legged Lover, The Wine Glass, No. 62
Kiernan: When A Snake Bites You In The Ass | Maiti: Winter | Fiddaman: God's Thumbprint In The Sky

Lilac Walls
(Still)

by Marie Eyre

From private rooms to visitor's lounge
and a myriad of halls,
everything is tall and square
and linked with lilac walls.
The old ones stare from rocking chairs.
They sit and wait. Still sitting there.
While daydreams serve unwanted rest,
happy souls in Sunday best
greet some younger healthy self
in a glorious somewhere else.

I visit my Aunt.
She sleeps.

I sit and wait for her return,
sit and watch the chair she fills.
Not really here. Why should she care.
Her sweep is just a few square feet
in a room undone with withered flesh
and snows of yesteryear.

"Hello dear Aunt."

Bifocal glasses magnify
my smiling face.
Her tired eyes dart right and left
then sadden in the lilac light.
Still in this place,
sitting, waiting in her chair,
still one step too quick for death.

I hold her dry and tiny hand.

"So nice of you to come," she says.
"So nice of you to call."

And for a sweet and gentle while,
the writing goes unnoticed
upon the lilac wall.

Copyright 1996 by Marie Eyre (poetsinger@beachestoronto.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
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A Walk In My Heart

by Ronald Haun

I went for a walk in my heart
and there, all unsuspected by me,
was an area of unfinished cosmic art.
The sounds of waves set free briefly by the sea
filled my ears as they gently caressed the shore;
and there was cool, moist air for me to breathe.
Brilliant wildflowers, reds, yellows and blues in wonderful good humor
raced over the hillsides chased by the breeze.
Framing the dawn was an old wooden bridge set to the left over there
while cliffs and empty beaches beckoned the early visitor.
It was a spot so generously, wonderfully pretty that did I dare
I would fill it again with you standing there by the seashore.

Copyright 2001 by Ronald Haun (Ronalot23@aol.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
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Poem for My One-Legged Lover,
The Wine Glass, No. 62

by Duane Locke

Lovers close their eyes
When lovers kiss,
So the reality of closeness
Cannot be seen,
Only imagined.

Once a lover peeped,
Saw a mascara-ed eyelash,
A blue-painted eye lid,
Saw what was artificial,
The lover closed his eyes again.

The peeper decided
To get a seeing-eye dog,
Wear a blindfold
When he walked the street
Or went to a party.

Copyright 2001 by Duane Locke (duanelocke@netzero.net).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
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When A Snake Bites You In The Ass

by Rebecca Lu Kiernan

When a snake bites you in the ass
The nurses won't let you sit in the
Waiting room. They put you on
Your back and show you a chart
Of 137 poisonous snakes and ask
Which one was the culprit.
For a split second of communion
Running through your bloodstream
You don't want to turn it in. The
One you pick out is always one of
The most venomous and deadly in
Your vicinity. They give you a
Stabbing shot right in the middle of
The fang print and you must rest on
Your side until the nausea, dizziness,
Blurred vision, tremors subside.
They warn you not to drink as this
Will counteract the anti-venom.
Then you stagger to your car which
They warned you not to drive and
Weave your way to the nearest bar.
A round of rattlesnakes for everyone!
You slither every inch of the room,
Coil in the darkest corner, sniff the
Air for the one with the deepest fear,
Flick your gold tongue for body
Temperature, listen for respiration.
Your fangs milk themselves on a
Shot glass and suddenly you can
Fuck with your eyes and kill with a
Smile and you wait because somehow
You know the most delicious skin is
Puppeteered by telepathy. Ah, the
Sweet twitching surrender of the one
Who sees your ambivalent eyes, feels
Your icy flesh and charges down on
You with full consent and nakedness.

Copyright 2001 by Rebecca Lu Kiernan. (geckogalpoet@hotmail.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
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Winter

by Prasenjit Maiti

Where are you going my youth?
my fears, my poetry, my lines blown away
by whisky and aircraft crashing like a clash of cymbals
Where are you going my sanity? my images
that walk out on me and leave me whimpering
like silly old Calcutta
Where are you going my love? drying my tears
in tampons and the nowhereness of sorrows

Copyright 2001 by Prasenjit Maiti. (pmaiti@cal3.vsnl.net.in).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
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God's Thumbprint In The Sky

by Bob Fiddaman

God's thumbprint in the sky
Alongside stationary pinpricks of light
Some blinking, twinkling.
A black duvet with countless holes
Hiding the light beyond infinity.
There's a question mark tilted
Maybe it holds all the answers?
When the sun sleeps
The sky explodes with dot-to-dot images.
Tonight they are clearly visible.
The cotton wool balls are somewhere else,
Sprinkling their waters, putting up blinds.
Someone, somewhere, shoots bullets across the sky,
I see them flash by.
There's only one colour beyond the duvet
Where there is no night, no darkness.
Light beyond the realms of understanding,
The holes giving us hope.
God's thumbprint a constant reminder
Of what we are.
And where we are going

Copyright 2001 by Bob Fiddaman. (fiddy@blueyonder.co.uk).
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Letter to the Editor: Cherie Staples (skyearth1@aol.com).