the geography of nowhere: prelude

by John Sweet

rain after the
first snow of the season
until everything is reduced to
planes of grey on a
field of brown

the houses placed together
awkwardly
and all of the empty space
beyond them

the sky ripped open

the idea of god forgotten
except by those who
dream of war

the realization that
what we thought was the end
of the world was only the
death of a ruined century

and what i carry with me always
is the image of my son
rising from my father's ashes

what i give away are
the names of the raped and
the stolen and there is always
someone who wants them

there is always someone
trying to give me more

is always someone telling me
that what i write is
too obvious/
is too ugly/
is too brutal/
and what i do is smile

what i do is
hold out my cupped hands
until they fill with blood

it's the
only trick i know

---

Copyright 2003 by John Sweet (bleedinghorse99@aol.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
For more poems by this author, see his book HUMAN CATHEDRALS: Poems By John Sweet
published by Ravenna Press. Email rantala@gte.net for details
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Interior

by J. J. Goss

If I had only known
he would chose the black leather sofa
cold and clean
with that distinctive overpowering smell
If I had only known that there would be no more
than two pillows
placed carefully on it each one separated
by the long sleek black skin in between
imitation zebra two faux creatures resting upon
the skin of one once alive
I would have known it would never work
me with my natural fibers rattan and wicker area rugs
in earth tones never demanding all of the floor
I might have realized he would always desire
to live without clutter and long for a place
to lay leaving nothing
not even a scent behind nothing to prove
he was ever there at all

If I had known he would leave
the walls
empty of decoration and choose wallpaper
with purposeful straight lines in non alarming colors
I would have foreseen the problems
me with my rich sage and eggplant
deep shades that make places seem smaller loving
the warm embrace of my walls if I had known
he would find a suitable place
for everything that he would never rearrange
that all of his pictures
would be in frames surely I would have foreseen
the impossibility of us

If I had known in the end
he would let me take most of our belongings
refuse to accept ownership after all
that he would give me half
the stereo system
our music never shared completely if I had only known
he'd refuse me
the goddess in the garden
standing stone in the weeds
and the hardy perennials Venus
I saved more than money to own you

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Copyright 2003 by J. J. Goss ( jjgoss2001@hotmail.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
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Christmas Tree

by Danny P. Barbare

One
tree
is
dark

but
its
hands
are
folded
in
prayer.

---

Copyright 2003 by Danny P. Barbare ( DpbJld@aol.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
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---

One Spirit, Many Faiths

by Richard Denner

acts of senseless terror directed against Satan
after years of domination, manipulation, shame
viciousness of attacks, the weak versus the strong
hitting symbolic targets, money and might

humanitarianism, we relieve our conscience
while veiling our political motive
can't leave the Gulf and live without oil
or leave the Holy Land and lose control

freedom rings, altruism tainted with self-interest
hard not to have self-interest in survival
there's self, and then there's enlightened self

---

Copyright 2003 by Richard Denner ( rychard@sonic.net).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
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Dreams Without A Sun

by Shaun Hamilton

As two doves ascending, diving through the veins of a glassy sky threaded upon crippled wings.......
A feather drops into the ocean, tearing apart the oaths nature once whispered unto fate that lied for me........
Am I forgiven for this empire of grace that slipped through the sands, for the hollows of dust that paint the Earth I paved?.........
As a forgone lust and tear-soaked skein of the ocean reflects the dove's sky, as another feather bursts into the ocean bed......
Forgiveness is the blade that slices apart the paths of fate, as isolation is the broodmare and bride of the will that creates.....
For shall the will guide every instinct, to a goal of possession lying buried beneath that ocean scavenging the sunrise....

Greet me, descending, my wings of transience and instance as you burst into the heart of the dying star that I am now
As two doves burning into the sea, to the ember that swallowed them in the crystal waters......
For you cannot escape the reality of what you are and the purpose of everything in the true world......

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Copyright 2003 by Shaun Hamilton ( geistimsturm@yahoo.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
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Awakening

by Bill Douglas

. . . life had the appeal of a West Texas jail
      . . . 'til the siren of life dropped her ten-thousand veils

And the TRUTH that is me, no longer whimpered but WAILED!
Like a million volcanoes 'neath King Triton's mad gales!


Through the womb of a dream
      . . . I redefined "me"

I, an ARMY of armies
. . . a trembling leaf on a tree.

Faith not the issue . . . belief had now become ME
Far beyond definitions of a word called "free"

Beyond nightmares of Auschwitz,
      Beyond precious Christ,

Beyond a mocking constipation,
I once referred to as "life."

Through my eyes ALL could see as creation breathed ME.
I was everywhere and nowhere . . . in between matter's seams.

I was young and old,
meek yet BOLD,
Walkin' paths so far past
the tiny roads we'd been sold.

No preacher preached it . . .no president decreed it

. . . but if your soul had a hunger

      . . . this is the trough where you'd feed it.


Deep inside we all see it. In simple truth we all be it.

            . . . So, be it . . .

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