What Shall I Give You As A Gift?

by Salman Sharif Abbas

The feast is coming very soon, and I am not prepared
And I am bewildered as what shall I give my lover as a present
Shall I give her a flower, when she is a field?
Shall I give her a poem, when she is a book of poetry?
Shalll I giver the pulse of spirit when she is the heart?
So the feast is coming soon, and I am
not prepared I will need to search the lovers safes,
And the pockets of time
For a gift that had not been given to anyone before
For a gift that will not be given to anyone after.
I will ask the earth, what did it give to the moon,
I will ask the boat, what did it give to the sail,
I will ask the sail, what did it give to the wind,
I will ask the true believer, what did he give to the holiness,
So I can give you more beautiful things than they gave.

---

Copyright 2003 by Salman Sharif Abbas (greenad4@webtv.net).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
Go to the Top of the Page.

---

Concerning Dead Soldiers

by Gerald Bosacker

Consider the sadness of the dead
when Gods that final truth supply
as boon for lives unfairly shed
in service to persuasive lie.

Do they envy the fallen few
embalmed with poison of the truth
partook while sat in chapel pew
or sniffed while in their voting booth?

Do they impatient, count the days
until they meet again the liar
who justified his war and preys
on young to stoke in Ares pyre?

Do they despise their coffin's flag
or covet the colors of their foe
and wonder if dead men should brag
or now more calm, their bold outgrow?

Or wasted do they silent sleep,
mute promise of the young that died
for empty glory purchased cheap
and charged to chauvinistic pride?

---

Copyright 2003 by Gerald Bosacker ( Bosacker @aol.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
Go to the Top of the Page.

---

The Aftermath Of A Wedding

by Adam Irving

The car was cold,
but the three other people in it
were warm from the fuel
of alcohol, weed and the coke they had taken

I sat, clear headed in reality
behind the passenger seat,
my girlfriend next to me
slumped into sleep,
drying splashes of vomit
on her new boots and pants

We had stopped outside a club
in the middle of nowhere
and the driver began
a light hearted enquiry
as to why I didn't
and wouldn't
do cocaine

We bounced arguments between us,
like talking with a child,
missed analogies through the translation of language
and misunderstood concepts and intentions

The atmosphere was unpleasant .
Me, being the minority in every way
and then being made to explain myself,
but I held it together without getting nasty
which was what the situation needed.

I couldn't leave,
what with it being 4am
and the fact we were sat
in the middle of the Italian countryside
The other passenger was asleep now,
leaving just us two to battle it out,
we continued to argue/debate
"I've never had sex with a corpse,
but I know I don't want to"
I said, trying to simplify my ideas,
but she continued her half-assed lame causes.

I choose reality, she chose fake reality,
I don't care what other people do
as long as they don't hassle me about it

Weeks later, back in the UK,
she Emailed my girlfriend,
and it transpired,
she didn't recall that particular night,
but apologized anyway.

That surely is the most hilariously sad
tweak to her decaying nose.
To have a good time and not remember it
OR
To remember not having a good time

Surely Plato would have
Mulled that one over for decades.
If both of us didn't remember having a good time,
Then what was the point exactly

---

Copyright 2003 by Adam Irving ( sqwire@hotmail.com ).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
Go to the Top of the Page.

---

Napoleon Without A Bone

by Richard Denner

Politics determines our destiny
along with mudslides and the power of romance

tentative
halting
difficult irresolute
daunting

mystery, exile
a bone apart

Not so far to Corsica from here
Not so far
Not so far from here

You who lead me
You who look on my pangs of
cyclic loneliness and fear

I awake and say, "Good morning"
to my bones

---

Copyright 2003 by Richard Denner ( rychard@sonic.net).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
Go to the Top of the Page.

---

Weep For The Children

by Cris Lee

When will the world weep,
for the innocents that dwell,
on the dark continent,
lands ravaged by famine,
civil war and strife,
only a new horror,
could eclipse the chaos.

Disease so perverse,
plays no favorites,
crosses all color lines,
preys on the immune system,
A.I.D.S – what an acronym,
its very letters spell out,
anguish, death, suffering,
researchers try hard as they might,
produce vaccines that give some hope,
but a cure still eludes the great minds.

Let my words paint,
a not so pretty picture,
with white I draw,
a child tiny and thin,
laying helplessly on a hospital bed,
clear tubes decorate his dark skin.

With somber colors,
I sketch a young girl,
eyes glazed over with grief,
numbingly staring at,
the graves of her parents,
their own young lives,
extinguished by this terrible disease.

I implore you,
do something to make a difference,
get involved, make a donation,
shed a tear at the tragedy,
of all the orphans of A.I.D.S,
remove the rose colored glasses,
leave the comfort of your healthy life,
for all over the world,
the innocent are dying,
weep now all you good people,
weep for the children.

---

Copyright 2003 by Cris Lee ( cris_lee189@yahoo.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
Go to the Top of the Page.

---

Untitled

by Jessie Clarke

Even if you came in as subtly as a summer breeze,
the scent of lilacs and hyacinth, I'd know you were there.
Even the slightest breeze, th dantiest breath, stirs air about it
unseen, wafts a scent, causes the leaves, fallen and wizened
to dance even in death.
Even if your love was no more brilliant than one ray of sunlight
I'd still reach for it in my night-blinded helplessness.
For one ray of light pleases the vine to bend and twist toward
what it knows sustains it, and deep seeds press through an earthen womb
to feel that caress.
But, my love, there is nothing danty, slender or polite about your love.
The wind rips leaves from bony twig joints and they lose themselves
in a flurry of change. And your love twists me this way and that until
I am nothing without it.
And I fall, but the air will stir me as I lay helplessly, and I will dance even in death.

---

Copyright 2003 by Jessie Clarke (Lingulaca91780@aol.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
Go to the Top of the Page.

---

You Never Happen

by Prasenjit Maiti

You never happen
to miss me anywhere around your lips
while licking the froth of quite empty eventides
alone in winter woods or crying and rising and falling
like we were the waves once breaking against
the endlessness of passions in the swell and flood
of our desires perched like birds and lusty beaks
you never miss me when in love or wistfully alone

---

Copyright 2003 by Prasenjit Maiti( pmaiti@cal3.vsnl.net.in).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
Go to the Top of the Page.

Table of Contents