The warm comfort of belonging
The wind at your back
spirits you along
And if you ever face the wind
You are cradled in belonging
The streets are hard and
littered with the detritus
of the façade
Altars to mediocrity crowd the
shopping malls and plazas,
giving purpose to meaningless
work
Behold the sleeping giant
Upon this stage you present
Yourself
Reciting the familiar lines
to demonstrate your mastery
Something old is nothing new,
yet the audience applauds its
similarity
The fantasy of wealth and
comfort, ubiquitous throughout
humanity
is herein what is celebrated,
yet the homogeneity of fashion,
architecture, and form is all
that is ever perpetuated
In the recesses and in silence
Visions of myriad complexity,
swirling galaxies of activity
and the hum of electricity
Eyes bright with curiosity,
bristling with the thrill of
invention
Measuring days by discovery,
yet every day is lonely
You do not look for what is new
and different
You do not appreciate what is
unadorned and essential
Mystified by that greatness
which has gone before
Knowing that there is One who
looks upon you and approves
or disapproves
Your mind is closed behind a
stained glass door
In the house of holy names
------------------------------------------------------------------------- **Copyright 1999 by Merlin Hampton. (MERLOMAIL@aol.com). Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author**
On Beauty in Transience
I. A single flame, however warm or bright But fixed in place throughout the weary hours Cannot compare in beauty or in might To those that bloom in ever-changing flowers For in its leaping and half-rabid dancing The fire's life is only then revealed Its pulsing, glowing, burning, dying, passing Are all essential in its wond'rous field. Hearts that are stagnant cannot yearn A fire that can't flicker cannot burn.
II. The wave that crashes on the salty shore The rain that runs in rivulets and streams Cannot retrace the paths it took before But must anew form patterns as it teems. The ever-changing foaming of the sea Reshaping all its might again anon Lends itself beauty through that movement free As each form lasts one second and is gone For loveliness is ever born of strife: 'Tis the ripples on a lake that give it life.
III.The mountains pushing up in lofty climb And wearing snowy capes upon their knees Do not evade the shaping touch of Time Refining, making way for hungry trees Who throughout winter, summer, spring and fall Don ever-changing robes of colors gay A myriad of greens - the hues of all Are different at the start of every day. How dull would be the world to our eyes Did not each spring reveal a new surprise.
IV. The clouds pass overhead, all pink and gold Pushed by a lazy wind across the sky A wind whose gentle warmth or biting cold Names each season as it passes by Or fans to life a host of wheeling stars With calm serenity or howling gale To a beauty which a lack of motion mars So do not ask the bright clouds not to sail Across the sky, a joy at every dawn Ever in transit, but never wholly gone.
V. Life is fleeting, beauty transitory But in its brevity lies its lasting worth For every thing must tell a different story And every death gives way unto new birth.
------------------------------------------------------------------------- **Copyright 1999 by Marcus Lee (thenarr@hotmail.com ). Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author**
The concreted ribboned,
pitt ohio,
mercedes ben's
lexus express ... winds it's way through the chaotic, quixotic
confusion
of the days charging toward the new millenium.
(I don't know why ... )
And through the tinted windshields
of the darkened eyes of man,
the horrorgraph of our troubled times,
shouts its angry message
at the nebulous minds of the listless, listening mass.
(They don't why ... )
And the bezled dials
of the diamond faced watches
wrap gold around the wrist of ben,
and the desperate quiet of the mind is disturbed...
telling time, telling lies...
(He knows not why ...)
Good women get leukemia,
some children die and the micro-managed
minutes of our lives pass on as we run
haphazardly into the pool
of blood drained from our unknown souls.
(Who knows why ...?)
------------------------------------------------------------------------- **Copyright 1999 by Jack Moriarty (JJMPHD@aol.com). Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author**
In the undertow of the barrio,
toilers and warriors
slouch down to earn their pay.
Sweat drips from down brow.
Callous grows the hands whose
fingers caress a young woman.
She scrubs linoleum
on wet knees. Chapped knuckles
wipe dry on a damp apron then reach
for a child. A young boy
with such soft palms stretches
out to touch his mother's face,
to find the thin place,
hearing her heart hum.
His father lurks
in the shape of his hands.
------------------------------------------------------------------------- **Copyright 1999 by Maryann Hazen (Faerhart2@aol.com) Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author**
Engravings in the wood
chipped bark that is carved off well
with a knife of small shape and size
letters on a tree written by a young child
symbolizing his first love.
In the clearly mopped hallways
a small classroom after hours
a grinding sound of a small pocket knife
administers the vengence of detention
on a poor, unsuspecting desk.
With the forests in their deepest green
the shades of the leaves make the park simply sparkle
while on a small bench in the corner of this park
a small key engraves letters into the wooden surface
because my date is late, and I am bored....
------------------------------------------------------------------------- **Copyright 1996 by Peter Joshua Lowry (r57pjl@morgan.ucs.mun.ca). Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author**
Today I need
the Goddess,
mother hugs
that heal the bruises,
soothe the pain
of skinned knees,
skinned hearts.
Tomorrow I may ask
the God
for strength,
a firm hand in mine
to steady me
in my clomb.
I have been told
"Ask and you shall receive"
by my Elder Brother,
but,
I am too small
to understand the One.
------------------------------------------------------------------------- **Copyright 1999 by Terri Rolan(Trolan@aol.com). Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author**