Table of Contents
Caricatures of an Ocean
by Tim W. Downing
It's a world of illusion
Separated
From a world of delusion
These gentle currents
Have their bearing
Not segregated
Harmony
Its purpose not to destroy, not to defame
Not to steal
Nor to maim
Only to find a distant shore
Here
There is no time, nor name.
It's a world full of life and peace
Apart
From a world, where rumor and war never cease
This balance unparalleled
Not broken
Surreal
A coddling mother to her children
Not judging their sin
No broken hearts
Her love has no end
Chasing the sun into the distance
Driven, by the easterly wind.
Copyright 2003 by Tim W. Downing (bajadreamer03@aol.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
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GOD...?
by Erin E. Moen
What if...
every planet, sun
and moon
of all the galaxies
in all the universes
were each
but a single cell
of GOD?
What if...
each plane of existence
were linked,
like paper dolls
holding hands
and cut
from one infinite roll
of living paper?
What if...
we were a three-dimensional quilt,
uniquely
pieced together
by power unknown,
but admired and revered
as a greater force
of highest knowledge?
What if...
wear and tear
and fathomless time
creates black holes,
and small rips
and notches,
tiny mars,
in paper and fabric?
What if...
we spent our lives
repairing
the flaws we can see
with love and care,
to bring the whole
of the sum
to completion?
Do we wait, briefly,
on the center-spiral
and keep coming back
to mend
again and again?
Will we all have to "be"
an eternity old
to finally see?
Would we flee GOD, then,
when it is finished?
And with a big bang,
start again?
Copyright 2003 by Erin E. Moen (e_moen@yahoo.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
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Until It's Not Strangers
by Gerald Bosacker
How calloused we pass with silent conceit
the stranger whose home is there on the street.
Do you wonder if some care we'd extend,
if somehow that bum resembled a friend.
Would we then pass absolved from his need
with logic that springs from self-centered greed.
We should borrow the face from loved ones dead
and place it by will on that pauper's head.
With bequest from dead, their life we restore
by helping that wretch most choose to ignore.
Copyright 2003 Gerald Bosacker (Bosacker@aol.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
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Fish Story
by Che Gutierrez
I am a minnow in water
Flipping in pollution
I must feed on something
Before I starve
I need solutions
Swim past grim smiles
Pillar weeds
Where the enemy feeds
More
Sunbathing unknowns
On ocean floor
I am the subject of a joke
In fish schools
Little do they know
I will grow
Un-fun fantasy finished
Let me crawl and evolve into more
Leg moving
Creature of glory on the shore
Copyright 2003 by Che Gutierrez (Agsurpher@aol.com).
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Little Alien, Sonnet 2
by Ronald Haun
When his mother and I would fight and yell,
Screaming our hate, toe-to-toe, eye-to-eye
Breaking his heart, silently Mike would cry.
His safe haven gone, his home become hell --
Then from space a Little Alien fell.
This little being, love lost in a sigh,
Untied my son's tongue, more childhood gone by.
He built a ship from cushions and eggshells.
On the floor near his broken citadel
Little Alien and I played show-and-tell.
He told of his spaceship's breakup, his fear.
How eternity felt, now he was here.
Then together we'd sing a lullaby
With one voice while repainting our blue sky.
Copyright 2003 by Ronald Haun (Ronalot23@aol.com).
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The Poem "Is"
by Apryl Fox
the poem is
an old man sitting alone
in the galley, washing
himself with a blank
bar of soap. It smells of clovers
and
lilacs.
he is tired
tired of everything
man-made, reality shows cell
phones
Coca-Cola BMWs.
the poem wishes he were
someone else,
maybe someone who is not
so enthralled
by
beauty.
Copyright 2003 by Apryl Fox(girlinpurplerain@juno.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
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A Drunken Hobo
by Ron Ryan
A drunken hobo's fall from grace
How did he ever get to this dreadful place?
What was he like with his other face?
When did he realize he lost the race?
Suckin' on a bottle, hopin' his mind can erase
The dreadful journey to this God awful place.
"Move it along now," says the cop. "You're takin' up too much space!"
Searchin' for family. Not even a trace.
A drunken hobo's fall from grace.
Guy in a suit yells "Get a job"!
Work like the rest of us, ya drunken slob"!
This whole new world seems like an angry mob.
He whispers softly " I'm not a slob. My friends called me Bob"
All alone to ponder. Beg, Steal, or Rob?
Ladies walk by, clutching their mace.
A drunken hobo's fall from grace.
Standin out front of a convenience store
Beggin' for dimes, needin' just one more.
All because of some lousy war.
That not too many people particularly cared for.
Hobblin' around. Such a chore.
Only one leg, but who's keepin' score?
Clutching tightly his medal of valor .
Which he received in some God-forsaken war.
A war which no one particularly cared for.
Once a hero. He's now not so sure.
It's not a topic he likes to explore.
He has enough now. For a 6 pack, 12, maybe a case
Not much else these days helps him erase
A haunting memory of a relentless chase.
A drunken hobo's fall from grace.
A hero forgotten without a trace.
All he remembers is a battlefield in some far away place
Images race of a soldier's bloody face.
As he sucks down the last of his case.
Water from a dirty puddle gets splashed in his face.
A drunken hero's fall from grace
Copyright 2003 by Ron Ryan (PalmBeachCop@aol.net).
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Letter to the Editor: Cherie Staples (skyearth1@aol.com).