Portals of Progress
("Vikas Ke Dvar")

by Jyotsana K Prasad

A slogan is not a loaf of bread

That fills the stomach of the hungry lot.

Speeches are not threads

That make clothes to cover

The naked bodies of the poor.

A platform is not a government office

Where dust-covered files lie

Waiting for the indifferent push and pull

One is caught in a whirlpool!

There is no need of hullabaloo

And mud slinging at one another.

There is a need to work together,

At least our own responsibilities

Ought to be carried out timely.

The doors of development

Open with the help of all

As the harmony between

Sky and earth and

All the elements of nature

Care for all: big or small.

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Copyright 2004 Jyotsana K Prasad (prasad@y.net.ye).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.

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We Bend

by Derek Damien D'Anna

We poets who set our pens to paper to muse
Are often unable to sufficiently fuse
The way we perceive our world to be
With the true condition of reality.

For we poets often see angels where mere mortals are,
And we gaze upon beautiful eyes and envision stars.
As children stare at clouds and see things that are not real,
We watch as our world slowly transforms into what we feel.

Our words have purpose because they open the eyes
Of those too close-minded to see past the world's lies
Because we believe that just because this is reality,
It does not mean that it will always have to be.

For just one moment in time we are able to pretend
That our future can change into the present we bend,
And though truth is truth apart from relativity,
We hope that life as we know it is only temporary.

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Copyright 2004 by Derek Damien D'Anna (yankeefandd@hotmail.com).
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Messengers

by David J. Milligan

Seagull's piercing song,
A goddess in disguise,
The planets journeying 'round the Sun.

All messengers.

Like light rays from a prism,
Or the notes in Mozart's "tunes",
God's couriers offer glimpses of the secrets of our Moon.

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Copyright 2004 by David J. Milligan (wy770224@hotmail.com).
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A Man's Change Of Life

by Daniel Gallik

He thought she did fluffy
work. But he also thought
she was bringing in a pay-
check. She goes, I am in
a cult that straddles upon
the feminine tastes, and
the realities of day-to-day.

The kids ate wings. Stared
at the tv. Did not do any
homework. The family lived
in Memphis near the river.
Relatives lived up North.
One day the roads turned
fresh for him. He got on

them and traveled out west.
Missouri. Got a job selling
prongs in a suburb of St.
Louis. Found a woman who
was almost dead. Married
her. Had no kids. Ate ribs
a lot. Liked driving to

the Mississippi and staring
at it from his Chev. Never
heard from the kids. Never
ate no wings no more. Kind
of felt good that his woman
just smiled at him, and that
life had become a big river.

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Copyright 2004 by Daniel Gallik (sixgalliks@alltel.net ).
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Paint A Picture

by Cris Lee

Paint a picture of yourself:
what do you see?
A man of integrity, values, self-respect,
someone who does good works for noble causes.
Or do you see the truth?
An unsure, shy, sensitive man,
who never got over the loss of his father;
when you needed his guidance the most,
he was taken from you.
That fact still haunts your eyes.
Your actions speak the truth;
it is shown in the company you keep,
the women you date, the choices you make.
Paint another picture of yourself;
this time don't lie or deceive,
embrace who you are,
let your father rest in peace in your heart
allow your actions to redeem your soul,
and become the man that I know is inside of you.

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Copyright 2004 by Cris Lee (cris_lee189@yahoo.com
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