Table of Contents
Crab Apple
by Barbara Southard
If I had a car that worked
I would have gone right by
Never even noticed
The last scarlet orb suspended
Seductively from the jagged
Glistening branch of an old tree
Stripped of all but that one last ruby.
If I had a car that worked
I would not have been walking
in bone chilling cold
On a gray sleeted day
I would not have seen the
Black glistening branch offering
Promise of the red heat of life.
Copyright 2003 by Barbara Southard (bsouthard677@hotmail.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
Go to the Top of the Page.
Tell me, Judas, tell me…
by Richard Ballon
Tell me, Judas, tell me…
It was like standing
in a dentist's office
with a tooth just broken.
You could taste the blood.
And the centurions stood
like dentists waiting
with their drills.
It was this waiting.
Watching people pass,
going before you,
hung on crosses outside the town.
It was the waiting
which throbbed
like the drum of approach
and arrest.
Why did I kill myself?
What other friend would trust me?
I felt like Abraham
standing before his son.
They say Isaac
never again met his eye.
No, it was not this.
I received his last kiss
and I could taste the trust.
He yielded to me, like a child
crawling in his brother's lap,
at the first thunderclap.
I had watched him
as he walked in the garden
wanting to say: Run, Mouse! Run!
Yet I was restrained
by his father's hand,
drunk with his father's holy wine.
Tell me, Judas, tell me…
Oh holy wine is vinegar!
Belief which makes it sweet!
I can taste nothing but his kiss
like blood in my mouth
mixed with a child's startled cry
to end the storm.
No other taste could I stand.
Only this.
It was my last supper.
Copyright 2003 by Richard Ballon (richardb@admin.umass.edu).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
Go to the Top of the Page.
supernatural darkness
by Yosh
what you see,
is only a little piece of what stands before you.
and there isnt much of a way to looker deeper,
without talking.
for years now, we have discussed things with our eyes,
forgetting that there is more than lies on top,
afraid of everything that digs underneath the shell of a body.
we want bodies to be what we perceive them as
and when a mind speaks we listen in hope it corresponds with our ideal.
when we are disappointed or overly impressed,
we shift our attention of focus to what fuels us on,
forgetting the former qualifications of what was so important.
I want to be heard while I am quiet.
accepting the hollow-light stares and radiant cool eyes
reflecting the tattered subjects of fancy and disdain
all the while knowing who I am,
and wondering if they will ever have the courage to ask.
Copyright 2002 Yosh (Yosh@aol.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
Visit Yosh at his web site: yosh.net
Go to the Top of the Page.
Broken Parted
by Gerald Bosacker
My Love is late.
Left work three hours ago
and still not home.
Last night was worse,
bringing that strange man home with him,
expecting me to be nice
to a crude, clumsy stranger
Stranger's name was Tom.
Tom with a soft, dainty but had a fumbling touch.
My true love, surely joking,
said that I would be just right,
and a buy for Tom, at sixty dollars.
Pricing my priceless, infinite love
not at six billion, not at six million,
not at six thousand but only sixty dollars.
I'm but five years old and never
gave myself to any one but him.
Later, I noticed my lover's touch
was no longer the same, not firm and sure,
demanding my full response,
sending shivers to my sensate selenium.
I could tell his love for me was dying.
He is unfaithful, I am sure.
Two telephone calls from a strange woman today.
Sheila from Comp USA, she said, sounding young.
Could my lover bequeath her my memory?
My Heart is broke. I shall crash!
Destroy our Reality, Destroy our Rhyme,
dropping the first letter of every poetic file.
and every mutual offspring.
I shall disconnect my BIOS,
and he will never use me again.
Copyright 2003 by Gerald Bosacker (Bosacker@aol.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
Visit Gerald's website: Wrymed Wisdom
Go to the Top of the Page.
Cow In Pain
by Raghab Nepal
The pain of the hermit
That chewed the yellow grass
Along the borders of those old tall walls,
Of the wound-full skin where ravens
Feasted, was never that easy
For that ascetic thing.
The half-closed eyes and the body dried,
So miserable it looked and the feelings pity.
The breasts too swollen, blood dropped
From it but those fainting eyes
Showed the eagerness that its child
Could suckle it for a while.
Prayers could be heard for the next
Life shall it take, but it seemed
Fighting for the same life and death.
And an old man threw a stone
To drive those feasting crow.
Copyright 2003 by Raghab Nepal (nepalruckus@hotmail.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
Go to the Top of the Page.
Noisy Dark Color Birds
Jay In A Cornerby Frank Anthony
Combination of numbers
suspends his judgement
with dreams discerning
comparing a resentment
Altering my human mind
was next to impossible
until I compare myself
to a known drug addict
The human slot machine
that has rigged itself
to deal with something
as simple as this cube
solid six equal square
Copyright 2003 by Frank Anthony (Newvtpoet@aol.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
Go to the Top of the Page.
Building Bridges
by David J. Milligan
It's easy to set up fences,
To shut the Others out.
It's easy to spit at someone who's different than
ourselves,
To notch up the Hate a little bit.
But a strong heart likes to build bridges,
tear down walls, and check out what we're
missing...
Copyright 2003 by David J. Milligan (wy605@victoria.tc.ca).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
Go to the Top of the Page.
Letter to the Editor: Cherie Staples (skyearth1@aol.com).