Welcome to the Gryphon's Nest!

The gryphon lined its nest with such
As none will see again
But treasured most the deepfelt words
Sung from the hearts of men

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From Oak Tree Drive

by Richard Denner

I send an oak leaf
and tell you a tree story.
I would also give a cloud,
this one, like a butterfly.

I sit in this tree and drum,
waiting for the westbound bus.
Can't help wishing back.
I must be speaking in tongues.


Copyright 2000 by Richard Denner. (rychard@sonic.net).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.


So Monet

by Peggy Meeks-King

The dark clouds of summer,
the hot, humid air, and shade
blanket the old apple tree.
Forest green, ripe with fruit,
it glows with red ornaments.
And beside it, at the mouth
of a white sunflower, a hummingbird
hovers, and there's a garden of water
lilies inside a half whiskey barrel.
They are the Arc en Ciel,
pale pink, the scent almost sinful,
so tropical, so Monet.
The season gives us fruit
and the taste is sweet.

Copyright 2000 by Peggy Meeks-King (poetpmk@yahoo.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.


Life in the Street

by Lela M. Cannada-Puckett

Nights on a bench
days of stale pastry
where is my past
where is my future..

Is this another type
of school. Will I
earn my doctorate....

Is the street a
reality or a dream....

???so many questions.

Copyright 2000 by Lela M. Cannada-Puckett. (lelapuckett@gotmail.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.


SOMETHING

by Dave Jackson

do SOMETHING
anything
shake the tree outside
plant something
take pride in something
anything
anything
at
all
you matter dammit
you make a difference dammit
make waves and show the winds
you are here
and most of all
seek personal and world
peace
fight the
windmills
we can beat
them
we just have to
believe
and
leap

Copyright 2000 by Dave Jackson (dave@artvilla.com).
For more of Dave's work, visit ArtVilla
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.


To the "Stronger" Brethren

by Renah Palmer

You regard my God like a Hindu idol,
A twisted figure with multiple heads, spider-like arms
And covered with a gleaming gilt
That chills your bones, even as I sigh of its beauty.
Yet, it is the same God. He answers to the same name.

Upon a heart of stone, you say, I have carved this image
By my own will and so I have.
His arms are rigid, yet they have comforted me.
Though His eyes seem to stare coldly, they have carefully,
If solemnly, watched me from the womb and guided me
Through the heavens and hells of this earth.
You say you see no tenderness in Him,
Because His mouth is as harsh and hard-set as my own.
Yet, He has spoken wisdom in my daylight
And sung to gentle sleep my fear of the night.
Our God came to you in your joy and to me in my strife.
Thus, we sculpted His appearance with the chisel of circumstance.

You clutch your favorite -ism in the hand you extend to me,
Labeling any variance of opinion as heresy.
Do not say my God is not real for being different.
Just say the Spirit is like the tongues of a flame:
Though the same substance, its form changes
Every time it leaps towards Heaven.

Copyright 2000 by Renah Palmer. (artemismoon@email.msn.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.

Lost Soul

by Teresa Garnett

How can one love another?
When they do not love themselves.

How can you show emotion for someone else?
When it is bottled up inside, on your shelves.

How can you think straight?
When your head is in a fight.

How can you expect to make the right decisions?
When your vision is darkened, lost your focus, your sight.

How can you do the right thing?
When you know nothing, but what is wrong.

How can you choose to be a better person?
When you've been corrupted, all along.

How can you make a change?
Make yourself better, erase the past.

How can you take the steps in a forward motion?
Set yourself free from rage, put it to rest, at last.

How can you make the difference?
Be the person, you've wanted to be.

How can you simply say...
"Hey, I love to be me."

What do you do?
When you don't see your way out.

Where do you go when hope is gone?
When you feel you're not heard, even at a shout.

What do you say to yourself?
To rid your head and heart of pain.

How do you make yourself believe?
All that is to gain.

How do you, "kick your butt into shape?"
Get off the couch, make a break.

Make yourself believe...
Sanity is at stake.

I want to believe.
I want to see myself as I can be.

I want to be the person I know I am.
The one that I let go deep inside, no one could see.

I used to be a good person.
Happy, nice and kind.

Now, I feel she has left me.
Gone without a trace that I can find.

Where have you gone?
Where must I go?

Please, God, save me.
Can't you save my lost soul?

Copyright 2000 by Teresa Garnett. (Artsy25TGarnett@aol.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.


Lost in the Sky

by Wings

Boundless blue entrances me
Your words brush my heart with with yearning
Mountains loom
Sentinels of rock and ice, validate my heart

Snow capped aged peaks of truth, speak your name
...I am lost

Time is precious
..so precious

I stop it now,...

.....I love you.

.......The earth echoes...

.....and across the sky, my heart sings.........

Copyright 2000 by Wings. (wings4flight@mindspring.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.

Concrete kids

by BJ Brown

When I use to live back in south Boston,
Or,
"Southie"
As the locals like to call it,
The children partaking in,
Project games,
Would wake me,
In the early hours of,
Saturdays,
And summer days,
Through out alleyways,
And parking lots,
Stickball and hop scotch,
Screams for ice cream,
Songs from the truck,
"FUCK"! I'd yell,
"SHUT UP"!
And pull the blankets up over my head,
Then I'd laugh,
And remember,
Early days and young nights,
Flashlight tag,
And neighborhood fights,
Cartoons before noon,
And laughing at notorious bums,
And their booze.
I view children,
Through broken fences,
And bobbed wire torn loose,
And all the places that they play,
Parking lots,
And alleyways,
Build them whatever you want,
But their playground,
Will always be paved.


Copyright 2000 by BJ Brown. (Fink1975@aol.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.


Table of Contents

Letter to the Editor: Cherie Staples (skyearth1@aol.com).