Outing On Good Friday

for Claudia

by Richard Denner

We sat on the rocky scarp outside the Golden Gate
away from city and suburban demands.
The insistence of the breakers was remote
and on the choppy waves gulls dipped and rolled.
We sat a long time without words, while
our separate mind's tangles reluctantly relaxed.
The sea, I don't know, seemed new to me, and then
you pointed, "Isn't that a whale there on the beach?"
Sure enough, a beached whale with a broken jaw,
bloated, wrecked.

I spoke, "Must've been hit by a boat.
Near Nome, I saw kids use one for a trampoline."
The energy of its body depleted, yet powerful
in presence, a marvelous shadow from the deep.
Transfixed, you reluctantly confessed,
"This is my first one."
Lucky to see a whale up close,
even if it was dead, hoping it was a sign
whales are about and not an indication
that there are only a struggling few.

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Copyright 2004 Richard Denner (rychard@sonic.net).
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Nothing new

by Alessandra Gallo

Not quite original
this sin of yours
you're there, standing
thoughts touching
a glow in oblique eyes
gently diverting
and when the passion
drifts away
you fall down
on your knees
sick with shame

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Copyright 2004 by Alessandra Gallo (alessandra_gallo2@yahoo.co.uk).
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A Gardener's Biology Lesson

by Maria Jacketti

The brain is a rose
a well bruised rose
a time machine a radio,
CEO to the the heart,
that monk.

The brain is an osage
orange, unskeletoned,
grooved-deep naked open
to the world,
grown spine high

the brain is an osage
orange, fallen onto the
New York City highway,
redolent,
moth-proof-bitter,
a pioneer fruit, quite
inedible
except when a corner turns
and we turn with it,
and all becomes
a weeping willow,
wide-waisted,
century-hipped,


a maiden's long flow
of innate aspirin hair,
where Medusa waits,
harrowing
so much Play-Dough,
perfecting the bloom.

sculpting the snakes
that permanent wave,
that groove with the rose
and now, I tell you,
go south, glimmering back
to the Southern Cross where

the ovaries are pomegranates.

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Copyright 2004 by Maria Jacketti (msmagicalrealist@msn.com ).
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Excuse Me

by Albert Lawrence

Excuse me sir, would you care
to buy one of these hand made dollies
for someone you love, it's only two-dollars?
Excuse me ma'am, this straw hat
will help shade you from the noon day sun,
and it only cost five-dollars,
would you care to buy one?
Excuse me, my honorable sir and ma'am,
could you spare me a few dollars,
I am hungry, besides mothers bedridden at home
and little *dee-dee is crying her heart out.
You see, its up to me to bring the dough home.
Oh please mister, oh please,
I am begging you to have a heart.

*Dee-dee, means sister in the Indian mother tongue.

They stand by the sidewalks, in the middle of the roads, stopping cars, pedestrians, and passerby's daily. Dry lipped, unkempt hair, sick and bony, begging to put food on the table. Some of whom are homeless and orphans, most who have never come home to a warm meal or hearth, from this poverty-stricken city, my home! I thank heaven and earth for being so fortunate; I wonder how many of you are?

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Copyright 2004 by Albert Lawrence (slawrence12@hotmail.com ).
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Lost in Space

by David J. Milligan

Lots of people feel it here in North America,
But it's not a big issue...
It's not the same as being a "half-breed" or a "salt and pepper",
But maybe they were the first to feel it...

Once I was just "Canadian";
OK - an Anglo-Celt growing up on the river that divides French and English Canada,
But later I didn't want to be just another "fast food and shopping mall" kid,
Who could have been in Ottawa, Ontario or Austin, Texas...

What am I thinking?
Well I ponder those of us who feel something in our blood, our bones, our expectations;
A vague memory of places where at most we've been tourists.

But we also learn from "the real McCoys"
That we don't really understand Scotland,
or Eastern Europe, or Hong Kong, or Somalia,
or Syria, or the Punjab;
and of course "the rez" and "the times when we were called niggers"...

So we're left floating in space with one foot in "America",
The other in the myriad lands of our ancestors,
And I can be either "Dewi" or "Dyfed" or just "plain Dave";
But then I like exotic things...

But to "the real Scottish" and "the real English" folks,
I'm really just "plain Dave";
After all,
I wouldn't even wear a kilt and I drink coffee, not tea...

But my blood's my blood,
And they can't deny me that,
So I'll be proud of my New World bluejeans,
Yet shed a tear when I hear "Jerusalem" or Marie's Wedding"...

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Copyright 2004 by David J. Milligan (wy770224@hotmail.com).
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The Survival of Old Glories

by John Bryan

the dodo said, ' well mine's the most famous '
the upland moa said, ' mine was the tastiest '
the Steller's sea cow said, ' mine was the most certain '
the tongan giant skink said, ' mine's the most mysterious '
the Delalande's coucal said, ' mine was the most vibrant '
the huppe said, ' mine was the most maligned '
the big - eared hopping mouse said, ' mine was the first for Europe in Aust. '
the great auk said, ' mine was the easiest '
the spectacled cormorant said, ' mine was another for the frosty botanist '
the kawekaweau said, ' mine was discovered from my uniqueness '
the Falkland Islands dog said, ' mine was the most impractical '
the Guadalupe caracara said, ' mine was the most ignorant '
the pig footed bandicoot said, ' mine was the most miscalculated '
the Martinique giant rice - rat said, ' mine was the most geological '
the bulldog rat said, ' mine was the most infectious '
the Guadalupe storm - petrel said, ' mine was the most textural '
the passenger pigeon said, ' mine was the most precise '
Darwin's rice - rat said, ' mine was the most competitive '
the thylacine said, ' mine is the most debated '
the toolache wallaby said, ' mine was the clumsiest '
the slender bush wren said, ' mine's the least talked about '
the Vancouver Island Marmot said, ' well, mine's next ... '
the Ethiopian Wolf replied, ' no... mine is ... '
the Indus River Dolphin said, ' you're both wrong, mine is '
Man, on hands & knees, growls: ' in the end, i'll beat y'all '

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Copyright 2004 by John Bryan (jbryan@vtown.com.au).
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I hear the call from the city of Paradise

by Maliha Hashmi

I hear the call from the city of Paradise
As I walk towards the road to Madinah
I feel the Beloved look inside my soul
As I move closer to the golden gates
I feel my body succumb to endless peace
As I pray on the maroon embroidered rugs
I find serenity settle within my aching heart
As I watch the birds fly across the green dome
And within enraptured echoes of the streets
I become the call from the city of Paradise

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Copyright 2004 by Maliha Hashmi (malihahashmi@yahoo.com).
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