Colors, yellow fragments
falling
Through a gray screen
of life's effusion
Scattering light of a
slow burning candle
Flickering in the shadows
of the altar
Darkened, somber shrine
to dying mothers
And children starving
in the camps
Colors, flashes of brilliant
light
Detonations, screaming
jets
Fear and death
Doom and destiny
in hell's land
Here in an ancient Eastern
place
Cradle of the Orthodox
Ancient shrines and icons
And screeching jets,
cluster bombs
And refugees
Tanks and guns
An ancient story
The thirteenth century
The twentieth century
Same colors -- different props
Same play -- different cast
Fear and fantasy
And the innocent lie dead
Tortured
Fragmented in a myriad
rainbow colors
Like the mosaics in
the old church
Centuries of strife
and confusion
And the blood red
sky reflects
The jet as it
fires its
missiles
At that ancient culture
And the refugees cower
in the shadows of history
Colors in Kosovo
Yellow in the waning sun
------------------------------------------------------------------------- Copyright 1999 by Michael David Coffey. (mdcoffey@aol.com). Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author. -------------------------------------------------------------------------
At work people talk
Of the places they've been
Turn to me and say
"You never go anywhere."
How can I tell them
of the one place I go,
Where the land and cabin are mine
and it's all paid for.
In the Colorado Rocky Mountains
where it is located
and I worked and saved
for twenty years or more
Then after I found the right place
thirty five acres to be exact
I cut fifty seven trees
and put a roof over that temporary spot
It took me three years
but now it is done
My reservation is always open
and I go when ever I can
But still people talk of Mexico
and Europe and elsewhere
Where all is planned out for them
by travel agents and airlines
All I can say is
I went to the cabin last weekend
and didn't see or talk to anyone
For twenty four hours. So there!
------------------------------------------------------------------------- Copyright 1999 by Bill Eihausen (Hardverker@aol.com). Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author. -------------------------------------------------------------------------
You wave your fingers gingerly.
Mention that your nails are wet.
"Don't touch!" you scream
to your little boy and he runs
toward me as if I have
the power to sort what's real
from ten pink plastic lumps.
The issue here is dirty hands.
I need mine free to wedge the lime
of motion's almost acid gift.
I need mine free to reach the chair
that wobbles feeble by the pool.
When knives last year stole
shiny trumpets (working arms),
I learned how much I worshipped them.
Hands are storks with babies
warming in their pouches.
A blessing that you cannot grip-
to walk so close to infancy.
Without a leg should make me scream.
Whatever bones I have I use.
Struggle's creaking caveat--
non compos mentis vain's advance
and petals of its primrose path.
Courage threads are bars of soap
I wear in mouths of urgent dread.
Crisis coming near your nails
seems very useless forest fires.
You fly south like ducks
on lips of winter months.
It's all attached to how we both
define the vowels in a "nail":
I see crosses of a curse
hammered will must overcome;
you see parsley with hors d'oeuvre
on plates that fingers mustn't move.
------------------------------------------------------------------------- Copyright 1999 by Janet I. Buck (JBuck22874@aol.com). Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author. -------------------------------------------------------------------------
You-
Are a man of bone
and mortal skin
I am a woman
a falling star
sparkling in the grace
of your hands
I trust in your ravishing strength
and your symmetrical goodness
You-
Are the miracle of my life
like a baby in my arms
the felicity of springtime
gazing at your face
blossoming into a lusty smile
Adoration in eyes
speaking words yet unspoken
You-
Are like a freckled, one-toothed boy
drawing fireworks
with all 62 crayons
on the walls of my heart
In daydreams we soar
in your rickety bi-plane
Throwing baskets of
red water balloons
Stampeding zebras
across the Serengeti
Delirious children delighted
in our savage flight
You-
Are my poetic song
And I sing you pearls
My golden treasure
you are my sun
You are a universe
beyond my most
solemn imaginings
My heart thrills
my soul calls your name
You-
Are like the shy faced
boy of my youth
The blushing first date
Clutching all your courage
in a fist of flowers
I tremble like a sparrow
in your hungry gaze
As your dry lips
brush my mouth
in the first taste of passion
You-
Enchant me
with silver-toned bubbles
of delicate dreams
and in the noontide
I dance with the
cymbal and the seraphina
And in the night
in wonder
I shimmer in the moonglow
of spectral your gaze
You-
Are the sea
encompassing my earth
with intricate tides
Bathed in the soul of
your love for me
my love for you
swirling in
the strumming waves
and the swelling green yearning
of our dreams
You-
Are a mountain
and I am the snow folding
myself into your arms
Floating into your
in-most heart
you warm me
transform me
I am the sapphire lake
reflected in your eyes
You-
Have a heart of iron
bravely hedonistic
The windows and walls
quake at your desire
The flames of your fire
draw me into the raging night
Shivering at the door of your citadel
you carry me in wooden arms
you feed me ripe cherries
picked by your hands
and tend me
gently in the feathered-bed
of your soul
You-
Command the sun to
smile in slender rays
of the honeysuckle dawn
You weave your body into mine
Your seed
is a sacred tapestry
igniting my womb
Lashed to the pyre
of your bone and mortal skin
The hemispheres of my mind align
famished with longing
that I may feel the essence of you
and the blessed purity of our love
All the days of my life
------------------------------------------------------------------------- Copyright 1999 by Chelse Elliot (Realchelse@aol.com) Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author. -------------------------------------------------------------------------