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 women and men

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Spider: obscure enigma | Silva:Art Among The Thieves | Nassif: Visits Are In Two Hour Sessions
Martin: Quiet | Sam Vaknin: In Moist Propinquity | Metzger: Enslavement

obscure enigma

by Martin Spider

i was strangely interrupted by a six year old lad tugging at my shirt-
mister, he whispered softly-
can you hold my hand while i cross the street, to the garden of eden-
i then placed my own fate & sensibilities in the gentle care of another
intelligence-
i am fond of fragile creatures frolicking in the meadow-
unmasked, i gracefully swim in the lake-
witnessing sunbeams glitter within my reflection, wich is shimmering upon
the waters surface-
there is so much beauty in the world-
and at times i find myself feeling overwhelmed-
as if my whole chest cavity was going to cave in-


Copyright 2001 by Martin Spider (
363ESS.LGSCDB5@PSAB.AF.MIL).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
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Art Among The Thieves

by Sam Silva

Fate brings on the silent storm
in which I pray.
All of the paint
you've laid on canvasses!
All of the tears that fill a brook!
It's raining now
as if to rain all day.
I'll sleep, walk, read a book
and say hello to friends who come.
I love these wet wet places
where I stay
especially as your face
remains among the faces
when faith pours down on us,
a kiss
as wet as liquid fire
and bliss's sum.

I am a temporary resident of life!
I pay my rent with acts of love
...am quite a bit behind.
It is not the same with you,
my lover and my wife,
with you, I've stolen everything I wanted
in my heart,
with silly little poems
whose sense and meaning is unsigned
...much like the pained desire
of the dumb.

I love the joy and sadness in our art!
The summer days
that burn the haze
of misty swamps within the mind.
All of the canvasses you've laid
with paint in kind,
on days much like today
when sleep and rain assume
their lovely dance.
I'll be thankful that I've been here
by the time I go away.
The lovely rain...lovelier than chance!


Copyright 2001 by Sam Silva (
samsilva54@email.msn.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
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Visits Are In Two Hour Sessions

by Amanda Nassif

You pace within the walls with your head held low,
hands behind the back, fast train of eyes,
scanning the visits today. people arrive always.
I watch my booted foot that shakes its wait
across my patience now, when someone's gone trust
hides.
Don't let those blank scenes shake the day
we say stay calm, take care and smile
swallowing inside, then go get some rest,
another tired page melting through the warm sky.

Of course that's just fine by everyone else,
i think and look around,
so many lives,
the dogs are barking just like on news,
too many out of tune pulled back by straps.
Children running around stumble over chairs,
it's just another big place where dad goes,
a holiday in white, yes it's cold here
but safe from the world, no more trucks and trains.

I saw the whole sky turn into a bubble of glass,
in the center we were seated head to head,
a tiny sparrow drops by for a chip, and then one more,
they glide around so swiftly in the breeze.
Your forehead becomes cut with parallel lines,
redness swims around your eyes, fever that's burnt
boiling to the brim running the surface with a clear
drop.
You look around with the corner of your eye
wiping your face and nose with your white sleeve.
It's okay you know they all do that too.

There are still many walls, rigidly dark and still
housing the cages in yourself that are feared.
there is much growth and freedom with this
constriction.
catch the spring breath with the burdened winter
or sleep throughout the night and day to travel.
we hear your name, a stern calling of authority,
your smile keeps waving as you walk away.


Copyright 2001 by Amanda Nassif. (
amandern@yahoo.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
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Quiet

by Tsahai Martin

I will not respond
When they come in droves
To taste of my honey
And I will idly stand by
As they pick the fruit
From my tree
Even though my pleasures
Are sacred to me
I will just watch
As they become pleasing
To all who wishes to see
I will not say a word
To appease you
I will be still for that's
What you need me to do
And my heart grows weak
To know
This is how I mean the most
To you
And I promise
I will not respond


Copyright 2001 by Tsahai Martin. (
Tsahaimartin@aol.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
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In Moist Propinquity

by Sam Vaknin

Hemmed in our bed,
in moist propinquity,
'tis night and starry
and the neighbourhood inebriated,
in the vomitary of our street.
A woman,
my stone-faced lover,
a woman and her smells.
The yellow haze of melancholy lampposts.
Your hair consumes you.


Copyright 2001 by Sam Vaknin. (
palma@unet.com.mk).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
Visit Sam's poetry pages at Sam Vaknin
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Enslavement

by Brice Metzger

Ever since early man first waded in a field, replete with wild wheat
or found easy ways corral and kill many beasts, by some simple hunter's
feat;
arose secret want to feast, upon easy plunders by those held - as
beneath
became first hints with inner hungers, to bend others for one's use -
like a chief.

Thus began slavery - by pretense of necessity, those in power require
capture market shares by greed, despite waste of what other humans may
aspire;
an ever present use of others, without care for their need to be fully
free
suppress their inner hungers, deprive minds and hearts - their only
good, to simply be.

Deny fostered faith, traditions, learning skills - contain them like
fenced-in cattle;
everywhere found, under cover of laws - free-yet enslaved, without means
of battle.

Copyright 2000 by Brice Metzger. (
bricepoems@ecr.net).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
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Letter to the Editor: Cherie Staples (skyearth1@aol.com).