We journey from darkness
To the burnished eye of dawn,
Lyrics and poets' dreams
Soaring like hawks,
Spiraling downward
Until they slip quietly
Into the soul.
Our hopes fill the infant sky
Like the surging sun,
Then fall softly
As a whispered prayer.
I am a teardrop's journey from dawn.
Each word and dream
Brings me closer
To its light.
------------------------------------------------------------------------- Copyright 1999 by Carol La Foret. (CellarPoet@aol.com). Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author. -------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------- Copyright 1999 by Sylvia Leigh. (APoetess@aol.com). Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author. -------------------------------------------------------------------------
The mother and father of All That Is
looked down one day on their own creation,
the nursery school where the children play,
and said: We must see to their education.
Remember, said mother, the children are small,
not ready for classes at Cosmic College,
and since they had that terrible fall,
they're addicted to facts and linear knowledge.
Come, said Father, let's make them some toys!
angels and fairies; fabulous creatures!
and those terribly clever girls and boys
will never suspect that we're their teachers.
With elixir of sun and pale moonglow
and a handful of clouds from the astral night,
they mixed a batch of magical dough
and spiced it with wonder and pure delight.
They shaped from the dough (with the tiniest stars)
spirits of darkness and spirits of light
and beings who travel from Venus and Mars
in saucers that glow in the skies at night.
Said Father, they'll never believe their eyes!
They'll cry, said Mother, and scream and fuss.
But what a delicious, delightful surprise
when they realize that the toys are us!
------------------------------------------------------------------------- Copyright 1999 by Dorothy Bates (DBates3809@aol.com). Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author. -------------------------------------------------------------------------
I always knew I would see you,
But not in an almost unconscious way.
I imagined it to be the way you looked when I last saw you,
a Hemmingway.
But, alas, the Caribbean Blue escapes me,
for I see the truth now, in the turquoise water.
Why did I let you go ?
Why?
I now long for your sentimental fragrance;
and squishy sand between my toes.
Endless aqua waves beat upon the shores;
and a "Jimmy Buffet" song plays upon the sunset.
My heart still bleeds,
to Caribbean Blue,
and you.
The salt water is the only perfection I remember of my soul.
And is the only taste of truth that leads me to solace,
that leads me, to you.
------------------------------------------------------------------------- Copyright 1999 by Hartzel Spinner (hartzlspinner@yahoo.com) Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author. -------------------------------------------------------------------------
I know this water It is a thawed ice-age glacier That slices our country Ocean to ocean No one has fathomed it Boys have fallen in No bones are ever recovered No light can search water So thick with past When the world is ember Still as the winter trees I have seen the blurry black image of something slithering into water Then a great back Going against the current We have all seen it From this water we feed I have had its dreams It is ours to grapple or invoke This winter we have grown fat Our minds are full of dragons
------------------------------------------------------------------------- Copyright 1999 by Robert Berry (robert_james_berry@yahoo.com) Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author. -------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------- Copyright 1999 by Robin Reece (AbsoIutAni@aol.com) Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author. -------------------------------------------------------------------------
Their names are Ethel and Albert
and if they were so inclined
A tale of hardship and hard work
They could tell you and unwind.
Babies during the roaring twenties
Teens in the depression years
Young people around the forties
With all the World War Two tears.
Into farming then they would go
Sorrows of one lost child
But having five that would grow
Things then become rather mild.
Almost eighty years now I have covered
In a dozen lines not nearly summed up
And if by now you haven't discovered
I'm proud of my parents. You Bet!
------------------------------------------------------------------------- Copyright 1999 by Bill Eihausen (Hardverker@aol.com). Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author. -------------------------------------------------------------------------
An awakening to dawn mist on the water,
flowing Spirit streams to God's altar,
purifying essence whistles through the trees,
images of the sacred blowing in the breeze.
Flights of fancy from birds up high,
feathers of many colors filtering through the sky,
sun, moon and stars envelops Earth's dome,
we're all birds of a feather, finding our way home.
Spectacle of mesmerizing movements flashing in the mind,
melting pots of humans, secrets hard to find,
love all embracing whispers on the wind,
no physical presence, ecstasy from a light dimmed.
Gifts of joy enmeshed in music and dance,
visualizing images filtering in a trance,
warriors in a drumbeat at journey's end,
back to the womb of creation enmeshed in a substance blend.
Wondrous dreams in the stillness of the dark,
journey on uplifting voyages in paradise park,
thunder and lightning point the way,
a prelude to the land where Souls play.
------------------------------------------------------------------------- Copyright 1999 by Michael Levy (MIKMIKL@aol.com). Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author. -------------------------------------------------------------------------