OPEN MIC ARCHIVES

Up-dated April, 2003

My mind is a battlefield
Daryl Hunt.

My mind is a battlefield,
All thoughts crossing over,
Analyzing and analyzing even when the day is over,
Feel physically drained even if i slept for a day,
Spending my energies in all different ways,
Like a battery system in a car,
I need to be constantly recharged,
My alternator that recharges me,
Is my thirst for knowledge on astrology,
Like a moth dancing about a light,
I just seem to keep hanging around,
Never satisfied with what i have found,
I must know more, I must know all,
And I will this is for sure,
Like an exotic tasting dish,
Astrology is so appetizing,
Maybe it has something to do with my Scorpio Rising.

~^~
Simple
by  Paul Ryan
What turmoil holds the human heart
what dark things has it seen
as much sometimes as it can bear
enough to squash its dreams
 
With talk of war on centre stage
the worlds heart fills with worry
an ambient sadness all be it dim
moves round in such a hurry
 
Inside it all you know yourself
you've felt it times before
there is a strength that knows no bounds
that leaves you wanting more
 
there is a name that's thrown about
for this gift that we all know
and once it is most truly felt
it purpose to you will show
 
It is love
and its real
find it
know it

~^~

If my theory is correct
Bruce Rosenbloom
 
If my theory is correct, the symmetry of the heart is only moved by participation. Some say, small changes and motion  can make all the difference.
In the anatomy of invisible perceptions and circumstance 
In the anatomy of rhythm and need.
In the language between two bodies and in the time between phone calls.
 
If my theory is correct, we are all built on a wish.
trapped by cause and effect
Proportion. . . placement and time
and the illusion of proportions
and the injustice of timing
and the weak stability of placement
we move are bodies around each other in orbit
a casualty of gravity and distance
a casualty of attractors and transitions
pushing and pulling from your bed
opening and closing possible events, bending in and out of possible futures never completely deterministic and never completely random. Now to a closing chapter in your doorway.. ending in a depository of subtle tensions reversals and indecision.

~^~

BEHIND THE SCENES

Andrew
Stop looking under the light,
Watch the person in the back,
Observe the bag that's being filled, not what they pack,
At the end of each verse sung, she'll take in her breath,
Pay attention at this time, for once ignore the rest.
 
Behind the fist throwing the punch, is an angry mind,
Instead of jumping the gun, find out why he's unkind,
The waves you like to surf on, don't keep themselves alive,
May this thought run through your mind next time you take a dive.
 
All birds that fly through the sky rely on air,
This force although is never seen, of it we're aware,
Look past the tree, into the space between it's leaves,
Given time, you'll perceive far subtler energies;
Don't just focus on the scenes, but what lies behind them too,
Because the scenes wouldn't exist, without the backup crew.

~^~

 
Time
Drum Billet
We wind up the clock, and time it goes by.
Life has been low, life has been high.
So we step back to wonder and think and then sigh,
Who can answer the question, And the question is why.
 
We wind up the clock as time it goes on.
Most we have lost, a few we have won.
We start off alone and we finish as one.
Lifeís never quite ready, to say when itís done.
 
We wind up the clock as time it goes past.
Sometimes it goes slow, more often its fast.
When you hold something dear, you must know it wonít last,
Like a boat in the gale, that is losing its mast.
 
We wind up the clock, but time never goes back,
When all you can see is so terribly black,
You escape into dreams, of that time life said ďWhat?Ē
And the fun in the sun, when your life was so hot.

~^~

THROWING THE STONES
 (c)Jude Adebosoye Ogunade
Who will throw the first stone?
Let he who has not looked lustfully at a woman do that.
Who will throw the first stone?
Let he who has not misappropriated public funds order that.
Who will throw the first stone?
At the woman who is haggard to the bone.
Who will throw the first stone?
At the woman who has no house but a hut.
Whilst no one throws any stone:
At those in big mansions who commit more heinous crimes.
Throw the stone! And give her child the streets to roam.
Throw the stone! And make the child grow up with the self same shame.
Throw the stone! Leave the child without a home.
Throw the stone! At your hearts' hypocrisy.
Throw the stone! At your supposed holiness.
Throw the stone! At the applause of your sinful hearts.
Throw the stone also at the man who shares her shame.
    

~^~

My Life:
William Nippress 
Water engulfs me
Soft encompassing wetness
Sound vanished calm
 
Water bears away
Thoughts turn to life absolute
Refreshing feelings
 
Rise up and stand tall
With eyes seeing creation
Resolve not to lose
 
Determined go
Forward with woes departed
Lifeís novel approach
 
Problems forgotten
Greet all with gusto and smiles
Leave agonies all


~^~

WINGS IN THE WIND.
lisa ladyundertaker
    Angel, Angel
Wings in the wind
My spirit will guide you
away from sin
Always remember the times when
I said that i'd see you
somewhere again
    Angel, Angel
With your wings in the wind

~^~

THE LIGHT
By Luis Pita
 
Around 6:00 pm., on February 15, 2003
I left my office at M.D.A.D.
I took the "Park 8" shuttle
towards the parking garage where my
Ford Focus ZX was stationed on level 5.
The elevator levitated to my destined floor,
and I, like Jonas, waited dormant inside its womb - unaware.
My expected arrival finally reached 5th.
The doors slid open, and I suddenly noticed the light.
Such glorious, mystical sunset light - It zoomed me out!
A hallucinogenic calmness shimmered all around me.
Light of translucent liquid silk, sparkling with golden dust,
bathed in orange, white, blue and silver...
and yet colorless and crystal clear.
The light penetrated and filtered through the columns
inside this asphalt cathedral of cars,
transforming it into an enchanted forest,
inhabited by creatures unknown.
I stood very still, and I looked real hard.
In the East, the light had sharply branded
the skyline into the flesh of a light blue satin sky.
I exited the forest, and the light, like a predator was waiting for me.
The clouds were unreal, hypnotic, dreamy and crisp.
The perfectly round moon faced the sun defiantly,
like a water blade that had sharply slashed the sky.
I looked all around me like a radar gone mad.
I had to see and absorb this magnificent, dizzying
and hypnotic spectacle, like a grand finale - an end.
Suddenly I forgot my pain, my misery, my apathy
and life of monotonous circles, and I offered my blood to Nature.
Ruthless Nature! Insatiable Nature! Nature that has nurtured
and devoured me since the beginning.
It was right there that I statically surrendered to the light,
and whispered - thank-you.

~^~

CHARADE
Jessica Rae Bachelder
 
I look at myself in the mirror
and i don't see me at all
i see a girl with shining eyes, a painted on smile
a carefully put on game face
so the world won't see her troubles
with head held high and chin stubbornly set
she faces the world, keeps her armor in place
never letting on whats happening beneath
she charms and teases, to show all that she's fine
she longs for someone to see
through her careful disguise
but when someone gets too close
she looks them in the eye and laughs
diffuses the emotion
and goes on with the charade
for the image is too important
she's too proud to let it go
to let her perfect mask drop
and have her true thoughts known

~^~

TIGERS
by Charlie Messemer
 
In it's youth thought is driven by something inside itself;
As it ages it begins to look outside itself,
at the world, for it's direction.
The problem is the world can be hijacked by metallicity.
Since I am anti-gravity and anti-time,
my thought holds on to it's inside.
What's inside? a bunch of tigers -
set the tigers free and let the rooster crow!
Tigers pack a boat straight out of the mind
headed for the new world;
they leave behind old t-shirts and train tracks.
A rocket launches and singing tigers sway their heads outside.
At the edge of their height a patrolling eagle is alerted;
prepared tigers fire a needle at the eagle and he falls from the sky
like a toasted chocolate and marshmallow pop-tart.
As the tigers escape the barrier
hearts everywhere begin to burst with love.
Those who misguidedly seek comfort in the opposite of the tigers
dive for cover
and the tigers spread out over the newly glittering wilderness.

~^~

SUFFICIENT GRACE
RHONDA LOLITA JACKSON
Sufficient grace? Oh but how
Is God's grace sufficient for me?
Right here? Right now?
When everything is in such a disarray
So tossed! So torn!
With the way the world is today
Too many tragedies to be mourned.
But to each of us God has given a sufficient measure
Because our lives He does continually treasure.
So waking up this morning was an example of God's grace
Being able to get out of bed
Regardless of the problems that I must face.
My eyes are opened and I can see
My hands, my feet, my legs
They all work It has to be
Because of the wondrous grace of God
This is how
God's grace is sufficient for me
Right here! Right now!
 

~^~

" The Highland Heart"     
by M.W. McDermott

What lies in the Highland heart?
That song or poem turns to Art.
A beast so grand, in shape and form.
 
Man and beast in this are one,
They share the Heart of the Highlands.
The blood runs strong, no matter where.
 
What's hidden in the Highland heart?
That lends its skills to science and art?
In dance and rhyme from now through time.
The pounding of the Highland heart.
 
What vision is thus perceived?
To keep Man and Beast across the Seas,
Ever that which they were...
In culture and tradition,
Always of Highland heart,
Of Man and Beast, a breed apart.

~^~

I give you pearls of wisdom
you toss them into the sea
You are my treasure, my jewel
a gem for all to see
You are a piece of silver that tarnishes when ignored
the reason for constant polishing you so much abhor
The greater the resistance, the deeper the shine
a diamond reflecting a gleam so bright it blinds the eye
Precious gems increase in value
That's why I am so rough, you see,
keeping your brilliance pure and true
Tis' better than my treasure lying on the bottom of the sea.

Deborah Smith

~&~

MY JOURNEY
JAIME CAMPSALL
 
I sift the heavy sand through my fingers;
Slowly, each grain is carried away by the wind.
The sun beats unforgivingly on my back.
I stay awhile, unsure which way I was going.
The skin in the back of my throat cracks as I thirst.
Finally I rise to look at the emptiness around me;
I choose a direction and continue.
My legs wobble and the ground moves at first.
The land ahead is never-ending and the day seems infinite.
The tiny parcels weigh me and they shift too much.
Ugly birds hover above me and screech, waiting for me to fall.
As the heat thickens I moisten the ground more and more.
The sun finally reaches her climax and hangs there for awhile;
She devotes all of her attentions to me.
Though I donít ascend or quicken my heart pounds in exhaustion
And so, my journey goes on

~&~

 The Song
Katia HACENE
A song is poetry,
From our soul coming,
Turned into a melody,
Going to our heart.
A song is what a bird
Makes us hear happily,
Early in the morning,
When the sun is shining.
A song is poetry,
Reaching our soul gladly,
Curing our illness,
Helping our sadness,
Drying our tears.
A song touches lightly
The new-bornís ears,
When lulled sweetly
In the arms of mummy.
A song is poetry,
Turned into a melody,
It is a music delighting,
And blessing our heart.
 

~^~

SUNRISE

James W. Rapp
Dew drops on pedals
glisten in sunshine brightly,
day is upon us.

~&~

- Flying Funeral Pyre -                 
*indicates parts of Pres. Reagan's speech from Challenger tragedy*
Jonathan Henderson
In her dark vacuums beyond the Heavenly blue,
A magical seven played their final hand as they flew.
A human face sheds tears in its cap and gown,
For some of our finest scholars' died
As that flying funeral pyre came crashing down.
'Twas all God's doing, and it seems so brutal,
But mothers, fathers, daughters, sons,
Your beloved are singing with the heavenly choir,
Sing the songs of hope for all.
For that, * we will never forget them,
Nor the last time we saw them...
(As they) "slipped the surly bonds of earth"
To "touch the face of God," *
For within that flying funeral pyre,
Their cycle for eternity has just begun.
May God's speed be with them.

~^~

WIDDENDREAM
(for the crew of the Space Shuttle Columbia)
By Charlie Messemer

I walked inside the snowman, let the snowman consume me.
Inside I found myself in a world of radiant, hollow outlines.
To the right was a stage
with floor and roof in the shape of a star;
on the stage someone dove off a diving board
and into a creature made up of universes,
tentacles radiating in every direction.
The creature got up and started to dance toward me
like an animated tree,
it's arms like translucent cucumbers
loaded with luminous spinning seeds,
winnowing in the wild wind of a widdendream.
Suddenly a horizontal plume of black turbulent smoke
flowed out of the creature like ink from an octopus.
Something was terribly wrong.
Two fishermen in yellow raingear launched kites into the cloud,
looking for survivors,
but the kites just radiated emptiness,
like eyelashes above tearful eyes.

~^~

When Emotions Fade
By Nikhil Menon
 
The Zephyr blows softly over the, now, tame land.
The air fouled with disgrace caresses the eroded sand.
The people live, but, for money and fame.
They are cruel and wicked, but they feel no shame.
This is the world mankind has made.
This, is life, when emotions fade.
 
No remembrance for the forgotten, nothing is complete.
All gentle thoughts are blown away in this forsaken heat.
Man is at the peak of his misery and hate.
Each one isolated, no longer intimate.
This is the world mankind has made.
This, is life, when emotions fade.
 
The world is fickle. The world is obdurate.
No space for generosity ; to participate.
Not a care in the world for the rich and the proud,
While the poor in agony are screaming aloud.
This is the world mankind has made.
This, is life, when emotions fade.
 
He blames othersí misfortunes on luck and fate.
Not on his own mistrust and hate.
A drone, is but, the man of this age.
Working in his little world of money : Locked in his cage.
An empty world is what man has made.
As he has broken natureís covenant, and let emotions fade.
 

~^~

**The Grail Is Just A Cup**
LJ HOLMAN
The Grail is just a cup to me,
for I seek not, nor
do I yearn.  The quest
is just a trip out
to the tennis court,
the jihad? just a dusty drive.
The Divine is just
a bunch of voices
in a crazy person's mind.
I am sufficient, have no need
to look, or search or question--
I am supreme, as I am
fond of telling
all the doctors here.

~^~

I DONíT KNOWÖÖ
         By: Amir Ridoy

I donít know what next
What next after these hollow calendars!
4600 million years ride on the sunray
Moonlit, blue sky
I donít know where we are going
Where will we reach after this mysterious swim!
 
Todayís modern will be in museum tomorrow
Our all proud will be ancient,
We sacrifice sea to sea blood but our todayís isms
Religions will be myth one day! 
Todayís diamond will shine mildly in the pages of history
No woman will be greedy to make them necklace!

I donít know what is ultimate
I donít know is there any ultimate!
I donít know what is next
Only have known that I havenít known yet!!

~^~

WHAT IS A DAY ?
           By: Richard K. Ackley
 
      What is a day ?
      but a memory of our failures of yesterday.
      The obstacles we face day to day
      and promises of the future on what we say.
      Our thoughts of world peace passed us by,
      for the violence and rage made our hopes
      dry.
      Could this be the reason why we make the
      the future cry ?
      Run, don't walk, to the path that goes
      straight.
      Hurry, the final day is coming, no time to
      hesitate !
      Everyone is coming, so don't be late.
      Yesterday was that tomorrow, that is here
      today.
      Only God's promises are for you today.
      Again I say hurry, or you'll miss that
      final day !  
~^~
KANSAS SKIES
Laura Mae Oldham-Brownell
Atmospheric turmoil evolves across the sky
Ashen, overcast shades of gray succumb to nature's cry
Damning thunder bellows throughout the pounding rain
Unyielding robust crosswinds lambaste the widespread plain
Luminous shards of brilliance chaotically explode
Breathtaking sky-born spectacle my widened eyes behold
Hardened, icy spheres of hail plummet to the earth
Destroying fields of harvest; Diminishing their worth
If merely these confront us our fortune shall be great
For the breeding ground of funnel clouds may one day seal our fate.
 

~^~


Remedy for a Bad Day
Meg Frederich
The knob that makes a pop
   The sound that reminds me of thunder
           The steam that clouds up the mirror
 
The heat that fills my lungs
   The water that feels so good
      The shampoo that smells edible
The conditioner that smoothes my hair
   The scrub that removes imperfections
      The soap that cleanses my pores
The body wash that makes me soft
   The razor that makes me a woman
      The shower that washes away my bad day

 

~^~

YOUTHFULNESS
Angel Berrios
Youthfulness that goes by so fast,
never stopping, never returning,
belonging to everyone and to no one.
 
Youthfulness that I cherish,
So many remembrances of you,
of me, of us....
 
Youthfulness; how beautiful,
when one loves a woman,
and feels her corresponding you.
 
Youthfulness that brakes the chains of boyhood,
to face an uncertain,
but exciting future...
 
Youthfulness; how I miss you!!!
               

~^~

THE HAND
AMANDA BARLOW

INTRICATE DETAILS LINE THE SKIN
STRANDS OF COBWEB SHAPES BEND AND FOLD.
THE LINES OF MANY YEARS
CURLED IN CRISS-CROSS SYMMETRY.
WHILST WITHIN, SOFT BONE
ON WHICH IT RESTS,
FLUTTER ON SMOOTH SINEW.
A STRAINED KNUCKLE
GROWN WHITE WITH STRESS.
 

~^~

The Beauty of Darkness
Gillette
If a blind man could see would it be worth it?
could the beauty of the heavens over come the wretchedness of the earth,
could the shadow of darkness cover the ugliness of light,
would it be worth the trade,
darkness for light,
serenity for confusion,
why the trade,
to not see the earthly calamity can only lift your ideas of life,
without the image of death and gloom,
you can only feel life and peace,
to trade the beautiful darkness for the worlds disgust,
seemingly only the man who can not see life,
is the only man that actually lives.

~^~

When your spirit flies
dianna  crystal
I sit by watching your life
Slip away faster and faster
Nothing I can do will ever matter
 
You could decide to hold on
But instead you choose to be gone
I plead with you to hold on
But it's to late because you're already gone
 
If only there was something I could do
To prove to you
There is a place in this life for you
 
But instead
I see you laying in that bed
No longer able to lift your head
 
Death came so sudden
And you were still young
But you just couldn't hold on
 
So today
I say
Goodbye
As I see your spirit fly
Into the sky
Like a bird soaring high

~^~

MY NAME IS
Tina K.
 
My name is lies
My name is stories believed to be true
My name is humiliation
My name is gossip
I am nobodies friend
I am what you write, speak, hear
The more I am spoken, they more I am believed
I ruin reputations that will never be forgotten
My name is gossip
  
~^~

The Feather

Lindsay
It flies and soars along
With the wind and it's beautiful song.
It shall not rest till after dusk
The Feather...
It's tips ring white and gray,
And flutter through the day.
Tips as fine as dust on wood.
The Feather...
Changing lives along the way
The Eagle's imprint starts the day.
Once the tip of soaring wings.
The Feather...
Dancing, prancing, never ending
Loving, learning, with the wind.
In the beauty of the sky.
The Feather...

~^~

Sleep language
brrahim Khatib
Yawn as the size of the bed
and sleep the way you like.
Equal we are in bed: pious praying on thorns,
wicked spilling wine, tearing the sleeves of roses.
Equal we are in bed: equal in love and hatred.
When eyelids fall down, two people we are:
One lying on his lady's arms, one alone.
One lying on  ostrich's feathers,
The other on naked earth warmed by the sky.
Equal we are in bed:
A poor man flying without wings, a loaf of gold
in his horizon, while wishes dribble on his fingers
like beads.
A blind man walking without stick.
A battle that starts and ends without weapons.
Equal we are in bed: So, yawn as the size of the
bed and sleep the way you like.
one sleep later. one day later, the bed will be
too tight with vanishing dream.

~^~

 
Strong
Zack Columbus
you have something one minute
and the next minute you don't
when you need help the most
they all say they won't
 
it seems messed up, but,
it seems only in my mind
i turned to them for advice
and instead they only left me behind
 
no one seems to understand
nor do they care
and soon they ask me for help
how could they dare
 
my life is nothing
but problems and mixed emotions
sometimes i yearn
to sink to the bottom of the great oceans
 
"but wait kid,
you can't do that"
is what they'll say
then turn on me at the drop of a hat
 
but all of this
i've grown strangely a custom to
which in my mind is something
no one should ever have to do
 
even if they won't
help my friends i will
i'd do anything for my friends
i'd probably even kill
 
but one of these days
i'll be here no longer
we'll see at the end of the day
who had to be stronger
 
all those people
i thought that i knew
i don't need your help anymore
even if i'm dying and turning blue
 
so heed this warning
our time is spread thin
how strong will you be
when you reach your end?

~^~

 
The pain is clear and obtuse, the forms are ever-changing creatures. I gaze at the dreamy pit of lost empties, gazing into the shadow. For gracious is the burning of ten stream, as she cries to the waving misfits. Soulful dance does the catching crow crow call, and pull from the earth the stray blade. In the emptiness does she linger, ever hiding her path. The crashing at the bottom awakes her mind, and the blue draws at the bottom of the dawn. If a call from the being wasn't enough of a misfit earthshake. Stemming the vapours are, cursed with the shapes upon them. Effortless pools of obscure latitude, reach for the firm gravity. Her snapping voice is clutched, she struggles to no avail. Peace seems further from the kissing moon with light. Oh hell and fury to take to the belly of fire to her breast. Hope does seem to fall under the yoke of pain. Will evil gain its noose, or peace reign. Long and drawn is the the answer which many men quibble and bleed.

benjamin grainger 

~^~

I am headed out, almost gone
Things are moving on
I'm going to achieve my goals
I'm looking for a place
I'm searching for a face
That will help do what I'm told
Not all is said or done
Still time to have some fun
With my work my friends and school today
Except when things are getting tough
And Life's a little rough
That's when it seems to all come down
And then I feel the pain
It feels like lightening in the rain
I feel so stressed with everything
So I have to sit and rest
And only hope just for the best
And maybe life will have a happy end
But until then I can say
It will all be great some day
For now I just have to wait!

Allie

~^~

Song of the Storm
Kristine DeBilzan 
as i sit inside my house
and look out of my window
i see the rain fall upon the ground
and try to catch the shadow
 
as the last vestiges of the sun
sink behind the darkened clouds
this is a thunderstorm
that will do God proud
 
the steady drum of rain
on the room of my little home
makes me feel less by myself
less like i'm all alone
 
the thunder creates a crescendo
of beauteous melodies
and the lightning lights up
the rain-drenched trees
 
as i retire from my perch
near the window on my door
i turn right around
and begin to watch once more
 
i want to swim in the rain
and sing with the thunder's melody
i want to dance with the lightning
it doesn't frighten me
 
so i leave my safe haven
and enter into the storm
don't think i've never done this before
for me it is the norm
 
after bone-soaking moments
i've finished the singing with the rain
and i climb the stairs to my room
and can't wait for a storm again

~^~

People tell me to do things
things I donít want to do
they will hand me a cigarette and I think of you
I think of what you told me and how it was so wrong
you tried to tell my brother, but its too late heís gone
I remembered his funeral and how everyone cried so much
what I would do for one last hug or just to feel his touch
then I remember the cigarette and drop it on the street
I say no way and walk on home staring at my feet.

Stacey

~^~

As The Clock Ticks
By: Stacey Renee Hodgins

As the clock ticks, time goes by.
Minutes, hours, days, nights and eventually
Years pass by in a matter of seconds.
The time passes so slow, but yet people and things
Change, as well as they grow,
So quickly.
I have waited for the first sixteen years of my life to
Come for what seemed like forever.
Now, almost eighteen years have passed. 
What happened to the last two?
Where did they go and where was I?
As the clock ticks and the hands of time
turn, I have seen so many things occur. And yet
Have many more to see.  The clock still
Ticks, but it ticks to a much different clock.  The
Clock that is timed by the
ďreal world.Ē
This is the clock of realization.
 

~^~

SAME DIFFERENCE
                  By:  Gene Miller
 
I am Christian I am Muslim
I seek happiness and peace
I am Jew I am Hindu
I seek religious freedom
I am Black I am White
I seek love and respect
I am Asian I am Native American
I want health for my family
I am Rich I am poor
I seek success for my family
I am Man I am Woman
I seek to be compensated for my work
I am educated I am illiterate
I dream of a better world
I am different I am the same 
 
Education to understanding
Understanding to compassion
People for people
Hand in hand

~^~

Is Age Just a Number?
David Kessel
As we slowly decay on our journey to death,
To the time when we take our last mortal breath,
There's one myth we preserve in our saying that age
Is just one little number on our lives' splendid stage.
 
I'll agree with you, buddy, but to one certain point,
As I feel its advance in my body's each joint
It's a number all right but a number of what?
It's the number to count our coming to naught.
 
It's the number of wrinkles around your eyes,
It's the number of groans and tired old sighs,
It's the number of creaks as you walk up the stairs,
It's the number of backaches that you have to bear,
 
It's the number of layers of fat 'round your waist
It's the number of years that you must remain chaste,
Cause no woman will cast her eye's sensuous dart,
At the fat bald senile and dirty old f**t...
 
It's the number of hairs you find in your sink,
It's the number of age spots the color of ink,
It's the number of teeth that fall out of your gums,
It's the number of friends who are also old bums
 
Just like you with pink wattles underneath their chins
And a number of ugly, and toothless old grins,
It's the number of jobs you don't qualify for
Since because of your age they will hire you no more...
 
It's the number of salesmen that call you at home,
With that cemetery plot that they want you to own,
But the saddest of all in this grisly age math,
As we scuttle along on our journey to death
 
Is the number most painful to me and to you:
It's the number of dreams that just didn't come true.
 
It's the number of countries we visited not,
It's the number of women that left us to rot,
It's the number of dollars that we didn't earn,
It's the number of thingies for which we did yearn,
 
But we couldn't obtain them although we tried,
So we simply gave up and got old and then died.
Yes it's true that by numbers we our age count
But for losers who age, greater is that amount.

~^~
Polka Champion, Anchorage Alaska, 1963
By Lorraine Cavener
He could dance them all under the table.
Every year on the Fourth of July
they had a big picnic and the whole neighborhood would come.
After a while the music would start
with Grandpa leading on the accordion.
Then heíd start the phonograph and would play his 78s.
The polka dancing would last until late at night.
I can see the dancers now the way he told it.
I can see him whirl my Grandma Lillie around the yard.
A polka contest and Grandpa won the polka championship
every year in Anchorage Alaska.
I can see it now the way he told the story.
And when everybody was too tired to dance
he keep playing the accordion.
 
Itís funny how the mind can deceive us.
Like a good reporter I check my facts
and learn from my mother that there was no such thing.
My Grandpa never danced.
My aunt ≠ who would have been there ≠
doesnít remember it either.
 
Mom says she doesnít even remember seeing him playing the accordion.
But I do remember that and so does my dad.
And so does my aunt, who was there.
Even after he left Alaska he played
until his hands got so arthritic he couldnít push the yellowed buttons.
I know that part is true because I saw it.
 
I went to visit mom and dad when they came home after his funeral
and there it was on the kitchen table --
next to the old wallpaper book photo album ≠
Grandpaís accordion
Itís not like one of Grandpaís stories
or my ghost dancers.
Itís real.

~^~
The Skater
-Katie Lazette-
As I sat in the huge arena all covered up in wraps
The crowd became so silent as someone lowered the lamps,
The orchestra played a crescendo as the spotlight shown so bright
There in the midst was a Girl, she skated and danced that night
 
She careened to the left and to the right, then skated into a spin
She twirled around so quickly it made her look quite thin
She stopped, then skated to the edge, leaped into a backward flip
While landing on one foot, she skated into a very fancy dip
 
The crowd just roared and clapped their hands, blew kisses in the air
She seemed to glide around the ice with dignity and flair
Excitement seemed to abound when she leaped and draped her arms
Into an arch so perfect with gracefulness and charm
 
Up from their seats the crowd arose, quite excited and loud
Applauding the spirit with which she danced, also her moves so proud
Through the air the Roses sailed, then landed on the ice
Picked up with love from the Graceful Girl, who curtsied not once, but twice

~^~

>^< IN THE LIGHT OF THE SETTING SUN >^<
Aaron Buffington
--> As the day becomes night once more, I look at the colors of the setting sun. Though alone, it is still a sight that will remain a treasured memory forever. But as much as I enjoy memories, it can never replace the moment when it happened. Sunsets are far different from love. You can take a sunset for granted and it will be there tomorrow and the days that follow. This is not true with love. When you take love for granted, you are setting your own trap. The sun does not care if it is seen or not, but love will fall apart if not cared for. Though love and the sunsets are different, they also are the same in some ways. Love is a beautiful thing that is best shared with someone as is the sunset. But the truest, deepest similarity is that the memory of love will never replace that moment of existence. I feel a tear roll down my cheek, and I know not if it is brought from the radiance of the setting sun or by the memories of our love. Both have a place in my heart. I only wish !
that one day I could wake up, and with the sun, our love would rise again. It may be a foolish dream, but when you've known a love so great that it can be compared to a sunset, then who's to define what dream is foolish?

~&~

Bee
ROBERT WEIR
I too smell nectar.
So while you work to gather,
I will wait and see.

~^~

I Am What I Am
Karissa Milller
A child of fighting people
The blood of a misunderstood race
Belonging to many
Half me, half someone else
A product of a world filled with hatred
Strengthened from many
 
Problems Iíve overcome
And some I havenít
A daughter of two strangely different people
Whose names are strong
I come from the swing my grandpa built
From the big back yard with a garden
Those of which I once had happy times
As a child
 
I am not my father
I cannot ignore problems
And hope they go away
I would not look down on people because
Of their race
I am not judgmental
 
I am not my mother
I am not loud like her
I am not as open as her
I am not as strong as her
 
I am new
A variety of different things
Part of me hungry for understanding
And contentment
The other not caring
Tear a path to my soul
Scatter the worries
Try to solve the problems
Bury the sadness
 
I donít think it will stop me
It will not hurt me
I will be what I am
  

~^~

I AM WHAT I AM
Jessica Torres
 

i am what i am, a child of crazy females
the blood of brown skin, half tan half brown
a product of Incan Warriors and Spanish Grounds
a daughter of Latino Immigrants,
whose names are strongly known in spanish
i live american culture with my mexican traditions
I am more my father, who is greedy and mean
i do not settle for enough i know more is better
I am less my mother, who is gentle and has a strong heart,
always wanting to know what gets around
I am new, part of what makes a melting pot melt
part of being foolish, but knowing when to turn wise
Tear a path through my background, passing the children fetching water
the Mexicana's sweeping dirt, through Jalisco and Colima,
breaking through beautiful beaches, oceans and sand,
who's ancestors ruled about
It will never frighten me,
I will always stand brown and proud
It will never be forgotten

~^~

I am What I am
By: Lorena Gonzalez
I am what I am
A child of over protective brothers
The blood of the Hispanic race
Belonging to housewife chores but city wise
 
A product of difficult times
I never went through
Sadness, I never felt
A daughter of immigrant
And Mexican flesh
Whose names brighten my day
 
I am not my father
I cannot be angry at the whole world
Without a reason
I am not from a city
With only two houses in it
 
I am not my mother
I cannot be a top-notch
Cook like her
I cannot be as patient as she is
 
I am new to the world
I have much to learn,
So my parents say
 
Nothing will ever stop me
It will give me more strength
To carry on
I will not be afraid
 
Tear a path through my life
Scatter the beans in the pot
And make the chile in the molcahete
 
Everything I am
 Will never stop me because itís
Just who I am

~^~
A Nursing Career
         By steven shaw
 
         A nursing career is not years ≠ itís moments
Moments that turn into a lifetime of fulfillment
Moments whenÖ
   your eyes meet a dying trauma victim ≠ the moment that
     conveys courage ≠ hope ≠ serenity -  peace ≠ love and compassion
The moment you touch a frightened child and sooth their tears and ease
    The fears of pain
Moments when you hold an elderly patientís hand and listen patiently to their life story
         Telling you about their love and need for care ≠ and yes
The loneliness
The moment you are too tired to care ≠ yet you force a kind smile and answer the
Call lights graciously
  Moments when hate and anger roll across you like thick fog
Moments that turn into eternity as a coding patient gasps for breath and you
feverishly try to hook up Oxygen
Moments so tender ≠ tears well up in your eyes when you think about them
Moments of despair and anguish ≠ throbbing pain ≠ biting fatigue
Moments where the flood gate of tears never seems to stop and
Times so joyous that laughter melts into tears like pristine snow
cascading off a wall of ice
Moments passing too quickly into years and years into a life time
But the moments that last forever are the moments you touch some ones heart with
Love - Kindness
Caring and Compassion
The moment you know..., you make a difference

~^~

       Doubt, fear, disappear.
       Unmarked path, perfectly clear....
       putting forth the foot.

Woodheart 

 

 

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