Issue# 07 for June 1997
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Issue# 07 for June 1997
I would like to thank the authors of the following poems for their contribution
and wish them much success!
Read and Enjoy
And if you do enjoy a poem,
please E-mail the author.
Proud to be me
©
TRJordan
proud to be me
proud to do what i dare try
proud to achieve
all that i care to
proud to represent
none other than me
proud to take on
any challenge
any time of day
proud i am to succeed
because i may not win the gold
i do know i tried
the key is to fill the win from inside
doesn't matter how society accepts me
or what place they choose to put me
the key begins from within you see
in how i see and accept me
no matter if the world makes me their king
whats' most important of all
not how many awards i win
not how many friends i meet and see
not how many people love me
not how much money i make
not how far i get in life
the key all along
unconditionally
will be how proud i am
just being me.
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
Kissed By The Guise of a Smoky Haze
©
Jana DeWalt
Sadly she caresses the mirror
Gently kissed by the guise of a smoky haze
Fragmentary versions of herself emerging from her distorted reflection
The past like a vice-grip on her mind squeezing out sane thought
Haunting memories tugging at her tattered soul
Desirous for a little recognition and validation
As they continue to bruise her fragile emotions
Tears begin to lace upon the beauty of her fragile face
Her eyes drawn back to her reflection
Daring her to take a closer look
At this horror story, that is her life
Much like her innocence
The mirror offers her a distorted view
Masked with a hazy film
Like that of her clouded emotions
She sees a predatory man
Hiding behind the title of Grandfather
Satan gleaming in his eyes
He taunts her, meeting her glance
Through the filter, that is her memory
A three dimensional monster daring to
Re-emerge from the mirror and loom inside her reality
There is an echo within this mirror
Reflecting sounds her soul can not tolerate
Yes, it is the sound of her calling out to Daddy
The sound of a little girl who wants to be saved by her hero
Her pleas remain unheard, unacknowledged
For he is just beyond reach
Instead her cries are answered with a hand
Placed forcefully over her mouth
I knife forced inside her again and again
Until the beast grunts
And is done with her once again
He leaves a bad taste in her mouth
And lays upon her the label of shame
"Dirty dirty girl"
"Filthy little whore"
She turns away from her reflection
Grasping the ice pick that lay at her feet
Smashing her reflection along with the remnants of her past
Reducing them to jagged fragments
Taking a jagged piece littered upon the floor
She cuts into her soft, fair flesh
Letting the blood decorate the floor with her self-hatred
In scattered, runny patterns, like that of an abstract painting
Refusing to no longer be kissed by the guise of a smoky haze
The kiss of death pressing upon her lips
Immortality reaching for her hand
She ceases to suffer an immortal existence
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
Insect In The Bushes
©
Jana DeWalt
Naked next to you, you make me lay
You a perverse old man, me a mere child
Imparting your tainted touches upon me
Remnants of my innocence cling like decay,
To your grotesque form
I feel your warm , stank, breath upon my neck
Like a hungry wolf about to devour his prey
Let the emotional killings begin
At first in short, secretive sessions
In the uncut bushes behind the fence
I turn my head away,
To avoid looking at your horrific face
As you drive the last drop of innocence-out of me
It is now I'll fly to another plane
One where body and soul are completely severed
I am disassociating, feeling almost nothing now
Grandfathers left me out here in the bushes again
Curled up in a fetal position
A little clammy and sickened
I'll wait out here for awhile
For I can't sneak back in
Until mother's finished with the dishes
Dad will be home late again
But arrive just in time for Mother
To serve us all dessert
On a nice hot plate of denial�.
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
Mother
©
Jana DeWalt
Diluting me with invalidation
Denial watering down truths
Responsibility you do not accept
For delivering me into Grandfather�s haunting hands
So you can continue on with your little refutations
Turn away and ignore my tears
For my pain only succeeds to inconvenience you
So you do what you must
Mutilate my vocal chords, Sew my mouth shut
That I may not speak-
Of the indecencies, forced upon my flesh
Wrap me in dark plastic
Throw me into the cellar
Pray no one discovers the sinful secrets
That continue to echo through these dark, damp walls
Oh Mother, how you must fret,
Your family secrets will sinuously seep out of my soul
Afraid of persecution, alienation, of being shunned
Mother, you can silence me no longer
For I�ve found my voice, I have survived
I will not idly stand by letting Grandfather ruin,
Yet another young life
I will not deny it Mother
I will not lie
The face of truth is something,
You might try on for size
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
Tales of Old
©
Mike Rees
Once upon a time start the stories of old
Of knights in their castles valiant and bold
Of the armour and horses to protect and defend
Of the love on which a princess could depend
Of the trolls and dragons which all have been slain
Of the fight for a loved one fought not in vain
Of the battles of gods and the fight against evil
Of the marriage of a princess in an ancient cathedral
Of the alchemists spells to bewitch and behold
Of the fields of corn and the earth full of gold
Of the treasures and adventures on isles in the Sun
Of the joy and pleasure of loving someone
Of the fires that raged across the plaines
Of the storms that brought torrents of rain
Of the battles which lasted for ten years and a day
Of the victors spoils and of men banished away
Tales of New
Your knight has a castle now called a home
Your horse is of steel, plastic and chrome
Your knights honour stronger with time
Your love for a knight returned in his rhyme
The trolls and dragons no longer roam free
The fight for your love my entire destiny
The gods bare witness as we soldier on
The marriage of two, we are to be one
The science of the day explains alchemists
The love of my life, a genetic scientist
The adventures of old now the working day
The treasure is your love to show we the way
The fire now burns deep within my heart
The rains of pleasure together of apart
The battles are myths we do not entertain
The spoils are our love together we'll remain
From tales of old to the tales of new My life, my love, I devote them to you
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THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
Talk to me
©
Mike Rees
Enough, enough of your childish games
Tell me more of your real aims
We speak in riddles we speak in rhyme
The problem not yours but always mine
If you would scream, or even shout
To clear the air, just spit it out
The cause of anger, the cause of pain
Just a couple of minuets to explain
As tension grows and anger spouts
Swop gloves for words and start the bouts
Blow by blow straight to the heart
Words like weapons tearing apart
The fight is over and yet no one has won
The spoils to the victor numbering none
Confidence battered to the point of defeat
Nothing accomplished by our childish feat
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THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
"Untitled"
©
Krista Brotzel {chat name} Krister or Kryster
I thought I finally found someone.
Thought he was for real,
thought he was the truth.
I thought I was in love with him.
Thought I really cared for him,
thought I felt him in my heart.
I thought he would be there for me.
Thought he would never leave,
Thought I would never have to say good-bye.
I thought he was mine.
Thought I would be by his side,
Thought I would never cry.
I think I am a fool.
Think I was mislead,
Think he left me with nothing.
I think he never really cared.
Think he lied to me,
Think he broke my heart.
I think I will forget him over time.
Think someday I will not care,
Think I will leave him as a memory.
All that I think I really know.
Know I will get over him and let him go,
Know I am better without him,
but still now I am alone.
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
What is a Dream?
©
Krista Brotzel {chat name} Krister or Kryster
What is a dream,
Is it just a creative scene?
Or does it have truth, does it have meaning?
Do dreams describe our futures,
or relate to our past.
Are they for real,
or are they fake?
A dream is a way of saying something,
but what?
Is it saying what we want to happen,
or what�s going to happen?
A dream is like a child�s imaginary friend,
It is there but we can�t see it,
or see what it is saying.
Is a dream just what it seems to be,
or is it part of reality?
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
A Plead to the Snoring Old Man
©
Sean Ramey
Too many people
Too much like me
All crying out
That theyt need to be
I can't hear them,
there's rain in my ears.
All the family
All the friends
Killing me
With their loving ends
I can't see them,
there's rain in my eyes
Sharpest knives
Sharpest tongues
Lashing out
Blood filling my lungs
I can't taste them,
there's rain on my lips
It's raining
It's pouring
Children are singing
That grown-ups are boring
I can't touch them,
there's rain in my hands.
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
7:05 a.m.
©
Sean Ramey
How can it be
That all of these people
Are awake and speaking
Civilly
To one another?
I would sooner throw up Than share words
Ah my. . . .
The stench. . . .
The round one stands
at the phone
His salted hair stuck straight
to his melon head
All I want is coffee
So I wait
Left within my self
I can, at least, be patient. . . .
The sound comes
I glance at him
His expression has not changed
I perceive him through
panicked eyes
Standing between me
and my blessed java . . . .
Then it hits me full in the face
My knees buckle
My stomach cramps
Oh. . . .God. . . . .I hate mornings.
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
C.B.
©
Sean Ramey
An old drunken poet
Spewing shit over a
7 dollar-a-seat crowd
Unnamed emotion stirs
Within the idealistic hearts
Loud, violent cries
Still he drones on.
Shielded by his art
His treasure by default
Only when the verses end
Does he become human
Threatened
Paranoid
Backed into a corner
Fighting for air
Flaunting himself as a queen
Desperate to remain aloof
Proud that he is being paid
Reaching for depth
When all he has is base
An alternate view of scene
Thank you, sir
For swirling my space
And making my head pound
Peace and fuck you, too.
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THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
Untitled
©
Jennifer Tremblay
Would it be too much to say,
would it be too forward to say
that my every waking moment is lived
in anticipation of your smile?
I remember the first time our eyes really met,
I felt a tingling thrill run through me -
People asking me why I'm smiling,
and realizing I'm thinking of you.....
Why do I write you love-poetry
full aware that you will never hear?
Why do I spend hours convincing myself it's impossible
when I'm converted the instant you smile?
I know it's hopeless - you've told me
you're not interested in women
and I curse whatever placed that between us -
whatever placed that over you. I love you
in whatever form you might take I'd have loved you
hair not so red or eyes not so - oh, bright
Oh! do not turn away - I know what it is
to be told that you are dearly loved by one you cannot love back
to hold their pride and honesty quivering in your hands
and be forced to hand it back for your own short-comings;
no, please don't turn away - and I know the answer already
but dear, i have fallen in love with you -
oh, I shall hold my breath
and someday fall with another, I know
and we will tell all the world with free pride -
but I love you and love you and oh, so love you
and I cannot undo it -
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
Holocaust
©
Jennifer Tremblay
Once there was a man who tried to play gardener.
He wandered into the garden
with his hand raised high
as if to command the sun
as if the clouds would obey him.
He proceeded to reach down
and tear up
all the plants that he did not deem appropriate
or worthy
to make room for a chosen few.
And the dying plants he burned.
Finally his gardening was put to an end
by furious neighbors,
who cared not so much about the weeding
as about the fact that the man
was in other people's gardens.
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
Stream of Love
©
Michael Rayne
In darkness deep within abyss
My mind and body small
My soul entranced as shadows danced
Against the cavern wall
Within this den of emptiness
Within this darkened mire
My burning eyes could see the rise
From soul's eternal fire
This fire of love that burns within
The deepest of my soul
Inferno's plan, to build a man
With love that's fierce and bold
Such heat did form from rising flames
It turned to circled steam
My crystal gaze into the haze
Revealed a mystic stream
In eerie light the water flowed
Where rock did lay before
And spread its wave within the cave
And on the chamber floor
Beside the stream a sage appeared
A small white-beared man
With lengthy sleeves of cyprus leaves
A cane within his hand
What magic this? my lips inquired
This stream without a name?
This mystic chill from scene unreal
Does cool amidst the flame.
No magic forms the stream, he said
Its current runs with time
Like flames of love that burn above
It lingers in your mind
Its waters formed from tears of love
Its waves grew strong and true
Its shimmering, its glimmering
Reflecting only you
Each tear you cried in lonliness
Each drop you shed with care
Fell gently down to firey ground
Where love blazed hotly there
The stream holds truth,
the old sage said It carries in its deep
Children crying, love denying
Nights of troubled sleep
Each time you shed a tear in love
Or filled a childhood dream
A tear did fall to cavern wall
And trickled to the stream
Its coolness chills the cavern air
Where loving flame does burn
Protecting you from flames of blue
That seer and scorch and churn
For love that burns with no control
Is deadly in its way
The stream does cool, that loving fool
Might love another day
Thus dip your heart within the waves
Of love's own stream, said he
And cool the fire of love's desire
That love can purer be
Into the stream my feet did step
Its water o'er me churned
And turned about to journey out
Into where love's fire burned
Sweet passion overwhelming me
My heart anew with fire
My soul flew free to skyward be
Embracing love's desire.
In darkest depth where soul does sleep
My mind saw passion's bane
And had a dream of cooling stream
That let's love burn again
Thus when my eyes are filled with tears
Or have a heart of blue
My soul knows stream from passion's dream
Will give me strength anew.
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
NEVER WILL YOU EVER BE ALONE
©
TRJordan
His love overshadows us all
His heart must be as big as the universe
His spirit is what protects us
And his love continuously flows upon us
I speak of no man in particular
I speak of God as a whole
He teaches us the importance of loving one another
And being there for each other unconditionally
Truly he is great and because of his undying love for us
We should never feel alone
Truly you must begin love by loving yourself
Then you can begin to love others
And you must know you are never and never will you ever really be alone.
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
Time for a change of peace
©
TRJordan
everyday we are together
is a day of love shared
everyday we are away
is a Valentines' day
only cause we are treated
with knowing when we return
as if its Valentine's day all over again
we are surrounding ourselves with joy
we are indulging ourselves
we are at peace
everyday my love can be Valentine's day
as long as we have each other you see.
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
untitled
©
TRJordan
Honestly, my heart is broken by the pain i see
My heart reaches out so that others can see
A difference a change for the better is what i seek
Only bitterness and evil thoughs are shared
If only you could understand I truely care
Jesus and Muhammed never failed
Only you who disagree truly have failed
We do deserve a better land thats free
of all the hateful feelings, this i do believe
We bear the solution we are the key
For those of you who feel I am dull and boring
Open your minds and quit snoring
Open your hearts and see you are the key.
Peace.
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
All I could see
©
TRJordan
all i could see a hand
no color no shade
no name no face
all i could imagine
the pain
you see this had belonged to someone
a person just like you or me
at this time it clear
if we had no eyes
no way to differentiate
no way to discriminate
maybe we could actually
see eye to eye
maybe we could be a large family
maybe we could be realistic
and achieve what our fore fathers dreamed
this hand that lay there belonged to someone you see
while it lay there
i was curious
who was this person
did they have a family
was someone missing him or her
somewhere out there
was someone longing for him or her to be
was someone out there thinking of this person
was someone out there praying for this person
mmmmm could be
so i reached down to grab the hand and assist
to my surprise there was someone in need
he was alive and kicking
he was someone's child
he was someone's brother
he was someone's husband
he was someone's cousin
he was someone's grandfather
he was someone's friend
he was someone you see
regardless of the color of the skin
regardless of the idle differences you see
he was someone special too
and he deserved the chance to survive its true
just imagine if it were on the other shoe...
would you like someone to help you....
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THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
He said he loved me...but...
©
TRJordan
eyes as piercing as a needle
i cry as you look at me
the wicked thoughts that cross your mind
they scare me
a talker suddenly
i feel the need to be silent
as you approach me
will it be a confrontation as before
will coldly pick me up
and slam me to the floor
will slap me a cross my face
will you beat me black and blue
whatever the harm done
what have i done to you
to cause you to become my judge and jury
to give you the right to strike at me
as you stand there tall as can be
you feel superior as you look down on me
i am a woman i am me
i am a person, i am a grown being
or do you even care as you strike at me
i am defenseless because the pain is what i fear
however, i will standup on my own two feet
come near me again my so called friend
if you dare, you better look in the mirror and see
do you like the person you are
do you like beating on a defenseless person like me
if you do you are much of a loss than you think
the person you should be beating is the so called man
who is beating on me
if you were the man you claim to be
you would realize you are hurting me
as you slap me across my face
you should stop and wonder
would you want this to happen to your sister or mother
go even further would your mother be proud
that her son is such a menace
to think i ever thought something special existed in you
i wish i would have had my magnifying glasses on
so that i could see straight through
the next time i fall for a man
i am going to listen for one word
if he dares to say never
i will never even waste my time
for that was the mistake i overlooked
when i gave you my time
once agian i will look twice and a third time you see
cause i want a man,
and not a wretched waste of time
like thee.
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
So much poetry, I had to use a second page this month Folks.....
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Created October 28 1996