Issue# 08 for July 1997


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Joe Barby - PO Box 662 Dearborn Hgts, MI 48127

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.
The Looking Glass
©
Ron Baron
Words are the tools men use to sketch
. . . dim glimpses of their souls;
Could we but look inside of them-
we'd see what makes them whole.
Just behind the tongue lie words
they like for us to hear,
But not the ones they hide
from pride and vanity . . . and fear.
The looking glass of love can view
much deeper when it's used.
It sees the broken pieces of
a heart that's been abused.
Those secret places . . . dark recesses
of the mind are shown -
Hidden pleasures . . . personal treasures
long lost love has known.
This looking glass called love
can find a broken spirit's room,
Where shrouds of sin have kept
it locked . . . within depressions tomb
And with the looking glass we hold
the key to many doors-
Those tiny rooms - where naked skeletons
hang - where memory stores.
Yet heartache, anguish, fears and tears,
life's pain and stress and strife -
Are only glimpsed though words
that often shadow one's true life.
So if you seek to peer so bold
at what makes men's lives whole
Without the looking glass you view -
. . . . dim glimpses of their soul
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
The Bridge
©
Ron Baron
An Old Man Came down the Road of Life, to a Chasm Wide and Deep
He Spent Much Time on the Downward Climb, Then Scaled the Walls So Steep
and When He Got to the Other Side, He Set to Build a Bridge
He'd Build it Safe and Strong, So it Would Span from Ridge to Ridge
He Labored on to Build it Strong with Sturdy Beams and Piers
to Span Life's Deep Dark Valleys and It's Swirling River of Tears
And When He Finished . . .Standing near . . .Another Pilgrim Asked?
"Old Man" Please Tell Me Why, You Thought to Choose this Awesome Task!
Your Life's near Spent and Yet You've Lent Much Time to Do this Chore
You'll Travel Not Again this Path Before Life Shuts the Door
The Old Man Said . . ."I Build Not Thus for Thee or Me to Cross
I Build So Other's Coming Might Not Suffer Any Loss
There Comes Not Far Behind this Way Some Day a Fair Haired Youth
He Comes with Hope and Inspiration Seeking Love and Truth
and When He Comes He May Not Be Prepared to Climb or Swim
I Build from Love Within My Heart --- I Build this Bridge for Him!
So . . . If You Think I Am Foolish . . . and My Work Seems So Absurd
the Reason for this Bridge Is Found Within God's Holy Word
He Said, " Do unto Others as You Do Yourself Each Day "
and I Just Heard Him Speak Again . . .
"Old Man, You're Still Traveling the Right Way!"
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
Somebody's self
©
Russell Griffin
I am not you.
I do not have your
fears.
I do not have your
feelings.
I do not have your
joys
or your
ceilings.
I have stepped out
of your
mouth
into my
skin.
I don't like it much yet.
It feels strange.
But the feeling
grows
on me.
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
waiting for you in peace
©
TRJordan
have you seen the man i seek
the man who's knocked me off my feet
have you heard the sound of his voice
instantly i have no choice
have you felt the presence in his stance
oh how i wish he'd give me a chance
but is he the man for me
one way to find out
one way to see
i feel i know what i want
i must be patient and check him out
i want a man to hold me close
let me know that we can make it
whatever i put out that he can take it
a man that is strong as a lion
and hard as steel
not a machine he's got to be real
a man that can understand what i seek
a man to be here for me
a man that sweet as the honey
and right on time
a man that knows what i want
when it crosses my mind
a man that feels my inner emotions
and has the right kind of potion
to handle every insecure bone
and he knows who loves him
and knows how to come home
a man that will be there when i wake up
and tuck me in before i go to sleep
a man to cook me dinner
and breakfast in bed as my treat
i know these are the 90's and maybe i am dreaming
but i feel this is obtainable
and i feel he is my destiny
he is the man of my dreams
and i feel if i look hard enough
if am specific about what i want
i can find him, and if i believe
i know our relationship i dream of
can actually be achieved
i am waiting...in peace.
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
(97) PeaceOnIt
A dedication to the Chicago Bulls with love
©
TRJordan
As the games starts out
sometimes they are the fast
sometimes they are slow
sometimes they are on top
but i am a fan who knows
i feel the magic there
as Dennis makes a steal
I feel the power of Pippin
when he feels the desire to make it real
i feel the love of the game
and i feel the spirit as Michael takes the air
I hear the fever rolling from one side to the other
Brown has his own thing he comes to do his thing
and Kerr you go boy you are up on top of things
Kukoc you keep of up on our toes when a hit is needed in time
Its Wennington to the rescue look out he's got it now
Harper has got his own time to shine and take the lead
Longley takes you by surprise when he gets them in as the need
The list goes on and the talent is there throughout my special team
I discovered from the start two years ago what it means to be a team
after watching them play and take charge giving 110% to set it right
I realized there's no team like them and they are ready for the fight
people may have their choice and decide on others to prove me wrong
but I know what I like and its a team that is strong
Michael is the greatest and he is the best
There are many others that can achieve as well
I guess since my first game I discovered the talent on the team
my heart is biased and committed to seeing a man follow his dreams
my breath is taken every time I see this team on their feet
You are the greatest, with love and much respect
There's so much going on, on the team to single out the best
Together you guys are the greatest I have seen
I only hope that I get to see another victory
as the last two years you've achieved.
With much respect and love for the whole team, Peace.
And thank you.
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
a man with words
©
TRJordan
a man with words
a true blessing
for he uses his mind
instead of the rest
he uses his imagination
instead of his hands
he is mental
he is above the physical
he is untouchable
unless you can reach his mind
he is above his world
for he has found the true meaning of life
or simply he is like poison
cause he has the key
he knows the right words to say
he knows how to manipulate
you and me.
he has feelings
he can be dangerous
for he has the gift with words
he can convince you he loves you
and have you begging for more
then all of a sudden
he is up and out the door
however the true heart
the true man
who is sensitive
has true feelings
and his heart is in what
he has to say
he is the one you must understand
for he in control
he knows what to say
he knows how to reach you
he is not to be feared
however he is not to misinterpreted
this man of words
has the power to steal the hearts
of many girls
he has the key
it comes from within
be sure when you take him on
you are prepared
for if you aren't you may fall deep
in love with the man with words
the charmer he is
realizes not his power til another he has taken in
to the man with words.
he can have you in the carribean
eating a cantaloupe
while the oceans brushing your toes
he could have you
toasting the town barefoot in france
while everyone else is fading out
he could have you swimming in the Nile
with the dolfins or the whales
and enjoying every breath saved
he could have you flying high in the sky
with the birds and singing songs of praise
he could have you mystified by his presence
just by telling you his scent
he could have you paralyzed waiting
for more of his fantasy
this man of words
trust me my friend
i know his type
for i am a woman with words
together we could be dynamite.
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
Our Baby
©
TRJordan
she had a baby
she had a man
she had the world
in the palm of her hands
she was white
and he was brown
however they were ugly
from the eyes of the town
they saw not love and care
they sought to destroy
what was there
he loved her unconditionally
he was blind, he couldn't see
she was his aide
they grew together and bonded closely
the saddest thing
with the eyes of hatred and dismay
the underwent much pain
he never could understand what she had to see
the agonizing stares the jealousy
they never could understand why
people could be so mean
then when she had her baby
all the hatred in the world couldn't destroy
the beautiful treasure they created
suddenly the color of their skin was irrelevant
the child a baby boy
big and strong he carreied the genes of two nations along
he was as light as he could be
he bore the curly textures of his fathers family
he had the soul of the sea
so calm and peaceful
he was a joy to see....
he was very beautiful
a handsome sight i must say
and the town gathered around to take a glance
jumping in line to take their chance
he like a angel a blessing in disguise
he was the individual symbol to understand
there is no barrier with love
no way no how no man
a true joy you see
for there was no black and white
it was only you and me
and together we created we.
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
AGAIN
©
Betty Ann Whitney
My eyes may have seen many wonders
but these strange and secret places
sear the heart
the soul, indeed
as once again I am
one foot before the other....
here
at midnight
especially at midnight
the moonlight and the mirror
make so much in common
and, I am simply moving
as the past ascends
in cursive death defying quiet
as if a luminous inward turning
lights the way
and
I know
here
I am once again at home...............
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
Among Shadows and Mirages
©
Betty Ann Whitney
What would it be
if you did know
the bird's full flight
waving blue spurts
against a lighted sky
rapid
accelerating
unexpected changes
the world
meaning one thing
saying another
what is lost
in the ever struggling
and why
but if it were not
could you explain it..
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
A Fine Master Drawing
©
Betty Ann Whitney
Scattered among perfection
of material arrangement
daisies in the grass
appleblossom fragrance nuns
and mothers sharing in the beauty of the morning
offer to this composition no certain order.
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
Romantic Tendency
©
Betty Ann Whitney
Like many other lovers
seeking the richly painted sky
the red sky at morning
which from the human side
exists in harmony
through the green and pleasant forest
we ride with a force and expressive force
the progression
as with glittering treasures riding with us...
and from the layers of nature
we come forth as friends will do
fun loving and inspired
looking out all the way
out toward the morning sky.
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
...a child died yesterday...
©
Barbara Scroggins (ALadysHeart)
baby girl, in far away land...
you are loved...
my heart aches for you
for the loss of you
the loss of what you might have become...
little girl, who never knew life
you are loved...
my arms ache to reach out
and hold the frailty of you...
my hands ache to sooth the bruises
and fill the tummy that never was filled
my eyes seek to look into your beautiful
innocence and show you love...
my heart aches to hold you there
deep, deep inside, as the mother
you never had on earth...
angel girl, you are with God now...
and you are loved...
you are held in the arms of a Father
who will nurture and protect...
beautiful angel child,
you will never know again
the pain of your neglect
and the ignorance of earthly parents
only peace, tranquility and love...
you, baby girl, are loved...
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
stones
©
Barbara Scroggins (ALadysHeart)
I looked at those stones today
the ones that had been put away for awhile...
I held them in my hand
and heard your voice as you told me
�pick the one that feels right to you,
it will be your worry stone,
to hold when I can�t be with you�
it�s funny, how thoughts come racing in
and grip a part of us, that supposedly had gone...
I stood there for a while,
feeling and gazing at that one special stone...
willing you to appear, I think, more than anything
�rub the stone�, you said... �when you feel
all overwhelmed, and it will take it away�
a single tear fell before I could gather myself,
and landed, wet, on the surface of stone...
I told myself, defiantly, that you were gone...
and there isn�t a damn thing that I can do...
�you are there, and I am here,� said to an empty room
�thats the way it has to be, I know that inside�
but, then anger claimed the mood...
then I put the damned stone back in the box, and hoped
that the memories were put away for yet another day...
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
Whispers of You
©
Barbara Scroggins (ALadysHeart)
sometimes, I feel a twinge of something
that lets me know you are near
not definable,
not touchable,
but felt just the same...
and I know inside
that you are right there
somewhere beside me...
I could touch you if I reached out
if I spoke in silent whisper
you would hear...
but I won�t...
not today...
I just sit
and feel you brush by
in silent goodbye...
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
Chains of Emotion
©
Rachel Adler
Stare into the sky
and wonder why
this was meant for you
and you alone.
Sometimes you feel
you can become real
just standing there
beneath the storm.
Inside of you lies
what's true
and you can't escape
the power it holds.
You are the fire
burning much higher
than any one story
the wind could have told.
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
(untitled)
©
Rachel Adler
I've smiled and
I've sighed and
It seems like this whole thing
Is turning back over again.
It seems like this is just a repetition of past.
The flashlights go off and
The stars sparkle higher than
I can ever be and
I'm trying to imagine this is a different way
I'm trying to look at this through your eyes
And all I can see is your mirror image
Staring back at me
Through the broken glass.
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
Love Poem
©
Rachel Adler
If I stare into your eyes, deep
I can find myself in another world,
Another time, another self, another universe.
They are sparkling and you
Blush at my words,
Trying to hide it like the real man you are.
Waves of anxiety splash over you as you walk down
And you're trying not to drown.
My heart is grasping yours in with the tide,
You're not even trying to run away.
I'm not going to close my eyes,
Not even going to think of what might be
Just if-
Because now we're drowning together
And it's okay
Just as long as you're holding me
In your arms.
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
Mortal shell
©
Jana DeWalt
Her hands grasped tightly upon the wheel of pain
As she spins out of control
Driving further and further into her pain
Racing down the corridors of her tormented mind
Splashing through bloody pools-of her own blood
Hindering her sight as it splatters across the windshield
Curving around the ulcerated lining of her stomach
Remnants of pain clinging to its raw pulpy crevices
She-desperately seeking an escape route
A way out of her mortal shell
To be released from the emotional ruins
Rooted firmly within her head
She sees the sign, her eyes straining for better visibility
She makes out the words, "NO EXIT"
Gas light comes on, gauge reading empty
She has run out of fuel
No way to escape
Blood begins seeping slowly into the car
She�s soaking in it, suffocating
No room to breathe
She lays herself to rest
Inside her own misery
Send some E-mail to:
THE AUTHOR
of this poem.
Venom
©
Jana DeWalt
I rip away the first layer of my skin
Yet your repulsive scent persists to linger
Nausea rippling through my body
Hands tremoring
Whispers of your twisted desires
Echoing within my mind
As I lay here once again
The absence of safety caressing my skin
As I try to writhe out of your merciless grip
You-ignoring me,
With persistent hands
Rubbing your poisonous venom on my belly
Tears continue to fall from my eyes
Shame overwhelming my fragile little form
I shudder, feeling weak, filthy, victimized
How many times will you make me transform,
Into the reality of your demented fantasies?
I quickly lock the door behind me
Slowly sliding down the bathroom wall
Cold tiles familiar against my bare face
As I sink to the floor
I curling up in the corner, alone and safe for awhile
Foul smell of bile still clinging to my hair
For I had no one to hold the hair from my face
When the violent waves wrenched my stomach yet again
Will this sexual insanity ever end?
I feel my will to exist waning
Body tired, used, and withering
I feel myself slowly sinking
Into the heavy blanket of unconsciousness
Maybe this time I will cease to return
To this sick , sinister game called life-
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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CLICKING RIGHT HERE

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Created October 28 1996