Poems

The Reality of Truth

Down, down, down it tumbles,

For my mind does nothing but bumbles.

And as it moves, my heart it rumbles.

Downward and ever lower it spirals,

Like a man at war with his rivals.

So my mind dwells upon creating reprisals.

Though truth be here,

I truly wish it were not near.

For in this pit it is all too clear,

That although reality is our own,

It simply shows that we are terribly alone.

And that we are naught more than flesh and bone.

For this is the way of the earth,

That all those who come in through birth,

Must live to deceive themselves into mirth.

Jonathan Meier

tattoo

sometimes it's important

to stop everything

take a deep, long breath

a good look around

and remind yourself

that you're not the only one

with a bad tattoo

Jackson Warfield

RELINQUISHMENT

Let us die together

O pretty world

let us become luminous

and wither

like bright leaves

before first light

the soft fingers

of another morning

when we won't wake

again

Askold Skalsky

Askold Skalsky

The poet reports:  I teach at a community college in western Maryland and have had poems in numerous small press magazines and journals. I have also published in Canada, Ireland, and Great Britain. Last year one of my poems was nominated for a Pushcart Prize

The Secret

What is your darkness, what is your romance,
That millions of strange shadows for you fight?
What is your truth that lives within your stance,
And lends itself to take your heart at night?
Better attempt to hide in you such strife,
Perhaps the cold that keeps hate in your chest,
Now time has said to put away your knife,
Without of which you can't protect your nest;
But why create a pain in your embrace?
Destroy the gray that holds you in contempt,
Like stones unearthed that hide in you a trace,
Of love thus far has left your mind unkempt.
As you, deceived, write off your stars to dust,
For help, dear friend, to trust in me you must.


Mara Broberg

Wintertime

The white demon of this terrible time

Has come and presented this on my plate.

In the snow, a line is there as a sign

Of the clouds, and their ever dreary state.

I cannot let my soul be torn apart,

For all is sudden and lost in my heart;

Just as the shining summons of spring start,

I shall be so deeply delved into my art.

Some may think that my dreams have gone astray

With the light of earth's covering in white,

(And while it does dampen my waking day)

The stars at night smolder ever so bright,

And to despair over this kind of play,

Is deeply grudging and sadly contrite.

Philip Conner

Philip Conner - The poet reports:  I am 20 years old, and an undergraduate student at Millersville University.  I am originally from Laurel, MD.  I am an avid writer, with poetry being my favorite medium.  I am working on a novel and several short stories as well.  As influences, I have always been particularly fond of the works of Edgar Allan Poe and Robert Frost. 

Born

The rain came, 

and through the sky it fell.

It made mud cradles, filled fish homes,

and found a farmer's smile.

Water opened,and worsted wills healed,

the silver beads found green corn,

while she washed in a brown cherry bucket.

The last of his love, was drawn by soft sponge.

The locusts made quiet,

and the thunder's wind pushed.

Thin air grew cool, 

as low clouds grew muscle.

Sunlight was there, in the wake of the rain,

and, as the river rose one mighty inch,

her water touched new soil.

An egg, was found,

and you were born.

Graham Hayward

G.J.H 2010

Graham Hayward

The poet reports:   I live in Plainfield NJ, born in Hartford, Conn., and I've moved many times since then. I've written a novel, "The Rushes", a novella, "Gill Finn", and many assorted short stories and poetry.

GOLD INTO GOLD

Spider-lines of light

crack open the container of life.

The red processes begin.

Embalmed in gold,

flesh on bones,

skin dividing day and night,

firmament from the waters.

Oars strike, beating time,

gold into gold, layered, heavy,

rolling upon other worlds.

The dry gold snakes into form.

Wave after wave,

pregnant with gold,

anointing with life.

A blessing upon brow, breast and sex.

Powdered gold and clay

press upon the heart.

A call from the waiting boat

and the forehead of years opens.

Blessings and premonitions

spill from the groundswell of the future.

Ellen Zaks

Remnants of Childhood

Bits and pieces,

left behind,

to be picked up and regarded

by the next person who finds them

lying abandoned on the playground;

(because once it's past, it's gone forever)

what they'll do with them,

I don't know,

but I try not to think about it,

because everyone has misunderstandings,

but that's not fair to those who have sown what is good.

                                                                                           Tyla Milian

signs of depression

good times fell

like an axeblade

trying to swim,

stocks, banks,

car makers and homebuilders -

all falling into a pool

of plenty

warning signs

were as ignored

as yesterday's news

jobs went offshore

to faraway places

out of reach,

and the warning flags -

first yellow, then red

flew unnoticed

on our beach

until the water rose

and washed the excess away.

Marion J. Darracott

Cleveland Cinquain #40

Nicest

apartment I

have ever seen- penthouse

with windows for two walls to view

the lake

Michael Ceraolo

Confidante bottle

That I used to take

As lovers to fake,

Or young Eve by the snake.

Frederic Berset 13.06.08

                            Clouds and Mist

            Dark waves rise, race to the shore,

                        Black nights of the soul.

            At sea, pale clouds, and mist, hide memory,

                        Moments of joy, and sorrow.

            Layers of Mirage, and Fate, reach down,

                        Free of light.

            Ages past, lost to her eyes, dwell below,

                        Waiting for life.

                   Jerome Brooke

                         Hills of Life

            Goddess of Night, of the silent hills,

                        With voice of gold ;

            Sleep well in the folds of the earth,

                        Your green, mute hills.

            Do you weep, Lady, for your river,

                        Flowing, tossed, so lost?

            Flowing past the trees,

                        Down to the dark sea.

            Carry us through the pale mist,

                        Cloud of your sweet grace.

            Encircle us, gently hold us,

                        Wrap us in your sweet lace.

                  Jerome Brooke

                          Journey

            Fast and wild, fast the river flows,

                        Through the empty land;

            Down the desert, endless plain,

                        Through barren sand.

            Dark eyes that see,

                        See the goal,

            Where the lost river,

                        Wild river, wild soul.

            The past, made plain, open,

                        Our future known,

            All, all is now clear, plainly told,

                        All is shown.

            Searing eyes, eyes that search,

                        Eyes that see;

            Cruel eyes, eyes now hidden,

                        Hidden by the sea.

              Jerome Brooke

Jerome Brooke was born in Evansville IN.  He has written  Mirage :  Dance of the Sun  -  available from Amazon Books.