My Crime That Night
I gazed at my remains from outside of myself.
I reached out my transparent hand and attempted to embrace.
But my hand went straight through my lifeless face.
My clothes soaked with blood, my dripping face, a terribly lurid sight.
"Oh, my God," I said what have I done on this dreary night.
I attempted to gain my composure, until I got sight of the other side.
The ghastly picture tempted me to go run and hide.
My sister, laying there, fighting to hold on to life.
They tried every mechanism, but nothing would suffice.
I stood motionless as the electric currents raced through her veins.
When the paramedic pronounced her dead that was all I could endure of
these horrific pains.
Our mother arrived at the scene screaming in hysteria.
I yearned to hug her and tell her everything would be O.K.
But that was a complete lie, because I have taken her two daughters away.
After they covered out bodies they earnestly sought to find the reasoning
behind this terrible situation.
When the investigation was complete, they attributed the accident to the
driver's intoxication.
I have murdered my sister, and caused my mother this terrible grief.
My time on this earth seemed so long, but in actuality it was much too brief.
Why am I still here, why haven't I been caste off to some place where the
living will never see.
I concluded that I was being punished by being forced to face my horrible
ignominy.
But my soul will never rest, and my heart will never heal from what
occurred by taking a drink that night.
And now I must go, for I am being summoned by this dreadful black light.
By Anna Robinson
Waterfront
Moon's luminescence through an un-curtained window.
Throws a river across the floor.
Dust-bunnies become gray fishin moon waters.
The stale Cheerio - a lone raft.
Piles of dirty clothes make mountains and cliffs intangible thrill seekers climb.
And scattered hair pins are logs on which non-existent childred float.
By MoonChina
The Separation
He pushed her into a dark, dark corner.
She shoved him into the depths of her heart.
They stare each other down,
Cold smiles darkening their faces.
The pain, the anger; a hovering presence
That deepens my fear.
The edge draws nearer for him and her.
That deep, dark edge that will become the end.
A black pit calls to them tantalizingly,
Beckoning each to the depths of their hardened hearts.
A push, a shove, the end has come,And I am free.
By:Shannon Sullivan
The Quiet Spirit
Who is this quiet spirit who has come into my world
Creeping slowly towards me as his mysterious traits unfurl
Discourteously intruding without asking to come in
With no consideration for the person who’s within
He walks in silent footsteps both steadfast and precise
And slyly interrupts the daily rhythm of my life
He deliberately alters my step, my gait, my hand
And manifests himself in ways that I can’t understand
But the ruinous disease failed to realize from the start
That he may control my movements, but he can’t control my heart
And that, my friends, is why I have come to realize
That his destructive nature will not be my demise
In fact I think I’ll thank him for the favors he has shown
He forced me to consider certain failures of my own
He made me realize my life was full of useless stress
And revealed to me the treasures with which I’m truly blessed
He opened up my eyes so that I could look inside
The window of my soul and see convictions that I hide
My heart feels strangely more content in very special ways
It seems I savor every moment of every single day
I’ve discovered things about myself which never came to light
Expressing thoughts for me had been a constant losing fight
So timid and misunderstood, I always felt apart
And now I feel the urgency to open up my heart
Rarely a letter did I write, seldom a note I sent
So difficult it was for me to say just what I meant
But suddenly poetry came flowing from my pen
And thus this verse to tell the world how truly blessed I am
Elizabeth Santos Copyright 1999
A Poets' Poem
A poet's desire to be heard
is through the essence of a word
The thoughts revealed is sublime
when the words fall into rhyme
Our attention captured, we surrender
with intention to remember
By Liz
Untitled
Erupting from the bowels of the earth eons ago,
the monolith abides in the place it came to rest.
An impassive goliath, insensitive to life, status quo,
impervious to natures attacks and erosions test.
He is naked, grey, lifeless, forlorn,
and few find beauty in his massive face.
Still,
life has sought to suborn
his countenance, and beauty doth embrace.
Tis a countenance washed by thousands of showers,
then blown dry and sterilized by Sol's rays.
This stolid sentinel expressionless glowers,
standing watch o'er apoclyptic days.
He retains the appearance of strength and youth
though close examination of every side,
evinces stark evidence, convincing proof,
in venerableness he doth preside.
The greenish grey lichens of old age cling
to crevices lining his face,
giving a hoary quality to this aging king,
still only a prince in evolution's pace.
The mossy fungus adorning his shoulders
lend a cape of artistic quality to this fellow.
Truly, he is beauty compared to younger boulders
and this cape make his features mellow.
Microscopic examination of these features
reveal a most interesting perception,
a host of minute living cratures,
dwell in the shadow of his protection.
They cavort neath his belly and crawl on his back,
and if threatened by predators,
they seek refuge in a crack.
Though massive indeed and seeming obtuse,
and barrier he may seem to be,
this boulder has yet another use,
indiscernible, yet plain to see.
He is a bulwark against soil erosion
who's appetite consumes nature's fertility.
At his backside flowers splay in profusion,
their earthen beds dwell in his security.
Tis true this magnificent obelisk
is only a compaction of minerals lacking lifeform.
Yet, a minerologist might take the risk,
to seek hidden beauty within his form.
The grey of his granite face doth belie,
the sheen of silica hidden deep inside.
With imagination, I might even imply,
in his heart a diamond doth reside.
Whether it does is of no importance to me,
though it is nice to imagine it there.
He hath even greater significance you see,
but this is a secret I cannot share.
copyright 1999 By Wayne E. Beyea
Beach Run
Wardogs use to love
to go to the beach when it was their turn.
It was one of their few rewards we did learn.
To run on the beach off leash and play,
No commands, watch him, heal or stay.
They seem like pups again in the South China Sea.
Romping and roaming forever free.
But soon all too soon it's time again
To go back to the kennels just me and my k-9 friend.
For a little while we both escaped in the water and sun,
And the war had turned to fond memories of happier times and fun.
I've been to the ocean many times since back then,
And each time it makes me think of my old wardog when..
We were both young.
By Steve 3/25/99
One Life Gone
To you I might not be special but I'm somebodys son,
It's hurts to see my life flashing from a 9mm gun.
I pray that you purposely did'nt mean to pull the trigger,
All that we've been through and I guess I'm still your nigger.
I thought we had a bond, I thought we had a truths,
I guess what I had in my pocket was more important to you.
Paying the bills must be tough, cause you sure had to get yours,
Me, it had to be me, why not round the way liquor stores.
Has this world come to a point where the clocks in reverse,
To move from rags to riches and then a gold plated hurts.
There has never been a time when I would think to kill my own,
My life becomes a pedestal to your spiritual throne.
I thought brothers are to love one another till the leaves
have severed and blown,
But I guess that dream has past since,
One Life is gone.
By Anon
