Above Ground Testing Issue Number Three ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Greeting all who subscibe. I hope you have had a good summer. Its hard to believe a month has passed since this last issue of this e-zine has been published. I am grateful for all who will take the time to request, read and submit works for me to copy. If you are like me, each work comes from a unique moment of your life. It is either the moment you are in, or it has occured and you are reflecting on that experience as you write your words down. I've been doing a bit of work on the web-page, adding a few more poems and adding some more links. If you have a web-page, I will link it with mine. It's important that we help each other. I've also been spending time reading some of the work on the rec.arts.poetry and rec.arts.poem newsgroups- if you haven't sent your own work to these groups, do so. I should point out an error in the previous issue. I recorded my web page wrong. It should be: http://www.angelfire.com/on/abovegroundtesting/index. html. I reversed a few of the letters, sorry. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Now that the introductions over with; I've been thinking- why is this necessary? Are web pages a bit of narciccism or is there something more to them then me or you waving up and down saying 'look at me, I'm special'. First of all, we are special- maybe that's the appeal. In the age of demographics, where we are classified by our age, income, place of residence for the sake of somebody making a buck off us, the web is the one place where we can proclaim ourselves as unique. Certainly poetry is one more way we can express ourselves and share with others our thoughts and feelings. When the rest of the world shrugs its shoulders and says' who cares', the web gives you a chance to share with others who will care. Continue to write there's always a place where your voice will be heard. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- I've been in correspondence with Crackerjack2000. If you want to know more, go to my webpage and follow the link. He has been a source of information for my webpage and other things, including helpful comment and suggestions. "Onion Grass in a Macadam Garden" In a ditch alongside Apple Street is a garden of macadam. A single clump of Onion grass pushed it's way through the blacktop plot just to taste tomato soup warmth, but the air was too heavy, the sky too thick, so the round green whiskers drooped in the constant misting of an April's dampness. My friend abhors the Onion grass, and how it pokes through the macadam, so with his new Nike sneakers he stomped the gentle filiments, grinded the delicate green strands into the coarse tar-black road then left the garden to let the rain wash the pulp away. Copyright 1992 -- Crackerjack2000 http://www.users.fast.net/~cj2000/index.html "Blooming Tree" Paper dreams burn in the heat of reality's bounds. Shattered lives built on a glass foundation drown in the sea of life. How fragile we are, how susceptible to this diseased world, how likely it is that we will be crushed under the weight of everyday pressures. All is vanity, said Solomon long ago. Following the winds blowing around the world makes us realize it is a Demon time of lost priorities where all are swept in the hum drum life which swallows what we wish to be and replaces the void with what we are. So wait in anxiety, arrogant man, for the time when solutions become evident, when a paradise is present, not future. Now it seems so far, too unimaginable for limited minds to fathom. We need faith, for faith is the life blood which helps us find which way is up. Oh, to be a blooming tree, on a set schedule of life, perfect as given by God, not needing to know right from wrong, living free, roots in the earth, sucking life from nourishment provided for free. Life is but a prelude to help us appreciate what is to come, yet I wish it was somehow a nightmare, a tortured dream in our minds from which we could awaken at any time and find ourselves in Eden. Copyright 1992 -- Crackerjack2000 http://www.users.fast.net/~cj2000/index.html thanks Crackerjack- for the words of encouragement and assistence. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- ** Voyage** Fine words bestowed awakening a shrouded ghost charmed by cunning ambush in a room without light. Tender transitions ebb into a pool of blue lured by a compass driven by innocent desire. Glory turns to gold with many days of travel stretching toward bounty over a glittering sea. Nature paves enchantment flowing like the Nile leaves laugh at the sun love singing a silver tune. Seasons leap forth down gleaming streets with a tenderness of rain wrapped in years of wistful grace. Cally - 8/19/98 http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Coffeehouse/7330 I've been reading some of Cally's material on the r.a.p. newsgroup- and her webpage. If you want to discover more of her work, go there, leave a message at her guestbook- and say I sent you. I like what she writes- thanks Cally. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- HEROES How do I tell you about this, Son? What do I say to help you understand? that Armageddon is not an asteroid approaching Earth nor tidal waves or earthquakes or men from outer space but is the dead-eyed drugged insensitive young mother without morals, with nothing left to teach with no worthwhile example left to give or follow whose own parental guidance is a generation lost in disillusion, dreamless in a dream gone black How do I tell you, Son? you, whose certainty reminds me that truth is just simplicity itself whose wisdom tells me "Look!" How can I help you see? that it's not up to guns or war (and certainly not drugs!) nor the uniforms of doctors, soldiers, politicians even NASA's hard-trained men, to save the world but that courage is your own sweet reach to others trapped, entrenched in hate who live in every culture, race and country of this planet slaves all, to television news generating waves of hopelessness and dangerous environment in hypnotizing endless broadcast, crying "Death!" the death of the individual the death of the spirit of man the death of life itself, of you, of me that this is Armageddon insidiously waged by psychiatric priests, the War of Wars the weapons - drugs and lies to hypnotize before our eyes, desensitize and dramatize defeat all sold to basically good people to profit but a relatively few mad, evil far gone beings whose paper, arms and money cannot save them from themselves How do I show you, Son? that this is Armageddon and that those who boldly help who truly heal who bravely share the truth who show the way with care and kindness are the Heroes of Heroes for man and for eternity and that you yourself are such a Hero exalted and redeemed by the light that you create in the grateful eyes of those you wake to join the breed that never dies Copyright 1998 Zandria Houston We need poetry like this, that strips away the conventions and causes us to think. As I read this, I was affected by the negative imagery, and the hope that still exists for us. We do need heroes, don't we. thanks Zandria ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Some of my work- new stuff. I look to the moon to give me the answer to the question I haven't asked, but I know exists. I look at the moon to see its face and I recognize the wisdom of a witness. one who has marked the epochs and eras the one constant in the time of flux and change. I looked in myself to discover the answer and the question. Both where within me one leading to the other I saw the reflection of both as I looked for the moon. 'for Rhonda' life was just starting to look good, going well, a new life was dependent on you there was a new source of joy. then it happened a fast car wet road and the end came. did it come fast closing the eyes and entering that new world? now we gather to remember and watch your remains return to the ground your ashes seem empty as the lives that remain are numb. how can we answer the questions that are not yet to be found in the eyes of your daughter? where can we give words to the husband now alone in the world his helpmeet gone. a simple opening in the ground your final resting place does it seem fair does it seem right? we have no answer we can't even ask the right question. Rhonda was the niece of a family friend. She was killed in a car accident a couple of weeks ago. This poor family has been through a lot, three violent deaths in less then a year. "Everyone's got the blues about something" everyone has a tear ready to fall everyone's looking for a shoulder to cry on 'cause everyone's got the blues about something everyone has an upward look a prayer ready to cry out everyone has a sigh waiting to be expressed 'cause in that hidden part way down in their soul everyone has the blues about something everyone knows the words to all those songs of blues and join in the singing of the chorus 'cause deep down inside everyone cries themselves to sleep sometime 'cause everyone's got the blues about something. Some science-fiction poetry: The Search eavesdropping on the sounds of the universe. straining the ear against the keyhole of the cosmos hoping to hear the gossip of the galaxy listening, listening for the message from beyond the stars. waiting for a reply from messages already delivered is there anyone listening, is there anyone talking waiting and listening listening and waiting hoping to hear from another life. listening, every day and night searching the heavens for the message of greeting or even the noise of another civilization. Goodbye Gravity the pull of gravity has been the companion of my life waiting for me to be born to begin its influence. for all those years this companion kept me in place feeling the effect of its presence in my life. then the day came launched into space the pull begins to leave I feel the tug begin to leave a new feeling comes to me the feeling of freedom. no longer holding me close to the planet of my birth I'm free free to visit the stars and discover the beauty of the cosmos. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- I have a question: when you write poetry, how do you write it- do you use a journal, or do you just jot down words on whatever piece of paper that happens to be close by. Is this now passe and you write everything on your computer, so that your poetry exists on a hard drive? Personally, I use a journal to record my poetry- there's something about the act of putting pen to paper that makes it unique. I have written things on the computer, but it just doesn't feel the same. Maybe its some sort of anti-technology feelings I have, but when putting it on a piece of paper there is more of a sense of creation then just having pixels on a monitor. I'm interested in your response, so write and I will print the results in the next issue of AGT. I also appreciate the opportunity you give me to share my thoughts with you. Keep sending poetry. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- All poems copyrighted by their respective authors. Any reproduction of these poems, without the express written permission of the authors, is prohibited. copyright 1998. music listened to: Vanessa_Mae "Storm", "The Violin Player"; Yanni, "Devotion" http://www.angelfire.com/on/abovegroundtesting/index.html pabear_7@yahoo.com