summer 1999

A Poetry Suite ~Dusk's Dawn | home

summer 1999

Featured poets: Ambergrisa Lynn , Angela Contino Donshes , Carl Hardwick , Drandy Campbell , JJ Cameron , John Durler , N. L. Morgan , Patricia Fritsche , R. Leechford , skramer, Vvolfgang ,

William M. Lewis XIV

Today Outside

- by N. L. Morgan

Politely I ask for

change for the pay phone

outside on the corner,

you tell me it doesn't

work,

so I put the five

dollar bill

back into my pocket

and walk back outside.

I hate walking around downtown

by myself,

I find people's

eyes drawn

to me because I'm alone,

walking in steps

made by myself yesterday.

I walk into small

shops with large windows

and pretend I'm waiting for

someone,

looking at my watch as if

"they're"

late,

maybe they really are.

(sigh)

Last night

I tried the new pizza place

next to the record store

with weird music playing

all the time,

it was OK,

but for some reason

while eating my pizza

I remember the time you

told me you thought

you were meant to live

life alone,

and I remember how at

the moment you told me

that I thought the same thing

even though we were together.

After I played that memory over a little

in the VCR in my head I threw away the

small piece of cardboard they

give with each slice of pizza that

they sell.

Why did you tell

me that you thought

you were meant to live alone?

Was it a hint,

or were you just thinking out loud?

(sigh)

Did I mention

I like blue drinks?

Because I do . . .

some Inspirational tanka poems:

-by R. Leechford

Through the wooden gate

the road is hard to follow -

HIS pathway to Life,

many pass through the crystal gate

searching for Truth in new age.

The path to my home

total darkness cannot hide it -

stars burn bright tonight,

the dawn's sunshine will appear

Praise the Father in Heaven.

Our Box

- by N. L. Morgan

My kiss disappears into the

beauty of the words

the grace of the ideas.

I have finished it

and read the last phrase

held the last

thought.

I have been through the new

world surrendered to me

by this person

by this weaver of dreams.

She has given me

emotions and heart

reading all those people

all those fighters struggling

to reach their goal.

as we all try to reach ours

We run and run and try

to be closer when in all

we only make excuses to

what we know to

be our fault.

If life is a dream it is

a vision in which we all

are running,

not from that hideous thing

we call a monster

but from reality that

we may die

we may fail and

that we may never reach

the truth at the end

of the yellow brick road

so full of demons

and fairies

it sometimes hard

to see which is which

so that is the broken mirror

or the shattered picture

but does any of it matter

does the dog who can talk surprise you

does the fallen angel crying

break your concentration?

Or are you, as everyone else, too

caught up in the run for the president

caught up in the fight for the green

or maybe the red.

Perfection is not perfect

it is what makes you stop and

wonder

makes you contradict the

way you have thought

makes you want to change

and try to strive for her

or him or

even maybe yourself.

So maybe my words

don't fit maybe they

all just feel like letters

thrown together by

a hopeless lover of life.

Maybe the cough is as fake

as those who would tell you otherwise.

But in the end my emotions

are true and so are the pictures

in my eyes which state

which heed

the outcome

to be right.

To be the end

the door

the opening.

Or maybe just the start.

Just a way to begin.

Ghosts in the shell (for CJB July, 1999)

-by Vvolfgang

Wondering about this world aimlessly,

Searching,

Yearning for something more,

For that sensation of completeness.

The Ghost in this shell of a man asks: "Where is my other half?"

Where are you in this lifetime, soul mate?

My Mother?

My Sister?

My friend?

Are you the cat purring softly in my lap?

Or are you the crimson rose whose intoxicating fragrance

just graced my senses?

If I may be so fortunate for a chance encounter with you

May it be the most glorious moment of our current existence.

And let us return to the Well of Souls, exhausted, giggling,

And wait for the next chance to seek each other out.

In another time,

In another place,

In another shell.

Just as sure as the Ocean's blue,

I'll find you.

top

by: William M. Lewis XIV

Dedicated to: Kim-Linh T. Pham Summer, 1997

Lonely Night

Dusk, forth-bringing another lonely a night-

cool violet and distant blues chase downward,

surrendering soft pink and orange haste to

horizons afar.

Gaze up and behold, I, the vault of the Heavens.

Eyes of mine wonderously around wander,

glittering, sparkling, such many tiny lights,

a thousand thousand stars- so alike my mind-

keeper of all such loving thoughts of thee

glittering and sparkling about.

Each such sky bound'd star- something of thee

I love: thy compassionate smile, thine honey

breath voicing sultry rhythm, delicate

deliverance of thy touching hands.

Such memories of thou and I apon each tiny

star: longing in my pursuit, relieved only

by thy sweet, tender lips touching mine,

utter'd affection of three words exchange,

collapse of passionate lust into caring

embrace after expiring together our secret

nights.

Each such star, with thee a dream and a hope

I hold sharing; thus I dedicate to all such

loving thoughts of thou- all such delightful

stars, dwelling vivid radiance in cool skies

above.

Shalt the heavens born new stars, growing and

flourishing, my divine love for thee.

top

I cannot help

wanting to

kiss him

as the sun

turns his

skin a golden

brown and

sweeps a

golden fire

through his hair.

author

SEA URCHIN by JJ Cameron

drifter on the big

surface, lost child

in the ghost-town of waves,

ragged urchin of the ocean,

am,

in my blood's surge,

deep as my heart's breakers,

as my shipwreck of socket

and bone, flood of muscle,

so,

- even to the point

that I lose the days, I lose

my track in the water,

in the blazing afternoon water -

tired

(sometimes I float

belly down, back

just through the surface,

and gaze down the green

columns of afternoon

sunlight in the waters, miles

off the coast; at night

the towns are necklaces

and I dive and swim

in the moonlight and, splashing,

break the surface of white

into a swarm of silver crickets).

JJ Cameron

THE PERSPECTIVE by John Durler

I felt the slip of time, a curve that bellied out

as a woman with child slowly, yet surely ballooned

until my world was on a different axis than the earth I knew.

The sun was still red, but more demanding

of the pale yellow sky to give it more presence among blue clouds.

And the moon, most assertive

as if made of green cheese as grandma told us all,

when we were young enough to believe.

Its sharp green light pushed to the horizon

leaving the atmosphere as a purple pinto

I saw at a wild west merry-go-round once at carnival.

The wondrous beauty was dizzying, like a high from a poem,

or a bartender’s mug of red wine,

or her auburn hair held back,

emerald earrings swaying, matching smoldering eyes

as she slips into bed.

If I tilted my head it was all so different,

looking more like before the slip.

I could live like that, head tilted, but my neck ached, although,

bending over, looking between my outspread legs,

it all looked dismal and bleak.

Righting myself, the brilliance

was almost blinding, so I tilted my head

and slipped back home. Not able to

walk correctly.

I shut the door tight and waited, hoping

she didn't have the same perspective,

deciding to stare at the tilted world's

taunting beauty, perhaps not thinking to tilt her head

and become blind and never be able

to find her way home again,

or worse, never wanting to.

John Durler

Little Children

by Carl Hardwick

Little children marching by,

Full of hope and bright of eye,

Laughing, singing, skipping to,

Starting out the day so new;

Holding hands and telling tales,

No one passes, no one fails,

Never thinking about tomorrow,

Full of laughter, void of sorrow;

Thinking not of who has what,

Sharing all that's in the pot,

Never caring what's their color,

Trying hard to love another;

Little children soft as clay,

Living only for the day,

Full of futures yet unfounded,

Feet on courses swift and grounded:

Little children shiny and new,

What will little children do?

Carl Hardwick

(AKA: Alexander Hamilton Smith)

September 20, 1999

LISTEN TO MY MEMORIES by Angela Contino Donshes

The songs of my youth are with me still. Golden arias forever lost in

the echoes of time. They fill my heart with unforgettable memories,

sometimes happy, sometimes sad. Listen and you will hear . . .

The soft whir of a brightly colored hummingbird's wings

The murmuring leaves of a medlar tree in a high wind

The angry roar of a stormy sea

Nonna's fervent prayer to St. John the Baptist, as the fury of

the tempest reaches a high crescendo

A mother's sorrowful wail at her son's funeral

The family children reciting a Novena in lyric, unsure voices

The languid chant of the evening Rosary

The majesty of the Gregorian Mass at Santa Rosalia

A churchbell's plaintive ring, thin and far away

The sing song dialect of vendors, hawking their wares in the market place

Enchanted hours of play in the Greek Temple at Segesta

The laughter and whispers of passionate vows between young lovers

The clip of a peasant's sharp curved knife, as it cuts away a bunch of

ripe grapes from the vine

The squish of grapes crushed under heavy boots, and the gurgle of golden

liquid as it pours into wooden casks

A rooster's crow at dawn, heralding a new day

The soft chirps of newly hatched yellow chicks

The pitiful bleating of a lamb as it's being slaughtered

The tinkle of bells signaling the goatherder's arrival with warm foamy milk

for the morning coffee

The melodious sound of mandolins at weddings and Feast Days

The merry rhythm of an accordion playing the Tarantella

The nostalgic folk songs sung at family gatherings

A farmer, in his vineyard, singing an aria from Cavalleria Rusticana

The lusty songs of fishermen as they haul in their nets

The lonely bray of a donkey echoing through the still night air

The rattle of cartwheels on the stony road to my grandparents farm

The loud hum of bees gathering honey on a hot, sleepy summer day

A brook, sparkling in the sun, racing its way to the gulf of Castellammare

The sharp clip-clop of a mule's hooves on cobblestones

The sweet voice of Sister Caterina as she recites the day's school lesson

The animated stories old Don Nunzio told about his adventures at sea

These are my memories of Sicily . . . the songs of my youth.

POET'S PLIGHT THE IRONY! by Patricia Fritsche

If they never walked with you,

"through the temperature of life"

of a Death Valley hour,

or the immortal ride

on the tail of a comet's thrill

keeping the magic vibrant.

The child once, twice and on, and now

it's

all up to you.

Or a star's focused gaze on you,

touching all the hot

and sensitive spots,

of getting to know romance

and its company.

You know, the first time

the truck hitting you hard.

Or climbed those mountains

with their milestones of vocation,

such a singular nature to embark on.

Having someone take your place,

turn in your bittersweet backpack

after its "all done."

To have followed this type of path

from the first signs of feeling more,

nudging its way inside to dispense

in greater proportion,

what the eyes have road mapped

in the thousand and one hours

on its time track, now.

Took your hand gently,

through your self-imposed addictions,

afflictions and apathetic convictions,

and mined and explored

to find the sensual jewels of nature's child.

A periwinkle sea waiting to be opened up

upon a passion.

Hidden away in only your hope

of presenting the best poetic muse,

understanding basic humanity as its realm.

If you had not read

and soared with their metaphors,

and very wide camel hair brush.

Would you be better off or less opulent in time,

when you first decided to jump on board

and share in these Eden feelings?

Of exploring those quick sand patches

dare not go.

A kind of de-evolving being judge, jury

and sentence in an eyeblink.

Touching some olympics

of creativity

and leading to a greater love

leading within

addressing the humanities.

Again,

what the poets present in once upon a poem.

The diet just got to be blah,

but somehow it appeared on your personal menu.

No tunnel vision happening here,

in this smorgasbord kind of world.

Patricia Fritsche

Essence of You by Drandy Campbell

A young child gets the toy they always wanted

The pure contentment of a dream come true

With angelic innocence in a radiant being

It can only be the essence of you.

In the distance through the darkest of dark

Peers the glow of a candle light

The millenniums of time that past as lost

I draw nearer to the feeling of hope so bright.

The touch of a spirit like breath on a mirror

Cannot be felt on the surface of skin

The scent of a rose, the smile of a child,

The quiet of sleep, and the cleansing of sin.

Earthly selves can be galaxies afar

Yet I am consumed by the sense that you're near

A quickening of breath, flutter of heart,

Followed by the joy of the shed of a tear.

A dance in the moonlight with reckless abandon

And sparkling eyes that grow deeper in blue

An embrace from God with your angelic glance

It can only be the essence of you.

Submitted and written by Drandon Campbell

SHADOW AND MIST

by Ambergrisa Lynn

Listening to the music

amidst the dark of night,

eyes closed, breathing softly.

Notes surrounding me

drifting gently . . .

they filter into my ears,

sneak into my very being.

Creating images in my mind . . .

some in shadow

some in mist

vaguely moving, shifting,

with a crescendo of notes

sharpening my view.

Softer notes begin

from a Lover's Theme,

rippling gently through me . . .

now lost in thoughts

of love and passion,

these notes stir my soul

and feed my very being.

This symphony,

written for lovers

seeking one another

through centuries of

time and space . . .

engulf me into their plight.

The ethereal strains of the violin

are heard ever erotically,

as these lovers embrace

together once again . . .

at the start of everlasting time.

3:56 AM 4/15/99

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