Portrait of a Ghost by Dietmar Trommeshauser Like a thunderhead blossoms the sky, my eyes bright as lightning, I float over the grey world move like rain and grow over your oceans like a tropical storm My face wet and beaten, my shadows are the bruises on your face, my violence is like an eclipse; long, drawn out, then suddenly over, the sun a gleaming knife. I watch your little girl get on the bus and walk all the way to the back with her eyes downcast and her head stiff and still as a nailed board and when the others look back at her she puts her thin knees together like a prayer. The silence surrounding her, scrapes a secret rust from everything. Death is like that. She studies her finger tips as if just now having found them, as if her arms had just sprouted from her shoulders. My desire for life as restless as her hands which seem to have nowhere to go. She is a freshone she is. Fleshtoned and shiny.
Beauty Of The Creature -I saw A cameo for a lovely creature Whose weare was the same And as I forgot the beauty Along again she came -Her hair as fair as fire And eyes as green as may For will I ever love her Who can love I say? -I let her walk so long That my heart was filled with yew And once my laughter sounded It was filled with tears of you Written by John McDermott
Night Poem There is nothing to be afraid of, it is only the wind changing to the east, it is only your father the thunderyour mother the rain In this country of water with its beige moon damp as a mushroom, its drowned stumps and long birds that swim, where the moss grows on all sides of the trees and your shadow is not your shadow but your reflection, your true parents disappear when the curtain covers your door. We are the others, the ones from under the lake who stand silently beside your bed with our heads of darkness. We have come to cover you with red wool, with our tears and distant whipers. You rock in the rain's arms the chilly ark of your sleep, while we wait, your night father and mother with our cold hands and dead flashlight, knowing we are only the wavering shadows thrown by one candle, in this echo you will hear twenty years later. by: Margaret Atwood
Lord Byron (1788-1824) She walks in beauty She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!
Trisyan's Spell The night's pitch black, no moon to see All sounds sustained, nothing will be The castle on the hill, shows a solitary light A light of pure evil, that pierces the night. Blue light of power, full and bright Spell cast in evil, over the night The mage will wreak destruction on everyone Grab your children, and run people, run. Written by Clyde H Woodfin Jr.
A Noiseless Patient Spider
A NOISELESS, patient spider,
I mark'd, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated;
Mark'd how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding,
It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself;
Ever unreeling them--ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you, O my Soul, where you stand,
Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing,--seeking the spheres, to
connect them;
Till the bridge you will need, be form'd--till the ductile anchor
hold;
Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere, O my Soul.
Whitman, Walt. 1900. Leaves of Grass.
Moonview
A lupine nomad rests on a rocky perch
and stares into the murky depths of night,
unaware that it stares back at him
with millions upon millions of twinkling eyes.
Apart from a brief greeting,
quickly stolen by the mischevious winds,
he sits in tranquil silence
pondering his new aquantance.
Then the two lone travelers,
like the carefree zephyr on a spring day,
begin their destinationless flights again,
not knowing they shall always and forever meet.
--
Craig Brooks
Morning
In the middle of Spring
at the start of the day,
across the horizon
broke the sun's first ray.
I looked on in wonder.
Night gave way to light
and Gaea's creation
once again became bright.
She caressed my cheek,
ran her hands through my hair,
whispered sweet nothings
and I knew she was there.
She's mother to all,
a hater of none,
yet we treat her world
like a spoiled son.
As I stand on the hill
and watch the day break,
I love her and the world
and all she did make.
--
Craig Brooks
Newbie
As I sit and log on,
time bids me, "Adieu"
for it knows much will pass
before I'll be through.
I enter the room.
Amazement sets in.
As I stare at the names
and think, "Where to begin?"
I start with a greeting,
type "HI" and click SEND
in hopes that perhaps
I'll make a new friend.
My message pops up,
but quickly is gone
as all of the regulars
keep carrying on.
So I say "HI" again
and hope that I'm heard,
but again no response,
not one single word.
Then just as I think,
"I should leave this place,"
one wonderful person
also lost in "The Space"
began talking to me
and I started to smile.
We talke back and forth
for quite a long while.
Soon, I was a regular.
Knew all of the folks.
We'd talk and we'd laugh.
Share pictures and jokes.
But I always remembered
that first time I came.
So I talk to the newbies
and my friends do the same.
Saying "HI" may not seem
much to you or to I,
but means everything
when you're the new guy.
--
Craig Brooks
© 1997 rezhock@hotmail.com
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