Page 4
The Clarion Literary Supplement
Tuesday, April 26,
1983
t
THE VAULT
Deep in a black cranial vault
where skittering gray ideas track
the dust and shadow-cramped corners,
the unsculptured slumps blankly in chains.
Screams spiral the dungeon stairs,
beyond the moat of pike and gar —
work is beginning in grim chambers.
What mayhem to choose tonight?
The rack, Iron Maiden, screws?
Tooling my trade on this vague head
and body, red knout singing,
I, Torquemada’s quill,
curl skin into seared scrolls,
disfiguring, refiguring,
shaping, creating,
until the iron cools and stink
dissolves to crevices; the white flesh
splits like shellfish, whole.
The poem slips the gray manacles
and bolts shrieking for the steps and door,
bounding to the blue air of the world.
Ken Chamlee
Foundation
Woodcut by Scott Morris
The (AHira^e To Keep
It will shatter ai d su^frestion.
Break at a glance.
Treat it like fine crystal.
(jiiard it with life and soul.
Protect it with love.
He says it is mine.
Hut I must fiive it hack.
1 ou see. I do not hare the courage to keep it.
Nor does it truly belong to me—
1 his heart in the pdni of niy hand.
Cheri Chester
How old are we when we are born?
And how old when we die?
These questions - they may sound forlorn
Comparison/Contrast the question - Why?
My fantasies and poems share
My life but rearrange the parts
To fit their different schemes.
The poems distance words and care.
They photograph the mind and heart;
They freeze a frame on scenes.
But fantasies defy the pace
That life insists upon. They leap
Beyond the edge. They write
The scenes and dialogues which place
The actors closer to the steep
Descent to pain and flight.
Clara C. Wood
I don’t know what to think of life
or life to think of me
I only know that what I am
is what I’ll always be.
If you ever ask the question - “Why?”
and think the answers are too few
Then take a look down deep inside
The answers come from you.
Decisions - seldom necessary
Already they’ve been made
The design of a house is finished
Before the foundation’s laid.
Innate
Paradise has been locked behind a door
Untouching reality's cold, clean glass
But swallowing our breath of life's true lore.
Chatters chirp in rhythm, heaven's pure ninss.
Each question brings us to our sacred knees.
\oung eyes are brighter, age does not surpass
The entity children see from church balconies.
Suzanne Peterson
Robert Hopkins