Quill and Ink
NOMAS
You can’t stop prayers from reaching up to God
0, mister man, you hide from freedom's night.
I flew above; kept safe of vicious squad
That danced upon the graves of precious life.
Still someone chooses not to play your fight.
In silence, war's still raging everyday.
She bleeds; her grief will break the darkened night,
And peace, your peace, will turn to search and slay
And there will be a search again for new.
The old will die from force of babies' cries.
O God of South rise up a mighty coup.
1.et winds of restoration fill the skies.
And we, the children won't forget the day
Our f\/lother's danced and sang "No Pinochet."
DEBRA H. BRIDGES
1
Under somber skies,
I wait restlessly for you.
You never return.
The night is quiet,
yet I hear my mind crying
silent tears of pain.
Tomorrow will be
no better than it is now.
I cry to get out.
HANDS
Imagination!
His hands incite imagination.
I look at his hands
and think of a leopard
with ears of red and blue
and nose in a pot of glue.
I look at his hands
and hear
his sultry, senuous sax song.
I look at his hands
and want to feel them
grasping my hands,
on my waist,
my back,
my face.
LARA C. DAVIS
the dance
when the prima ballerina
beckoned
i danced,
the music was in my mind
soft melodies carried by
the wind
created windows in the sky
an arc of color in the
corner of the moon
watched, as I slipped
into the peacefulness
of death
LAURA MOLINARIO
The "lover" of an
addict is the addict of
her own devices.
J. K. S.
WALL
Have you ever seem a concrete wall
With the third layer of paint peeling off?
If you're lucky, the paint peels just right;
It's quite an interesting sight.
The first layer is blistered, of course;
It gives the picture some texture.
The second layer is dull and faded;
It gives the picture some character.
The final layer is barely seen,
But it's the most important.
The final layer says it all.
Without it there would be no wall.
DLS
Pointless confusion
aimed in an essential
direction
Deja vu and illlusion
create horrid reflections
of what it is
I need to see
ANNE BLUE
TIME
Seasons passing by and by
hopes and dreams, such
scattered circles they fly
Time lives and Time dies
I cannot believe it
I cannot believe it
I cannot believe it
To turn the thick to thin
to learn to say "has been".
RUTH ECKLES
WHAT ABOUT THE FLOWERS?
i used to write of poesy things
of moonlit nights & winds perfumed
of daffodils of faery rings
of candle light of incensed rooms
my verse did sunshine celebrate
of ocean waves on sandy shore
and thoughts of love did saturate
my poems 'til i could take no more
and so i sing of whiskey breath
of shooting pool on friday night
of love's relationship w/ death
the darkest hour before dawn's first light
the road i sing of stretches far
from here we head for somewhere else
and when we find that we are there
we'll share the streets among ourselves
for life is but a circular motion
the vortex will touch ground now & then
and if we find we have the notion
we'll become the nexus once again
until that day when we come together
and find the union of the sun
we'll brave the grey inclement weather
and make them think we're having fun
we'll twist and shout a bacchanal
we'll thrash & burn and laugh & cry
we'll fly with angels 'til we fall
for angels dance and angels die
with daemons we shall sip the wine
and soothe our wasted burning souls
and when the grape dies on the vine
we'll taunt the moon with midnight howls
but a lack of flowers we shall not mind
for words are blossoms on their own
'cause the boys i mean are not refined
and they like to dance & shake their bones
so what about the flowers dude
the petals on a wet, black bough
are poems not poems if they are crude
if they are not then tell me how
JON PARGAS
author’s note: lines 28, 35 & 38 are consciously
stolen from Jim Morrison, e. e. cummings & Ezra
Pound respectively. I hope nobody wants to sue me.
JRP