History:
“The History Teacher”
Woman! Where exactlyDid you put meIn the women's history? Am I History? Or a part of it? And for how long you are lacking me in; Between Your History, Women's History, and Your archives? Does time make sense to youAs a History teacher orAs a History professor? Cause', History, buying time, and rejuvenationAre for emperors.Are you making meAn emperor? Or a Faeroe? If so, How precise your are? Atef Ayadi
Nature:
“Nature”
human nature, mother nature, enough of your torture.safely nature, easy nature, play your game, foolish nature, custom nature, I know your plancan you nature, would you nature, try to run away.stupid nature, poor nature.find my secret.Miserable nature, faulty nature, get out of my way.It is in my nature, It is my nature, don't give me away. Celine charcoal
Imagination:
“Imagination”
Youthful innocents, imagination at its peak,thrills of excitement is what they come to seek.A stirring noise, or the rustle of some leaves,chilling mysteries is what it all perceives.Fright, goose bumps, and chills all up our spine,we're not always sure that everything is fine.Everything we heard of, seems to come so near,raising up our heart rate, from what we come to fear.Our imagination, can give us quite a thrilllack of common sense, will give us a bigger chill.Not knowing if its true or not, the stories we all read,makes our minds go wild, deep from within our head.Human nature, has a lust for the unknown,some of our biggest fears, are when were all alone.And when we can conjure, one of our big chills,we always laugh and say, we sure do love them thrills.
Bernard Howe
Miracles:
“May Miracle”
On this festive first of May,Wending wistfully my wayThree sad sights I saw today.The first was such a lovely ladHe lit with grace the sordid street;Yet in a monk's robe he was clad,With tonsured head and sandalled feet.Though handsome as a movie starHis eyes had holiness in them,As if he saw afaint, afarA stable-stall in Bethlehem.The second was a crippled maidWho gazed and gazed with eager glanceInto a window that displayedThe picture of a ballet dance.And as she leaned on crutches twain,Before that poster garland-gayShe looked so longingly and vainI thought she'd never go away.The last one was a sightless manWho to the tune of a guitarCaught coppers in a dingy can,Patient and sad as blind men are.So old and grey and grimy too,His fingers fumbled on the strings,As emptily he looked at you,And sang as only sorrow sings.Then I went home and had a dreamThat seemed fantastical to me...I saw the youth with eye agleamPut off his robe and dance with glee.The maid her crutches threw away;Her withered limbs seemed shapely fine;And there the two with radiance gayDivinely danced in soft entwine:While the blind man, his sight restored,Guitared the Glory of the Lord.
Robert William Service
Just for Fun:
“Giving Her the Eye”
A beauty stood on a balcony high,Sneezed and lost her blue glass eye.A young man walking down The StrandCaught the flashing eye-ball one hand.Invited up to receive her thanksHe drooled on her features, figure, flanks.While dining on champagne and chickenThese strangers felt their heart beats quicken,Gazed into each others eyes, imperfections indiscernible,Including the eye-ball that proved to be returnable.Over croissants and coffee in the morningThe young man felt suspicion dawning,Said, "Would you do this for just any passer-by?""Oh no!" she said, "He'd have to catch my eye"
Barney Egan
Anything:
“A Special Love”
How can I compare your beautyto other faces?
You seduce me in the sunshineunashamedly, knowing I cannot look away.
My soul cries out more, more,and again I search your dark eyesuntil I'm strapped in a trance like state.
You proceed to teasemy lips with your tongue delegating my mindto your ocean, where I glide above thesurface gushing with exhilaration.
Your bouquet fills my face and bodyprojecting me to hovering heightsthat have my heartracing as if in a lover's embrace.
Yet, you free meto further savour your endless delights,till I cannot get enough,and consume you like an armyof leaf ants would ravage to build their home.
Just as I can feel the slip into the next dimension,a painless place free of blame,I open my eyes and you sit there waiting.
Gee I love Mudcake.
Rob Swales
Catalog Poem:
The Things Emily Carries
An after-school inventory
Six Yu-Gi-Oh cards.
Chewing gum wrappers.
School handouts, two weeks overdue.
Three rubber bands.
A five-inch-tall stuffed dog.
Four small blood stains.
Two smooth, gray rocks.
Fourth-grade intrigue.
Four pencils with no lead and no eraser.
Righteous indignation.
Stories.
Avril Lavigne.
Asthma inhaler.
A feather.
Fourteen pale pink ribbons.
Playground news.
Someone's phone number scribbled on a Heath Bar wrapper.
Eight secrets.
Head lice, once.
Plans of her own.
Jana B.
