MAP 62

This week’s theme: Cartwheel-Challenged Poets: "Why I Wasn't A Dallas Cheerleader or It's Hard to Write When Spinning". The theme is universal. The contributors are global.

My gratitude to all who support the MAP by submitting your poetry.

Upcoming themes:

#63 - Games People Play (Can include sports poems)

#64 - The Working Stiff

#65 - Poets Travel Advisory: When planning your Chinese holiday... (Political Commentary)

1. From Chuck Rice of Coral Gables, Florida:

Beauty dependent

solely upon itself

is made prey.

There are those,

soulless hunters,

who would shoot

arrows of lies

through the heart

of her dreams

of love,

spill the clear

fertile blood

of her trust

in the barren valleys

of comfortless comforters,

discarding her tender carcass

to the dogs of memory.

Severing heads from minds,

skinning souls of bodies,

they seek to mount her breasts

on the stone walls of their egos

like charging horns

fierce with passion

short lived,

hunting in vain for love.


2. From Moshe Benarroch of Jerusalem, Israel:


your winter came early

now the world is more orphan

especially for those who never heard of you.

first web-published in Perihelion (issue no.2)


3. From Jean Russell of Virginia (her shortest poem)


Pieces of a man's face

lay buried among my daisies.

I am tempted

to reclaim

and rearrange them

back to the photograph

of a man who said

he loved me.


4. From Agnes Meadows of London


When I die

I want you to ring bells

And cover the pavements in rose petals, frozen frangipani leaves

White, white lilac, and dandelion spears,

So that wherever you walk it will be a celebration.

When I die

I want you to play loud music.

Anything with drums,

Or the artist formerly known as Prince,

Or guitars deep on base-line

Goes along with heavy dancing,

Thighs velcroe'd together, skin itching with effort,

So that every time you feel the hungry chill across your shoulders that comes with good sound,

You'll think of me and smile.

When I die

I want you to shoul up my friends,

Net them all up,

Get them drunk with memories and 50 year old Malt,

And each one has to tell a story with me as the punch line, just like my life was

Laughter always easy on our lips

When we lay on those Greek beaches, gilding our lucid fantasies,

Or sat in darkened theatres afraid to cry in case we'd never stop,

Or held each o ther as sisters, knowing that at least would never go away.

Then maybe my passion will still echo in your head.

When I die

I want you to catch the rain from Spring mornings

In blue glass bottles,

Line them up on a shelf somewhere very still

Where there'll gather no dust,

And watch their shadows juggle on the waiting wall amidst the spiders.

Then, whenever there's a storm,

Or the daytime quiet's riven by the sound of water running,

Or you see a waving webb,

You'll remember the colour of my eyes.

When I die

I want you to go shopping

Big time, big time,

Buy 3 of everything in different colours, none of them matching,

Blister the plastic 'til you're all stored out,

Significant attention driving salesgirls crazy, and pay for it all in pennies

So they'll have to count each one at a time,

Then when anyone lays into chic speak,

Or you're lost amongst the mirrors and the silks,

You'll still have my pleasure to trade in.

When I die

I want you to watch every Star Trek movie ever made


So that when you look up into that unused sky

Especially at night when it's all stitched up with stars

And the moon makes you shiver with cold, dead as old love,

And all your time's your old,

You'll know I'm buzzing round there, Worf-factor nine,

Still - making it so.

5. From David Barnes, Down Under (Australia)

down the streets

The road life

I have seen

it is not paved gold

it curves winding

stones shifting


shade light vault


as what was

fades disappears

down the streets

we walked.

© 1999 deBarnes