Hey Cupid, Has Your Aim Improved?
From Jacob Elliott of Columbus, Georgia:
seduced me into her own world
magic I spun
darkness grasping for light
new place she sent me to
would I ever find my way out
hanging by my toes
a sliver of moonsparkle
only help I could receive
break the barrier
her wretched hair
could not see how I was deceived
seemed so well between us
had struck my eyes
I could not shade it with my hands
not let me overcome her
obstacle she became
only used me for soul
beauty, and heart she also wanted
powers and wisdom she had possessed
to become egocentric and want more
insatiable desire she had
my love I had thought
and deception were on the menu
felt my way through
grievous pain and labor
moonsparkle safely tucked in my pocket
and meteors blazed at me
earth looked upon me with hypocrisy
help it lent me
wandering weightlessly around
I would make my way back
revenge upon love
my tongue out to catch
of starwrinkles to appease my appetite
marvelously in the waves
brought me to earth well managed
help that rather tickled my chin
my lost love
challenge her with a fight
she was hiding in my mind
me to make my deadly move
for my pocket
felt inside it for the life saving moonsparkle
hope was the fear I was living on
stabbing my brain with mystical pleasures
moving throughout my body
the burnt rim of my pocket
a hole had been left inside
not knowing what charm had been lost
to the ground with a magnificent thud
my face fell into the irony of the moonsparkle
force it inhabited my mind
to be too late
she were crowned with a great victory
my hapless fighting efforts
From Victoria Vlach of Austin:
heart can only be broken
I would sit with you
the low couch of our home,
watch the shadow of the earth
to sky to night
From Rev. Wyrdsli, of Austin:
leans out of the color pictures in the free catalog
got in the mail.
has the face of a China doll.
silky looking brown hair brushes her shoulders
white lace bluouse wraps around her neck.
tiny pearl earring hangs from her lobe.
eyes, dark brown with just a hint of blue shadow, are sad, they say:
come and get me out of Russia!"
is twenty six years old, five foot five, one hundred twenty six
a University Graduate in Engineering
English level is three out of five,
faithful, kind, serious, intelligent, optimistic. Seeking serious
(I guess that means white, or wealthy) man who could become
lover and husband."
am already in love with Inessa.
have fantasized scamming the dollars it will take to go to Russia,
it will take to bring her back with me here,
she will not doubt melt in Texas heat after surviving Soviet winters.
is sweet and gentle and in love with me.
moves gently and with just the right touch of trepidation.
grateful for getting her out of Russia.
is intelligent but sweetly naive about Western ways.
lovingly explain in simple English.
her with my private jokes
won't get for another year.
looks at me with her big sad brown eyes and says: "Okay."
the other hand, she is a wizard. She downloads the service packs
Microsoft fixing the bugs in my
NT. And the apartment is spotless.
have come to this.
have come to dreaming about a mail order bride. How pathetic must I
told someone, and she said: "But what if it doesn't work?
if she goes and sleeps with your best friend?"
I don't have a best friend." I joke. "Besides, she would
never do that to me,
From Celeste Cafasso of Pittsburgh:
Wondered Where I Was
over in that dream,
time to hug the pillow.
The scent of all those feathers
tickles the nostrils seeking me.
softly in that dream.
one sweet nightime chuckle
explode across the silence
my whispered smile back to you.
now you know that I will take you
dreams of mountain rain.
Too warm for snow, too bright for night,
Too many things for nothing.
all the loving that you dare.
drip, expand the thought
all those dream rivers widen,
and lay their mists upon you.
over again in that dream.
wondering into the lumpy pillow.
know where I am, there beside you.
roll over and get some sleep.
1999 Celeste A.Cafasso
From B. S. Allen of New Braunfels, Texas:
to the return of the robins,
inclined to cup the primrose,
come to remember.
in these simple gestures,
revisit another April
each new blossom grew
and seemed to bloom forever
the ground was alive with language:
alphabet of flowers
across the meadow,
down in paragraphs of color.
I imagine him, this poet,
a strong, steady hand
upon a slate of sky
every word, his name.
1999 B.S. Allen