From: "Stazja " <stazja_at_aol.com>
To: <mapofaustinpoetry_at_yahoogroups.com>
Sent: Wednesday, May 28, 2003 10:15 PM
Subject: [mapofaustinpoetry] MAP #288-1 Featured Poetry Supplement Theme: Persistence of Memory

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Map of Austin Poetry #288-1
Featured Poetry Supplement
Theme: Persistence of Memory

Upcoming themes:

#289 - In The Heat Of The Night
#290 - Fathers and Sons
#291 - The Gods Must Be Crazy

Send poems to stazja_at_aol.com in body of e mail, left justified. No
fancy fonts or colors, please. No attachments. On subject line, note
the issue number and theme. Include permission to publish. Poets
retain all rights.

This week's theme is borrowed from Salvador Dali's painting, "The
Persistence of Memory," oil on canvas, painted in 1931, now located
at The Museum of Modern Art, New York.
http://www.columbia.edu/~xs23/dali/persiste.html

This week's selections include:

1. "Part and Parcel" by Mike Gullickson
2. "Red Silk Robe" by Jean Russell
3. "Remembering" by Sanjay Kuttan
4. "someday my prince will come" by Nii Ayikwei Parkes
5. "Don't Go Back!" By Ingeborg Carsten Miller
6. "My hell" by Gary Tinsley
7. "Dream Memory" by Chuck Rice
8. "His Scent on My Sweater" by Christina Donnelly
9. "The Artist's Wife" by Stazja

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1. Part and Parcel by Mike Gullickson

"From the depth of my being would sometimes surge a fierce desire to
be projected spectacularly into the living warmth and movements the
mind revisited."
Richard Byrd from ALONE

chimney brick. shore stones. twigs from a common tree you don't know
the name of.
things sorted.
things left in a pile.
colors that can be washed together and made clean.
there is an album somewhere that has your picture in it.
a picture you don't know about
fingerprinted by the one who loves you.
still. you are gone. you never knew.
it doesn't matter. nothing would change if you did.
apricots. apples. tastes you have never been brave enough to try.
ice cream cake. the feel at the top of the Ferris wheel.
the slow descent. things falling. things in limbo. landing.
the beer at the bottom of a tub of ice when you thought
they were gone.
beach sand. a breeze through moss draped trees.
a game of pitch and toss
with everything to lose.
your childhood Dixie cups and the Star Spangled Banner.
your children, silly songs and the Berenstain Bears.
fragments of the whole. indisputable. irrefutable.
a part of who you are. a part of who you will become.
memories.

© 2003 mike gullickson
from Notes From Antarctica 5/28/03
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2. Red Silk Robe by Jean Russell

Not every woman
will own a red silk robe.
Some will be born
and live and die without one
but I have one.

It hangs in the back
of my bedroom closet,
pushed back as far
as it will go.

The night he brought it
from San Francisco
it was inside a blue plastic bag
that he handed to me
instead of Hello.
And, never knowing silk until then
my hand lingered in the unseen fabric
until he urged me, Put it on.

So many times that robe
was our secret hiding place
where we lay together
until the birds woke us.
So many times that robe
was my crying towel,
my late night answer,
my private revelation.

Some days now I am late to work
because I happen to touch
and cling to that red silk,
refusing to let it go.

Some women will never own
a red silk robe.
Some will be born and live
and die without one.
But I have one.

© Jean Russell
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
3. Remembering by Sanjay Kuttan

In time, in our minds
we can forgive a world
insulting our senses,
everyday, creating in us
a receptacle of pain
a time capsule
purposefully buried
unwittingly rediscovered
after a while.
Although distanced
artifacts exhumed
feel, taste the same
and tears, fall again,
for the mind forgives
but the heart remembers.
Time is absent, there,
where flowers bloom
and fires rage
side by side; and
where forevers exist.

© 2002 Sanjay Kuttan
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
4. someday my prince will come by Nii Ayikwei Parkes

she still can't decide
whether it's better to have loved
and lost her mind
or not to have laughed at lovers before
because sometimes knowing the truth
doesn't stop you from believing the lie

she clutches her pillow like an old promise
holds it like a tender memory
and reads the eloquent darkness of her room

pain has made her a voyeur
rain drops are Morse code to her
night carries reminder notes from day's past
she sees his name in sea sand
his body tempts her from river beds
and the wind echoes her lonely cries as she sings.
"someday my prince will come"

she sings it
though she knows the prince she wants
will never come back

she gave him too much too readily
and turning back time is never an option
but if that loop came again
she would slow the tempo
let each moment stretch and develop
riddles and subtext so complicated
he would still be here
trying to figure out whether a melody would emerge
from their random syncopations
whether lust would last long enough
to become love

and she wouldn't be sitting here
singing
solo
"someday my prince will come"

she still can't decide
whether it's wise to have loved
and lost her mind
to have laboured
just to find
that love is a child with no shoes
in a world of invisible thorns
love is a timeless song
played by a feuding band

sometimes the band dies
and the song lives

but sometimes knowing the truth
doesn't stop you from believing the lie
doesn't stop her from singing
"someday my prince will come"

© Nii Ayikwei Parkes
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
5. Don't Go Back! By Ingeborg Carsten Miller

Don't go back
to where you left
the grass green
and soft.

Don't return
to where dreams
drove you away
years ago.

Don't linger
in pretense -
painting the past
in glorious colors.

Memory is selective -
many a wind blew away
what then wasn't
solid either!

© Ingeborg Carsten Miller
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
6. My hell by Gary Tinsley

I fall from grace
in a slow
spiral
to hell,
unlike the phoenix
I will not rise
from the ashes
for death
refuses me
my hell
is living . . .
remembering.

© Gary Tinsley
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
7. Dream Memory by Chuck Rice

Time has its
moments flutter fade opening fall
leaves on a sun-sucked autumn wind
the illusion of sequence
the sequence of illusion
the broken waves of were
like-lace wings
my soul set forth
on this shoreless sea birds
in fluttered formations
were ribbons in the wind touching no
almost the waves
when we walked together, she and I
down the butt-studded gutters
of nameless city streets
and I cannot ride the wind forever
flows dreaming
the blood of my childhood now
or was it some book I read
or meant to write, swirling directionless
in the caught up torrents of mind time
voices tiny
hands which are rain
beat on the twisted faces
of windows saying nothing
in an old pool hall I sit
listless, somewhere distant
drunk on the wine
of reminiscence, pool cue in fist
like a scepter
like a fallen king of little ago.
As if waking, quickly surprised
I turn in answer to my name... her voice?
No, no only something distant in the rain,
something distant and mad
thrashing lonely rain
has no meaning
whispers, "forget..."
pounding probing, "...sleep..."
I fade... deeper, deeper
and we touch hands..

© Chuck Rice
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
8. His Scent on My Sweater by Christina Donnelly

Last night it almost made me cry
at least the memory of why
I had to thrust him from my breaking heart.

Peace! Be still. My heart, be strong.
Be silent and belong
to no one but yourself tonight.

© Christina Donnelly
Previously published in "The Step Ascending"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_
9. The Artist's Wife by Stazja

Gala Dali, what a gal!
So adored by her man Sal.
Left a poet husband for
Spanish painter Salvador.

Dali waxed his handlebar.
Gala greased his rising star.
Lover, muse and inspiration,
was she not his true salvation?

With melting clocks he garnered fame
but Gala kept her Dali sane.
Between the two, she worked the hardest
married to that surreal artist.

© 1998 Stazja
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Grateful thanks to all who contributed.

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The MAP and featured poetry supplements are posted online at:

Austin Metro: www.austinmetro.com/poetpage.html
groups.yahoo.com/group/mapofaustinpoetry

Much love,
Stazja