Poetry
• Centurion's Complaint - John
Haag
• Mission to the East - John
Haag
• Eyes of Power - John
Davis
• Three Haiku - Hal
Bogotch
• Picking Our Bones Before We
Are Dead - C.V. Beck
• They surround me
- Carol Fondiller
• humanity - Hillary
Kaye
CENTURION’S
COMPLAINT
By John
Haag
I tell you, Rome ain’t what
it used to be:
the town’s got fat, the
boys don’t want to fight
or want to
fight for spoils; they’ve got in
sight
some manor house or mansion by the
sea.
We don’t know what we fight for
any more:
time was, the farmers fought for
their own farms;
now it’s nobles’
slaves we keep down by arms,
and lucky if we
eat, outside the corps.
We’ve planted
the wide world with Roman graves
and still
plow on; but can you tell me why
the
lordlings dance and banquet while we
die?
That jewish cult that claims even the
slaves
have souls is gaining ground, and no
surprise you push a guy too far and he gets
wise.
------------
MISSION
TO THE EAST
By John
Haag
It’s strange to feel
tranquil, almost at peace
up here above it
all, snugly enclosed,
our complex eggs packed
close behind the nose,
while shrieking
bombers race us to the East.
The clouds break
up to show us bits of sea,
the navigator
checks our way to land,
the bomb release fits
firmly in my hand:
it all seems ordered, just
as it should be.
For us so long familiar with
the sky,
(not thinking now that when our
bomb-clouds rise,
they’ll fuse the
earth and tear apart the skies)
it’s
only natural that men should fly.
How calmly,
with a clean and shaven face,
I ride the
mission that may end the
race.
------------
Eyes
of Power
Haag of
Venice
Hague of
Truth
Hague of
Justice
So spoke the
soothe
In stature I met him, dying and
frail.
Yet a candle burned hot, in eyes so
pale.
Standing lastly profound, words he
spoke,
Immortal of Venice, a last dying
toke,
Of life so rich the people did
sing,
Of a humble servant of Venice, who
truly was King
–John
Davis
------------
THREE
HAIKU
Frog climbing young
bark
textured vocal
pulsations
great big
appetite.
Dripping toe of
ice
as glacier
evaporates
willow’s silent
tears.
Thorny lemon
tree
suspense of seeds and
citrus
trading fruit for
blood.
–Hal
Bogotch
------------
PICKING
OUR BONES BEFORE WE ARE DEAD
(thanks to
P.L. for letting me "borrow" this)
By
C.V. Beck
It is considered polite to
wait until someone is no longer
breathing
before you strip them of what was
theirs
It is considered polite to help our
elders cross the street
and not run them over
because YOU are in a hurry
It is considered
polite to let sleeping dogs lie
in the
streets of Venice
It is considered polite and
democratic to include
a wide swath of divers
persons to be elegible to vote
and not just
the people you know--
by face, by name, by
profession and
their phone numbers by
heart
I know it's just plain incredible but
you
don't know everyone in Venice yet and it
seems
apparent you are only interested in
knowing one
category of persons, that is, of
course,
people exactly like
you
------------
They
surround me
jostle
me
with
memories
I fall stubbing my sanity
on
alternate
realty
they flit from one dimension to
another
chattering shivering, crouching in
corners
they whisper indecipherable
messages
unsubstance of the insubstantial
grey fog
I am not afraid my hackles lie
docile against my nape.
1-800-psychic
Quick answer before
my free time is up no
skeletal fingers
beckon me or low mournful
wailing are they who they
were when they
were here or are they who they are
but not as
they were?
another
clue.
They laugh in papery whispers hissing
in my
ear distracting me from things to
do
lulling me to sleep before the wrap up of
"Law and Order"
only shadows of shades who
knew me when
would do that only remnants of
friends lovers
relatives would nag in the
language of a parallel
universe–blowing
out lit candles
Crossing over does not mature
them
Revenants leave
cosmic
remnants of cosmic
baggage
at my
door
they didn't have time to pack it
all
in
what
with the unexpected swiftness of
the
Deadline
and
all
I'll bring it
with
when
I
cross
over
–Carol
Fondiller
-----------
humanity
by
hillary kaye
something is crawling all
over our humanity
and the word is getting
out.
exactly who is in charge
and the people are
implicated
how can the hand not know what the
arm is doing
there may not be more
chances for redemption
ask the children,
they'll tell you
don't you see them
don't you think they understand
the
question what is right and what is
wrong?
alone they march through corridors and
are made to
excel in a failing world.
Posted: Mon - May 1, 2006 at 07:07 AM