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Fall Poetry

Payson Road is pleased to present the poetry of award winning Indian Poet, Nikhil Parekh for this Fall's Poetry Wall.  Among his many honors and achievements, Mr. Parekh is the recipient of the
International Poet of Merit Award ” –2002/2003, for outstanding achievement in poetry, International Society of Poets, Winner of Bronze Medallion and life time membership with International federation of Poets for phenomenal achievement in poetry -2002, Recipient of the International Federation of Poets and Editors Choice Award  for outstanding achievement/contribution to global poetry -2000, International Library Poetry.  For more information on Mr. Parekh, his poems, books and many achievements, please visit www.nikhilparekh.com.  To join his global peace poetry group at http://www.groups.yahoo.com/group/nikhilparekhspoems .

Even Greater?

It was great to wholeheartedly smile; but an
irrefutable feeling even greater than that; was
spreading its celestial essence to the most miserably
orphaned quarters of this boundless Universe,

It was great to marvelously fantasize; but an
irrefutable feeling even greater than that; was
granting a right to every person irrespective of
caste; creed; or religion; to profoundly do the same;
alike,

It was great to stupendously sight; but an irrefutable
feeling even greater than that; was philanthropically
assisting all those besieged with gruesomely
devastating blindness; immortalizing their dreams into
an eternal reality,

It was great to eat tantalizing food; but an
irrefutable feeling even greater than that; was to
feed the horrendously famished and deprived; witness
them blossom into the celestially benign citizens of
tomorrow,

It was great to dress up ravishingly beautiful; but an
irrefutable feeling even greater than that; was to
embellish every miserably abandoned infant; with the
ornaments of perpetual love and care,

It was great to invincibly marry; but an irrefutable
feeling even greater than that; was to unite
passionately palpitating hearts all across the
fathomlessly magnificent Universe; in threads of
everlasting romance,

It was great to incessantly march towards your
benevolent goals; but an irrefutable feeling even
greater than that; was to educate and profusely
transpire all those indiscriminately sucking each
other's blood; with the perennial fragrance of
humanity,

It was great to acquire astronomical wealth; but an
irrefutable feeling even greater than that; was to
help the treacherously afflicted destitute;
magnanimously bequeath upon them a dwelling of vibrant
compassion; sequestering them from the vicious
onslaught of neglect,

It was great to have Herculean muscles jutting
profoundly from all quarters of your body; but an
irrefutable feeling even greater than that; was to
massacre the parasites of evil in entirety from this
colossally gregarious earth; relentlessly tower tall as
the ultimate harbinger of all mankind,

It was great to have scarlet blood cascading
poignantly through your intricate veins; but an
irrefutable feeling even greater than that; was to
save as many innocent lives as possible from
despairing extinction; in the tenure of your
transiently fading life,

It was great to melodiously sing; but an irrefutable
feeling even greater than that; was to harmoniously
pacify all traumatized agony incinerated due to
malicious manipulation; with the supremely magical
cadence in your voice,

It was great to uninhibitedly dance; but an
irrefutable feeling even greater than that; was to
sway in exhilarating gay abandon with all those
disastrously maimed; uplift their impeccable souls to
blend with the Omnisciently divine,

It was great to illuminate your abode with blazing
light; but an irrefutable feeling even greater than
that; was to Omnipotently enlighten all those hutments
uncouthly lingering in pools of ghastly sadness and
unprecedented suffering,

It was great to mischievously philander through the
aisles of unfathomable desire; but an irrefutable
feeling even greater than that; was to return their
ecstatically lost childhood's to children; brutally
pulverized by ostentatious norms of the stinkingly
rigid society,

It was great to tower barefoot upon the summit of the
gloriously unconquerable mountain; but an irrefutable
feeling even greater than that; was to mitigate
derogatorily castigated humanity from chains of
lecherous slavery; hoist them to forever exist above
the surreally romantic clouds,

It was great to be successful in every acrimonious
examination of your life; but an irrefutable feeling
even greater than that; was to pioneer all those
hopelessly shattered lives; towards the epitome of
bountifully resplendent prosperity,

It was great to be sagaciously truthful; but an
irrefutable feeling even greater than that; was to
disseminate the elements of peace; brotherhood; and
symbiotic existence; in every organism that you
holistically encountered in your blissful way,

It was great to royally breathe; but an irrefutable
feeling even greater than that; was to bestow life
upon all immaculate entities despondently crumbling;
rejuvenating the cold-bloodedly insidious globe once
again; into an overwhelmingly mesmerizing paradise,

And it was great to immortally love; but an
irrefutable feeling even greater than that; was to
perpetually coalesce every cranny of this
aristocratically glittering planet; in the winds of
compassionate sharing; in waves of impregnable peace;
over and above all; in unassailable petals of
inseparable mankind?.

©COPYRIGHT 2002, BY NIKHIL PAREKH

Fanatically in Love?

I didn't know whether she was a tantalizing fairy; or
whether she bounced like an impeccable angel; in the
corridors of my horrendously devastated life,

I didn't know whether she was an ingratiatingly
redolent flower; or whether she was voluptuously
resplendent moonshine; that enshrouded every iota of
my despicable existence; with unparalleled mysticism
and charm,

I didn't know whether she was a gorgeously titillating
waterfall; or whether she was the rustling leaves of
the forest; that triggered me to envisage; beyond the
realms of ultimate paradise,

I didn't know whether she was an ocean of tangy froth;
or whether she incessantly shimmered like a fabulous
pearl; illuminating the morbidly saddened arenas of my
pathetically stumbling existence,

But what I did know was that I was fanatically in love
with her immortal eyes as each instant unleashed
itself into a wholesome minute; profoundly blending
with their marvelously impeccable whites?..

I didn't know whether she was a majestically perennial
dewdrop; or whether she rained indefatigably as nectar
from the fathomless sky; flooding my despicably
frazzled senses with the harmony of vibrant life,

I didn't know whether she was a cloudburst of
unfettered desire; or whether she blossomed into a
fountain of royal beauty as the night descended;
suppressing my suicidal tendencies with her web of
unsurpassable yearning,

I didn't know whether she was a magnificently
glistening shore; or whether she was the handsomely
princely sunset; that placidly tingled me into
ecstatic submission,'

I didn't know whether she was a vivaciously leaping
zebra; or whether she flamed beyond the walls of
eternal eternity; blazing an irrefutable path of
optimism through my every ludicrously shivering
midnight,

But what I did know that I was fanatically in love
with her seductively fluttering shadow; coalesced for
infinite more births of mine; with its exotically
silken and profuse caress?..

I didn't know whether she was a vividly striped
butterfly; or whether she rolled incessantly on the
meadows of fascinating enchantment; to spice up each
moment of my drearily lackadaisical life,

I didn't know whether she was a candidly scintillating
mirror; or whether she was the unequivocal queen of my
mind; body and soul; casting her unbreakable spell
upon devastatingly penurious life,

I didn't know whether she was a candle of unending
imagery; or whether she healed every hopeless wound on
my nimble body; with the perpetual ointment of
ebulliently blooming romance,
I didn't know whether she was an emolliently
boisterous hive; or whether she surreptitiously
seduced every cranny of my extinguishing visage; to
clamber the fortress of ebullient compassion,

But what I did know that I was fanatically in love
with her ravishingly glorious fragrance; immortally
bonding with the gorgeous stream of golden
perspiration that wafted bountifully from her
sacrosanct arms?..

I didn't know whether she was a wildly gyrating dance;
or whether she swirled above the skies in the winds of
incomprehensible fantasy; to bless me on every
acrimonious step that I tread on,

I didn't know whether she was a celestially united
civilization; or whether her impregnable chest;
harbored my ridiculously disappearing and mockingly
afraid countenance,

I didn't know whether she was a wonderfully blooming
morning; or whether harnessed each sprouting bone of
my deflated visage; with the poignantly crimson blood
that eternally ran through her blessed veins,

I didn't know whether she was the Omnipotent Goddess
of passion and enigma; or whether she was an
invincible flavor; that each element of my bedraggled
demeanor; wanted to relish all its life,

But what I did know was that I was fanatically in love
with her unrelentingly Omnipresent mountain of godly
heartbeats; uniting all that I possessed by God's
grace and all what I was about to proudly have; with
her philanthropically benevolent life?

©COPYRIGHT 2002, BY NIKHIL PAREKH

Love Versus Terrorism

Terrorism indiscriminately divides,
Love is an Omniscient panacea which wholeheartedly
embraces; one and all?

Terrorism treacherously plots,
Love is a flower which diffuses its divinely scent; to
the most remotest corners of this Universe?

Terrorism insidiously massacres,
Love is a seed which blossoms perennially; into the
chapter of blissful prosperity..

Terrorism baselessly orphans,
Love is a cloud which showers happiness; even after
veritably mortal death..

Terrorism tyrannically dictates,
Love is an uninhibitedly cascading stream; which
pacifies one and all?

Terrorism devastates civilizations,
Love is a mystically gorgeous shadow; casting the
unbreakable spell of humanity for centuries
immemorial?

Terrorism perpetuates agonizing hatred,
Love is an Omnipotent ointment; which heals the most
savagely brutal of wounds?.

Terrorism evokes ghastly memories,
Love is a fountain; which fulminates every unleashing
second into a river of insatiable ecstasy?

Terrorism diabolically poisons,
Love is the highest peak of unparalleled joy;
overshadowing all wealth and commodity on this
gigantic planet?.

Terrorism maliciously mutilates,
Love is an invincible march towards victory; the most
cherished achievement for an organism in its life?

Terrorism gruesomely cripples beyond hope,
Love is an unconquerably formidable armor; which
harbors all religion; tribe; and mankind in its ardent
womb?

Terrorism propagates gory bloodshed,
Love is a fathomless ocean of nostalgic belonging;
which perpetually makes you feel; as if you were just
born?

Terrorism beheads innocent,
Love is a poignantly bonding wave; which melts the
most invidiously sinister; in its heavenly swirl?

Terrorism uncouthly lambastes at every step,
Love is an everlasting dream of peace; which lingers
till times beyond absolute eternity?

Terrorism disastrously explodes into viciousness,
Love is a brilliantly optimistic ray; which touches
the heart of the rich and miserably deprived; alike?

Terrorism deliberately dismantles,
Love is an intransigently undefeated arrow;
ubiquitously spreading the message of celestial
brotherhood; in every iota of this boundless globe?

Terrorism heinously corrupts,
Love is a sacred apostle of bountiful relationships;
always ensuring you got the very blessed and
harmonious in life?

Terrorism stinks in dungeons of hell,
Love is a tantalizing dewdrop which enchants you
beyond the boundaries of paradise; making you feel the
most richest entity alive?

Terrorism horrendously incinerates,
Love is a torrential downpour of celestial fantasy;
which makes the most pathetically dwindling organism;
entirely oblivious to pain?

Terrorism blasts through existence,
Love is a benevolent culmination of the divine; rising
amicably and unscathed from the ashes; even centuries
after losing breath?

Terrorism horrifically stagnates,
Love is a flirtatiously philandering wind through the
hills; the perfectly symbiotic rudiments of all
existing on this earth?

Terrorism remorsefully regrets,
Love is a mesmerizing voice which proliferates more
stronger as the moments unfurl; blowing away all devil
in a single breath?

Terrorism disrupts resplendent sleep,
Love is a caress which triggers waves of compassionate
electricity; profoundly enlightening the hearts of all
those; impeccably deprived?

Terrorism vandalizes beyond the point of sagacious
control,
Love heals all tottering towards extinction;
irrespective of whether they are poor of unsurpassably
rich?

Terrorism shatters the slimmest hope to live,
Love lends its philanthropic shoulders to the weak and
infirm; making them blossom into cheerful beams of
sheer ebullience?

Terrorism sucks blood tirelessly,
Love spawns countless new lives every instant;
naturally continuing God?s more revered chapter of
existence?

Terrorism incessantly plunders and blunders,
Love is a web of melodiously sweet honey; which
nourishes every organism; right from its birth to the
final stage of its inevitable death?

Terrorism irrevocably numbs,
Love is a fireball of unending titillation towering
towards the sky; rejuvenating life with lost charm and
spice?

Terrorism voices its opinions through bullets,
Love is the most successful mission of a persons life;
making him live an infinite heavens; in pragmatically
present life?

Terrorism pulverizes immaculate to raw chowder,
Love is a boat which glides like a prince through the
most tumultuous of storm; transporting its passengers
to the land of beauty and paradise?

Terrorism separates kin from kin,
Love imparts the astronomical tenacity to be live
without the tiniest of breath; yet feel the strongest
entity alive?

Terrorism indefatigably kicks like a dinosaur,
Love besieges each contour of your lips with a
timeless smile; an ardor to live higher than the
clouds; at every stage of life?

Terrorism stumbles even before it alights,
Love is a grandiloquent fortress piercing the souls of
all tangible kind; quelling each desire with its
magical touch?

Terrorism sleazily petrifies,
Love is a bond which grows more firmer as each second
elapses; unshakable against any attack; in this
gigantic world?

Terrorism acrimoniously stings,
Love is a perennially silken feather which puts you to
an eternal slumber; replenishing back an ocean of
enthrallment into your dreary eyes?

Terrorism condemns all rhyme and religion,
Love is a fantastic identity of its own; embracing all
living with the ever pervading spirit of mankind?

Terrorism converts each day into an infinite thorns,
Love is the most fulfilling wish that you could ever
desire; a flame of intimate yearning; escalating
higher than the skies?

Terrorism kicks you out; from each heart on this soil,
Love is a treasury that augments as you use it;
stirring the innermost chords of your conscience; for
the betterment of humanity?

Terrorism rains hell,
Love is a fairy cuddling your senses into a land of
magnanimous serenity; enriching all your purpose in
destined life?

Terrorism scraps all self-esteem,
Love is a flamboyant patriot; showering an
unfathomable number of lives; for its counterparts in
sorrow?

Terrorism is filthy manipulation,
Love is the greatest poet on the trajectory of this
earth; captivating the most wickedly alien; in the
swirl of its marvelous entrenchment?

Terrorism deteriorates all values,
Love is the pinnacle of irrefutable prosperity;
uplifting your impoverished visage to the Creator;
every time you tread you step on bare soil?

Terrorism rots the entire township,
Love is the air you breathe; the goodness which you
feel; the feeling of benign devotion that profusely
encapsulates each cranny of your robust countenance?

Terrorism monstrously violates,
Love is a stupendously exotic wine; which makes you
perceive only ravishing beauty; till the time you
survive?

Terrorism misleads at every step,
Love is an Omnipresent messiah straight from God?s
land; vanquishing each hurdle that dared come your
way?

Terrorism devilishly imprisons,
Love is a bird soaring handsomely in the clouds of
freedom; hoisting all chained that came its way; on
its exuberantly flapping wings?

Terrorism cold bloodedly snatches,
Love is a majestic art with royal shine; illuminating
the most derogatory darkness; with its impregnable
beams of hope yielding light?

Terrorism discordantly abuses,
Love is a charismatic magnet; attracting the most
murderously rash in the untamed inferno of its
passionate beats?

And Terrorism ultimately dies,
While love is the most wonderful gift of Almighty
Lord; a stringent adieu to each deplorable past; an
immortal beginning to every spell binding tomorrow?

©COPYRIGHT 2002, BY NIKHIL PAREKH

New Poems - 

E
by Jeremy Smyers

shocking as an old girlfriends 
house key 
found on a key ring 
that was supposed to remain a mystery. 
I became blind sided by a single dimension. 
I was left in a puddle, 
just for a change. 
It turned out to be 
two stoned birds that were killed, 
instead of the other way.

Private Hell
by Star
  
It's a private hell 
you'll never understand. 
It's a self inflicted 
gas chamber devoid of light 
distilled in emptiness 
embittered by angst and pain. 

It's a slaughtered soul 
that breathes carbon monoxide 
and emits darkness. 
Anxiety is our lot. 

No one can save us 
from this self inflicted 
nightmarish hell 
on earth. 

The toilet is our only friend 
the misery will never end. 
Slowly we lose our soul 
and descend. 

You'll never understand 
this empty bitter 
lonely self-loathing. 
You'll never understand 
your naked soul 
roving this earth 

with an appetite 
the size of Goliath. 

You'll never understand 
the madness 
and secret sadness 
the weeping willow tear drop 
I can't stop 
the binge cycle. 

You'll never know. 
You'll never feel. 

I always hide and conceal 
when I can't cope 
don't know how to deal. 

You can't feel my pain. 
You only want to rob me 
of my only control. 

I am a loser f*ck up 
out of control. 

You don't understand 
these knuckle scarred hands. 

You don't  understand 
anything under the constellations 
of the sunset 
when my only freedom 
is this redundancy, 
when my only freedom 
is this anxiety filled urgency, 
when my only freedom 
is vomiting 
until I stop 
and drop 
into lyrical hip hop. 

You can't take this musical melody 
of vomiting 
from me. 
You can't have my only 
CONTROL. 

I'm so sorry 
I used your bathroom, 
I'll bleach it tomorrow. 
I'm so sorry 
I binged on your food, 
I'll buy you some new things 
tomorrow. 

I'm so sorry 
that I can't stop 
for you or for family 
or for the sun 
the stars 
the moon 
or God in heaven above. 

I'm so sorry 
that I have no 
self love.

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Leslie's Corner-April 2003

Hello All--

This month is National Poetry Month and what a great time it is to use this form of creative expression to heal your soul! I wasn't really sure what to do for this year's National Poetry Month--last year we did the Great Famous Poets--and I didn't want to be redundant. So we decided to mix it up a bit, have a little fun, and made it our mission to find the best kid's poems out there! Please check out our Special Feature and make April the month you delve into poetry! Take in a reading, or check out a new book, but somehow, someway, you have to experience this! 

Here are a few great sites to check out what's going on in poetry this month: 

• April is National Poetry Month...and better late than never. Here's a list of poetry-related activities. Many could easily be adapted to short stories and other works.

• The Academy of American Poets began National Poetry Month in 1996 & it is a clearinghouse for information on related activities every April.

• Encourage everyone to celebrate poetry this month! Read it, enjoy it, and write it! Join HarperCollins Children's books in their Poetry Month festivities.
   

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Special Feature: National Poetry Month-April 2003

Untitled
by Unknown

Today my name is colorful.
Yesterday my name was dead souls.
Tomorrow my name will be lively spirits.
My friends think my name is fire.
The police think my name is burden.
My parents think my name is symphony.
Secretly I know my name is anything I want it to be.


Melinda Mae
by Shel Silverstein

Have you heard of tiny Melinda Mae,
Who ate a monstrous whale?
She thought she could,
She said she would,
So she started in right at the tail.

And everyone said,"You're much too small,"
But that didn't bother Melinda at all,
She took little bites and she shewed very slow,
Just like a little girl should...

...and eighty-nine years later she ate that whale
Because she said she would!!!

Monsters Don't Live Under the Bed
by Richard C. Johns

I have a friend, who’s a friend of a friend
Who swears there are monsters under our beds.

I told him I looked, and I didn’t see none.
he said in the day time your not going to see one.

But if you were to look, after midnight
I’d watch my head, cause he might take a bite.

I told him I looked after twelve o’clock
and a monster I tell you there certainly was not.

Then I asked him, if he’d ever seen one.
he said I didn’t look, you think I am dumb

I said no really, you say that there is
But if you never saw one, how do you know that there is?

He claimed that he never, saw one again
but he had a friend, who’s a friend of a friend.


I wonder why Dad is so thoroughly mad
by Jack Prelutsky

I wonder why Dad is so thoroughly mad,
I can't understand it at all,
unless it's the bee still afloat in his tea,
or his underwear, pinned to the wall.
Perhaps it's the dye on his favorite tie,
or the mousetrap that snapped in his shoe,
or the pipefull of gum that he found with his thumb,
or the toilet, sealed tightly with glue.

It can't be the bread crumbled up in his bed,
or the slugs someone left in the hall,
I wonder why Dad is so thoroughly mad,
I can't understand it at all.

Beautiful Soup
by Lewis Carroll

Beau--ootiful Soo-oop!
Beau--ootiful Soo-oop!
Soo--oop of the e--e--evening,
Beautiful, beautiful Soup!

Beautiful Soup! Who cares for fish,
Game, or any other dish?
Who would not give all else for two
Pennyworth only of Beautiful Soup?
Pennyworth only of beautiful Soup?

Beau--ootiful Soo-oop!
Beau--ootiful Soo-oop!
Soo--oop of the e--e--evening,
Beautiful, beauti--FUL SOUP!

 

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Poem of the Month-April 2003 

Andra is a regular member of Payson Road and has contributed much to the Poetry Wall as well as the Online Group and the Post-it section.  Thank you so much for this wonderful poem!  Keep on creating!

Treatment
by Andra

The freak that has become me,
the me that is diseased,
has been thrown out to the gutter
exposed for all to see.

With nothing left to protect me
there is nothing left to tame,
silent witness--a life is shattered
salvage the pieces, and apply the glue,
why does nothing fit quite the same?

Another go at life with a cracked shell
carefully patch the seams
the scissors of life slice my hard work apart
and emotional poverty encompasses me.

Was it to due to some misguided direction
or is this all a very bad dream?
what is the reason this freak has become me,
a me that is diseased...


 

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New Poetry-April 2003

Untitled
By Andra

I watch as the water spins round and round
witnessing the miracle of pain being taken away and flushed down.
The temporary discomfort magically disappeared
as the shiny smooth porcelain doll takes away each and every fear.
Never once did I hate it,
never once did I feel it was wrong,
until the day came when I glanced in the mirror
and sadly discovered my soul was gone.
After that realization
it never was the same,
because with that discovery came sadness and a great deal of shame.
With time I have learned to hate it
and pray it would go away
but with time it managed to take over
and I was the only one to blame.
I had learned not to fight it,
to sit back and surrender control
and this is how it took over and managed to steal my soul.
Now I am reclaiming it,
I am taking back what is rightfully mine.
I am through being a pushover,
I've had enough, I am tired, now it is time.


subjective
by Jeremy Smyers

quitely searching the rooms
of mars
that stop the world from turning.
screaming into old tv screens
sure makes the day pass.
being held to my words
is like being nailed to the (A)
cross, right?
accountability is what makes the world go
'round and I'm getting dizzy.
Cold tonight.
Writing this poem is like dancing with no shoes
on, but I do it anyway.
Stomach jitters and hearts in my throat.
Over the hill in a car thats too fast.
Im glad Im the lost one, or seem to be.


remorse
by Jeremy Smyers

not much left, lately,
from the right side.
trying. all too hard
to be Right.
go east
maybe, or not,
I went too far...
so far,
that I started going west
Regrets make me step
off the Earth.
A slow downward spiral;
falling leaf, maybe.
Blurred by 80 proof
and endless cheap nights.
Momentarily broken up
by a devil bitch mouth,
that reaks of dollar packs
of cigaretts
instead of Love,
that speaks flat thoughts;
stupid ideas...
so, so, so far
from where I use to be.
Nothing left to look forward to.
Except, maybe, at the most,
this poem
 

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Leslie's Corner-March 2003 

We decided to feature political poetry for this month's poet of the month. Make sure you take some time to check them out! 

Where oh where are all of our Payson Road Poets?? Our new poems section only has two poems this month, although they are very good, thank you Andra K! But please folks, lets get writing. It does work. It is a great outlet for our creative expression. I say this for myself as well, because you may notice there isn't a section for my poetry this month. I can completely relate--it is tough to fit the writing in sometimes, but let's try! 

Have a great month, and send in your poetry! 

Peace and Love,

Leslie Freeman
Director, Poetry Wall 

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Poet of the Month-March 2003

With all that is going on in the world right now, we decided to search for some poetry on war and peace. Whether you have been leading the peace marches, or are a staunch Bush supporter, everyone has an opinion on the impending war. I found these great poems about wars past, and thought you might all enjoy them!


Collected Poems On War And Peace
by William Marr

Inspection

The cloudy sky, turned away
by the sunglasses on the reviewing stand
falls heavily on our faces

The final war has ended
so we now march toward the first

(1971)

Television

The world
is easily
switched off

yet not quite

A spark of hatred
from the dimming screen
suddenly burst into flames
soon spreading
over Vietnam
over the Middle East
over every feverish face

(1972)

Message of Spring

Someone is peddling peace on the streets
in an unseasonal spring

The last flock of bombers have sown their seeds
and gone
now it's time for frozen hopes
to sprout

(1973)

Still Life

the bird and the gun
stare
at each other

who will be the first
to
blink

(1973)

Heaven and Earth

In order to shoot
an invading bird
they define an air space
with searchlights

In order to shoot
a fleeing compatriot
they erect a paradise on earth
with tall walls

(1976)

On the Treacherous Night Sea

a broken refugee boat appears
like a ghost
on the tired sleepless eyelids
jolting and rolling
toward the ever-narrowing harbor
of humanity
toward the shore
where the lights die out
one after another

(1979)

War Arithmetic

Both sides claim
numerous enemies have been killed
Both sides declare
we've suffered no losses

Nobody understands
the arithmetic of war
Only the fallen
know the number

(1982)

Hawkers

constantly hawking fighter-bombers and tanks
to the open-mouthed crowd crying out for bread

in the fields tilled with caterpillar treads
bombs are the only fast-growing crops

soon after the bloom
the reaping

(1984)

Vietnam War Memorial

A block of marble
and twenty six letters of the alphabet
present so many young names
to history

Wandering alone
an old woman has at last found her only child
amid the mass grave
and with her eyes tightly shut
she feels for the mortal wound
with her trembling fingers
on his ice-cold forehead

(1985)

Superbowl

sunday afternoon without any ball game
most of the faces in this country
will be as dark as the TV screens

so the smart producers pull out
bombers missiles tanks and cannons
to light up every screen
splendid as the night sky
on the fourth of July

satellite broadcasts
electronic games of war
war of electronic games
Superbowl
played in the desert
of the Middle East

(1991)

Can't We All Get Along?

No, we can't. If we continue
to be blinded by colors,
loving only our own
pale skins.

No, we can't. If our eardrums
are still muffled by biases,
echoing only distorted, hollow sounds.

No, we can't. If our faces
remain unpredictable as the weather ---
one minute there's laughter blooming among friends,
the next minute a wintry stare freezes up
a stranger's smile.

No, we can't. If we keep breeding hatred
in our narrow minds.
Showing fangs and flourishing claws,
the wild beasts are ever ready to pounce.

(1992)

911

we really didn't care much
the collapse of the Twin Towers
nor the Pentagon turning into a Tetragon
but when thousands of innocent lives
were agonizing in the flames
we frantically tried to dial for help
from Allah or whichever God

yet somehow we hesitated

there might not be anyone
on the other end

(2001)

Bridge

clasped together
intimate and tight

we really don't know
nor care
who was the first
to extend
his hand

(2002)

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Poem of the Month-March 2003

Professional poet, Ellen Bass who was featured as Poet of the Month for January, has contributed this poignant poem that fits the current tides.

Pray to whoever you kneel down to:
Jesus nailed to his wooden or marble or plastic cross,
his suffering face bent to kiss you,
Buddha still under the Bo tree in scorching heat,
Yahweh, Allah, raise your arms to Mary
that she may lay her palm on our brows,
to Shekinhah, Queen of Heaven and Earth,
to Inanna in her stripped descent.

Hawk or Wolf, or the Great Whale, Record Keeper
of time before, time now, time ahead, pray. Bow down
to terriers and shepherds and siamese cats.
Fields of artichokes and elegant strawberries.

Pray to the bus driver who takes you to work,
pray on the bus, pray for everyone riding that bus
and for everyone riding buses all over the world.
If you haven't been on a bus in a long time,
climb the few steps, drop some silver, and pray.

Waiting in line for the movies, for the ATM,
for your latté and croissant, offer your plea.
Make your eating and drinking a supplication.
Make your slicing of carrots a holy act,
each translucent layer of the onion, a deeper prayer.

Make the brushing of your hair
a prayer, every strand its own voice,
singing in the choir on your head.
As you wash your face, the water slipping
through your fingers, a prayer: Water,
softest thing on earth, gentleness
that wears away rock.

Making love, of course, is already a prayer.
Skin and open mouths worshipping that skin,
the fragile case we are poured into,
each caress a season of peace.

If you're hungry, pray. If you're tired.
Pray to Gandhi and Dorothy Day.
Shakespeare. Sappho. Sojourner Truth.
Pray to the angels and the ghost of your grandfather.

When you walk to your car, to the mailbox,
to the video store, let each step
be a prayer that we all keep our legs,
that we do not blow off anyone else's legs.
Or crush their skulls.
And if you are riding on a bicycle
or a skateboard, in a wheel chair, each revolution
of the wheels a prayer that as the earth revolves
we will do less harm, less harm, less harm.

And as you work, typing with a new manicure,
a tiny palm tree painted on one pearlescent nail
or delivering soda or drawing good blood
into rubber-capped vials, writing on a blackboard
with yellow chalk, twirling pizzas, pray for peace.

With each breath in, take in the faith of those
who have believed when belief seemed foolish,
who persevered. With each breath out, cherish.

Pull weeds for peace, turn over in your sleep for peace,
feed the birds for peace, each shiny seed
that spills onto the earth, another second of peace.
Wash your dishes, call your mother, drink wine.

Shovel leaves or snow or trash from your sidewalk.
Make a path. Fold a photo of a dead child
around your VISA card. Gnaw your crust
of prayer, scoop your prayer water from the gutter.
Mumble along like a crazy person, stumbling
your prayer through the streets.
 

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New Poetry-March 2003

Broken wings
By Andra


Huddled in her corner
sits a broken little girl.
Hoping for someone to see to see her,
and take away her pain.

Her dirty clothes have been torn,
no shoes remain on her feet.
A soulless body imprisons her,
emptiness has become her reality.

Her void look is all she can share
with her dark, crazy world.
The blind stare of this child reveals nothing,
she is a write off, a bourdon, and a lonely little girl.

What has damaged her so terribly?
Why is there no one who seems to care?
The truth is she is invisible,
she is not really there.

This child lives within me,
and is constantly ignored.
This is why her spirit is broken,
she is waiting to mend her wings so she can soar.

Some days she is allowed alluring glimpses,
of the moment she will be set free.
But today is not a good day,
because the four walls of this cage are all she can see.

Untitled
By Andra

To fight it used to be impossible
It knew how to make me obey
A tremendous strength inhabiting my entire being
Convincing me these behaviours were okay
Resist the temptation
Ensure I stand my ground
If I work really hard I can make it
Why is the voice so very loud?
This beast would like nothing more
than for me to run directly to the fridge
But tonight I am the strong one
Tonight I am the one who will win
 

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Leslie's Corner - February 2003 

Thank you to all of those who submitted poetry this month.  We truly appreciate your undying support of the poetry wall.  I would like to encourage all of those who have not yet submitted to the wall to give it a try.  We are always looking for new poetry and I find it very cleansing to sit down and write poetry. 

This month having the all important Valentine's Day holiday, we decided to feature Shakespeare's Sonnets in the poet of the month section.  Make sure to check them out. 

Have a great month, and let's get writing! 

Peace and Love,

Leslie Freeman, Director, Poetry Wall 

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Leslie Poetry - February 2003

People consume
and bruise
and crack
me

run away
after dark
I stagger
I will blossom
Someday

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Poet of the Month - February 2003

Being that it is February, and Valentine's Day is looming, we at the poetry wall thought it would be appropriate that our Poet of the Month be none other than the great William Shakespeare.  After all, who's more of a romantic that Old Will?! Please enjoy our selections of his poetry that have captivated audiences for centuries.

Peace and Love,

Leslie, Poetry Wall Director

XVIII

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

XIX

Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws,
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,
And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood;
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet'st,
And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
To the wide world and all her fading sweets;
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:
O! carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;
Him in thy course untainted do allow
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.
Yet, do thy worst old Time: despite thy wrong,
My love shall in my verse ever live young.
 

XX

A woman's face with nature's own hand painted,
Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion:
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue all hues in his controlling,
Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure,
Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.

 

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Poem of the Month - February 2003

Our Poem of the Month is written by Andra.  She has been a part of the Payson Road community for awhile now, but this is her first poetry submission.  Thank you for taking the chance and sending in the poem.  It are these creative expressions that are the pathway to our recovery. 

Peace and Love, 

Leslie, Poetry Wall Director

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Tribute Song for Jaybird

I recently lost one of my dearest friends, Jay Spence.  He was killed in a car accident this past January.  He was only 33 years old.  In trying to make sense of Jay's death, well, I'll never make sense of it, but I do the only thing I know how to do to comfort myself, write.  

I wrote a piece for Jay on GigsnStuff as a tribute and featured his photography studio, Spence Photography in our new Arts and Things section on GigsnStuff.   I feel like I can't do enough or I can't write enough.  It seems to be the only way I can cope. 

I wanted to share this song that Jay loved.  It was sung beautifully at his memorial by Laura, a friend and employee for Spence Studios.  It is so perfect for Jay.  It makes me cry hard to listen to but also makes me feel peaceful knowing jaybird is flying off into the mystic spreading love over everyone.  The song is by Van Morrison, who, in my opinion, is a poet himself. 

So here it is.  This is for you Jaybird.  Love you always, Sarah


Into the Mystic
Lyrics by Van Morrison

We were born before the wind
Also younger than the sun
Ere the bonnie boat was won as we sailed into the mystic
Hark, now hear the sailors cry
Smell the sea and feel the sky
Let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic

And when that fog horn blows I will be coming home
And when that fog horn blows I want to hear it
I don't have to fear it
I want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
Then magnificently we will float into the mystic

And when that fog horn blows you know I will be coming home
And when that fog horn whistle blows I got to hear it 
I don't have to fear it
I want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
And together we will float into the mystic
Come on girl....


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New Poetry - February 2003 

Untitled
by Amanda Musil

Sinful, Sensual to the sight
Solid and smooth on your finger tips
mouthwatering beyond your wildest dreams
tantalizing your tongue
unable to say no
Listening to the sound munch munch-crunch crunch
The ultimate experience a chocolate chip cookie
 

Untitled
by Lynn

Cheers to my monster lurking within
He sits and waits until he can gain control.
Until the mystery of my life begins to unfold.

Some days feel so easy.
Almost anything will please me.

These are the kind I can plan,
and keep control of his demands.

But on others he's lurking, awaiting attack.
If I could just run, I would keep things on track.

He waits till I am tired, stressed or weak.
He waits to escape and acts like a freak.

This monster, he'll use just about any excuse.
Then he creeps up again and starts his abuse.

At first it hurts outside, then deeper it lingers.
He gets up inside me, then uses my fingers.

It all becomes a blur, and then I open my eyes.
By then its too late, and I stare at my thighs.

I begin to imagine I won't fit my clothes.
No one will love me, because I'll keep being the failure who knows.

I let him beat me, yet again I lose my head.
When will I kill this monster, so I can just get to bed?

Untitled
by Mindy Lippel

Perpetual intellectualism sits askance 
on the tightrope of time. 
Merlot chardonnay chablis 
I fool my own transparency. 
Guilt and silt and filth. 
I care nothing for my body, 
is a sacrilege 
and I deconstruct my temple, 
is a vessel, 
a cup that I sip out of 
When I desecrate my hand-held fate, 
is an intricate line 
that presupposes I'm fine 
When I'm inexorably hell-bent on learning, 
to be anorexic and blind. 
I'm confined to these spaces 
and the moment she erases 
I feel empty and free, 
sugar dissipates from my bloodstream, 
potassium yearns to enter I restrict, 
until I feel on the brink 
of binge madness 
and elated sadness 
and ambition,
is two shots of vodka away. 
Grey Goose enters my bloodstream 
and I dream of mint julips in the summer 
and of more friends 
and of synagogue thunder 
when God joins us in festivity 
while we repent 
for oceans of decadence, 
when we try to transcend but we can't extend 
our souls that far we only allow our hands to penetrate 
gastrointestinal digestive tract hearts 
that have been ripped apart by bile 
we smile but it's a lie, 
while we sing together in church 
scandalous butterflies. 
She sits and sighs 
on the front porch of yearning. 
Passion is immediate and burning. 
Stomach is churning for something, 
anything to breathe in. 
Freedom is a song he wrote 
a sanctification of mind's 
of elation and contemplation. 
Aggravation brings us to the brink of insanity, 
is a rehearsal 
in the dark of post-partum binges 
and thrombolytic medication 
makes a heart attack less imminent. 
We attack our own hearts. 
Clogged arteries don't start. 
The inevitable destruction 
that angioplasty has to repair, 
we wear our hearts on our sleeves 
and breathe in ephemeral portraits 
of Diego Rivera and Pablo Picasso 
crying rivers of incessant tears that won't stop. 
Just one more drop 
just one more drop 
just one more drop 
I can't stop. 
One more drop....
 

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Leslie's Corner-January 2003

Happy New Year!  I can't believe we are in 2003 already.  This is the year I used to dream about as a child.  You know the drill, "When it is 2003, I will be X years old, and that is so far that all my dreams will have come true by then"  I will spare you the details of exactly what those dreams were, because my point here is this, "Time flies, whether you are having fun or not!" This will be my year of fun. 

Our poetry wall is a little barren this month.  I only received a few new poems, which is why you will not see a poet of the month this month. I hope it was just the flurry of the season that kept you all from turning those poems in--but let's get writing.  One of the changes you will see here is that we will no longer be doing themes for the poetry wall, and here is why:

When I first found this purple page, I was amazed at the poetry that be felled these pages.  Many of them were about eating disorders, and I guess I just felt like I had finally found a place where people understood me. 

After becoming director of the Wall, we introduced themes, as a way of helping people write, not just about their EDs, because the PR philosophy is one where we don't define ourselves by our ED.  And I still believe that.  But in some reflection, I realize that at least initially, when we reach out for help, we are looking for something to relate to and I would like to bring that back to the Wall.  It helped me immensely, and I would hate for someone to skip over the Wall, because they aren't ready to write poetry that is only about a certain theme. 

Our goal here is healing through creative expression.  So please start writing, about whatever it is  you want to write about, and send those poems in! 

Peace and Love,

Leslie Freeman
Director, Poetry Wall

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Poet of the Month - January 2003

Ellen Bass is an alumna of my alma mater, Boston University, author and award winning poet.  Renowned poet Dorianne Laux says in her introduction to Ellen's latest book, Mules of Love "Ellen Bass sees into the life of things with a quiet power, creating a poetry that goes straight to the heart. Bass is a poet of the elemental, always struggling to manage the science and biology of life with the mysteries of religion, philosophy and consciousness." (read more)

I was excited to discover Ellen and her poetry and even more thrilled to share it with you all.  She will be touring the West on book tour reading from Mules of Love and doing poetry workshops.  Check out the list of events below.  Please click on the below link to read Ellen's poems. 

Poems from Mules of Love

Reading and Workshop Schedule: 

Poet Ellen Bass Mules of Love  

Eugene, OR
February 3, 7 PM
Poetry Reading
The Knight Library Browsing Room
University of Oregon
Eugene, OR
541-346-4331

Portland, OR
February 4, 7 PM
Poetry Reading
Broadway Books
1714 NE Broadway
Portland, OR
503-284-1726

Seattle, WA
February 5, 7:30 PM
Poetry Reading (with Madeline de Frees)
Open Books: A Poem Emporium
2414 N. 45th Street
Seattle, WA 98103
206-633-0811

San Diego, CA
February 19, 7 PM
Poetry Reading and Music (with CiCi Porter)
Dizzy's
344 Seventh Ave. between J & K
San Diego, CA
http://DizzysSanDiego.com
760-433-6536.

February 20, 7 PM
Poetry Reading
Living Writers Series
Malcolm Love Library Room 2203
San Diego State University
San Diego, CA
vfeatherstone @palomar.edu
619-594-5443

Santa Monica, CA
February 21, 8 PM
Poetry Reading
(with Brenda Hillman)
The Poem.X--Barnes & Noble
1201 Third St. Promenade
Santa Monica, CA
310-260-9110

Los Angeles, CA
February 22, 9-5 PM
Poetry Workshop
sponsored by The Valley Contemporary Poets
West Hollywood, CA
for location and further information
email swinesong@adelphia.net
or call 310-560 8834

Studio City, CA 
February 22, 7 PM
Poetry Reading at Portrait of a Bookstore
4360 Tujunga
Studio City, CA
818-769-3853

Ellen Bass 
ellen @ellenbass.com
www.ellenbass.com

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Poem of the Month-January 2003

This month's Poem of the Month is written by Sarah Mason. If you have checked out this site at all, she obviously needs no introduction, but I am always very excited when she ventures into the Poetry Wall.  A writer at heart, her poetry (like all else that she writes) always depicts her truth!  Thanks for the contribution Sarah, it is much appreciated.

Peace and Love,

Leslie Freeman
Director, Poetry Wall

The Swing
by Sarah Mason

Child of thunder
Child of fate
Memory forgives 
Temptation breaks
Swing high in your truth

Collective dreams 
caught by fancy
running upward 
in streams of faith
Toward Temple's pageant
Where life creates

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New Poetry-January 2003

Untitled
by Jeremy Smyers

death walking in my room
peeling paint and
falling saint
whiskey glass blues
dusty books
are tombstones that bear
no names
no dates
whiskey bottle corpses
of days and hours and minutes
are standing at attention
looking at me
light refraction
destorting my face
like my mind does your memory
slightly skewed
but still weighing heavy
on my side
tick tock death
breathing it's steamy
breath down the nape of my neck
second hand is stronger than the sword
I watch you wind
around and realize
you're a testament
to loss and love and hate and despair
and you see that I love you
and you see that my half bottle love
is more than you need
half to love you
half to need you
half bottle blues to the end
the sword is nothing now
not with love
and you are my all

and it's over

4:19 am
by Jeremy Smyers

the monsters are still under my bed.
if the closet door is cracked,
I know that they will
watch me
until I can finally
doze off.
cold whips of air
stir in my room
at night.
feet that aren't there still
crunch carpet,
and it reminds me that
I'll never be alone.
whiskey tends to help a little.
listening to the neighbors argue
and then "make up"
always seems to keep my mind
off of it,
and when money is here
the bar works it's magic.

sadness hangs off of my body
so that I look like a leper.
pieces of my life
falling like a leaf to the ground.
dreams gone
in a flash.
every morning I'm shocked
I'm still alive

I'll stop typing now.
you won this one.
I have to resort back to
the whiskey,
but I'll be back
stronger than ever...

tomorrow...
 

Addict
by Michelle Thompson

He smoked crack on Friday
Rolled X on Saturday
Got stoned on Sunday
Took a weeks worth of Valium on Monday
Tuesday he passed out on the living room floor
Wednesday it started all over again
Thursday he was in a panic to find more
He’s just having a little fun
Why can’t I just let him live
Because in order to let him "live" I’m going to have to let him die.
Let go of this man that has so much yet to give.
He doesn’t see whom he’s hurting
He runs away while standing still
To the person he becomes when he’s high
The person he becomes with just a couple pills
Enough to make him sleep
Just when I think it’s over,
It’s like an instant repeat.
How much longer can I hang on,
When years ago was when he let go.
If only he could see,
The man I’ve come to love and know.
I know what it’s like to feel the rush inside your veins.
30 minute solutions
Only he’s playing life’s toughest game
This one he’s destined to lose
Life or death
The choice is not his anymore, addiction will now choose.
He better hold on tight
It’s a long way back
He’s not getting there tonight
The road is long and steep
I’m not sure if he can stand
So he’ll run to his best friend
Addiction once again, lending out his hand.
He cries to me when he’s coming down
And rambles to me when he’s high
"Just one more time I promise this is the end."
Filling my heart with yet another lie.
I watch him through the night,
Make sure his heart beat stays steady.
My ear is placed firmly against his chest
"Dear God please don’t take him tonight he’s not ready."
But he doesn’t see any of it
Not one damn time
Have I ever heard thanks,
Thanks for making sure he didn’t die
Only, "I don’t want to be bothered,
I just want to have my high."
Now I will step back
And watch as pieces of him fall away
Let my heart break once more
I can’t save him today.
I am only one person
Though many nights I carry the weight of two
He’s drowning in the deep end
I can’t reach to pull him out, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
My love does not matter to him
It’s all about the high
I wish I could hold him
And let him look through my eyes,
Maybe then he could see
He’s not the only one who can no longer deal
Every time he wants to run away
I know exactly how he feels.

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