Poetry from BBS's

A few poems I've found and borrowed

Thorn Bird

I was walking on the hot sand

near the green sticks and mesquite,

weeping with the child inside me:

battered face and bleeding feet;

when I heard the thorn bird calling,

singing in the desert air --

captured by a cactus long thorn --

bruised and bleeding -- dying there.

Her song pierced my fear and pain.

Through purple lips, I sing again.

---

sondra ball 10.94

Sondra has kindly given me permission to have the above poem here.

She has a beautiful web page with more of her poetry, and poems of others.

It is part of the native american web ring

Dreams

by Sondra Ball

Dreams fly,

whirl,

swirl,

climbing high

on love wings.

Dreams die,

tired,

hard,

falling fast

on hurt wings.

Where do we bury

dead dreams?

    she by kelly craft   9-24-94

she stays behind
and lacks of brawn
    yet brains she have indeed
for she controls the brawny ones
in many ways they need

'tis she who spends
the hours long
    preparing food for he
finished, full, he smokes, he reads
no company for she

and from the toil
he sweats about
    to soil his clothes for she
while he is resting in the shade
rest he must knows she

and now she have a holiday
    to bear a child for he
so he may have more help to work
and make more work for she

so she give he a family
and work she all life long
to make a home for he to stay
    the he with brain and brawn

Semantics

Maybe I'm naive
But it seems to me
that right and wrong
should be more than abstract terms

Maybe I'm archaic
But it seems to me
that truth and love
should be more than distinct words

Maybe I'm old fashioned
But it seems to me
that you and I
should have been more than here today
        and gone tomorrow


copyright (c) 1991  R. A. Ciccolella

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"DNA"

In coils of mortality there lies a twisted tale,
two ends to meet, a strand complete,
the blueprint of the grail.

In sought cohesion, amnesty, regardless of it's fate,
the ladder knows, in code it grows,
Entwined verbose template.

In cyclic meta synthesis, a teaming gang of one,
distinction gene, extinction scene,
and backwards is the pun.

COPYRIGHT(c) 1994  Joseph J. Harding III
                   August 5, 1994


        I step out on the pavement
        A chill runs down my spine
        Its quiet out here tonight
        You might call it a sign
        Pull my collar up
        Light my last cigarette
        Got a long long way to go
        Before i'm able to forget
        Street lights on the corner
        Leave an erie glow
        They tease me with their shadows
        As I cross them far below
        A car goes breezing by
        But i cannot lift my head
        The next one that goes by
        Just might leave me dead
        Up ahead I see a corner
         A figure stands alone
        I reach inside my jacket
         Hes talking on the phone
        To him i dont exist
        Just another passing soul
        But this time i'll not pass
        In him i'll leave a hole
        I walk up on the shadow
        As he finishes his call
        A fog is rolling up
        And in the mist he falls
        His pocket held the goods
        And now it starts to rain
        I reach into his jacket
        For the whiteness of cocaine
	
	TONY PARENTE  Nov. 1994





                       Falling Snow
                      by Robert McKay
                 (c) 1997 by Robert McKay
Have you heard the snow,
Ticking off dry branches?
Have you heard it quietly hiss
Down through the pines?
So private, so safe, so alone,
The sound of falling snow.
     11JAN97, 1548

Falling snow
by Sondra Ball
.
I hear the snow
ticking off dry branches.
I hear its soft breath
sliding through buttonwoods.
Alone, on a winter's night,
I listen to the snow.
  copyright 1997 sondra ball

        ....Falling
                Snow....

        I listen for the snow
        ticking at the window
        softly laying silence
        on a land too filled with pain
        Giving brief insulation
        on a quiet winter night
        Peace befriends me as
        I listen for the snow
         ....(c) ejl 2.97

Some old time cowboy poetry. I'm going to have more cowboy poetry here soon.


    He found a rope and picked it up, And with it walked away,
    It happened that to the other end, A horse was hitched, they say,
    They took the rope and tied it up, Unto a hickory limb,
    It happened that the other end, was somehow hitched to him.

    Inscribed over the remains of a horse thief, in a tiny cemetary
    Arizona,U.S.A.



    Written I'm sure ...........

              When men lived raw in the deserts maw,
              And hell was nothing to shun,
              When we buried 'em neat.
              Without preacher or sheet,
              Just writ on their forhead
              Cold but sweet,
              This jasper was slow with a gun.

              Anon  19th century





More coming soon

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