"The Traveler" Glendale Community College Literary Magazine, 1976

              ,.,,,,
Glendale Community College Creative Arts MaRazine
tke traveler
f,Jitor Jennifer.N J3i~Jwp
.$tal/ J:ar~ CeJar ,1)aviJ Palko
f,J f,verett, .$r. cAnnette Wetkerill
Carol Klein, OJe~~a U)illiam~
Clarke Krueger
cAJvi~or~ ConraJ .$. J3agleg Con~tance .$piegel
Volume 9
© The Traveler, G,c.c., 1976
spring 1976
6000 W, Olive
Glendale, Arizona 85302
Contributors
Cover :lJeJign
Helm, Glenn
Poetry
Applewhite, Karen . .. . ._._. . ..__ .. __ ... _._ .... . . 18
Barker, Wendy . . .. ._._. .__.... __ __ . . .__ .._.._.. __..__ 5
Bauer, David . . ._._. __ _. ._.. _. __ _.. _. . .___ 31, 33
Bean, Tom . . .__ .. _. . ._. . . _ _._. ..._....__ 8
Beardslee, Stephany . . . .. _. __ .__ . . . . ._. __ . 36
Buchanan, Bette . .__ . . .__ . 25
Byrne, Tom . . . . .... 6, 29
Coursey, Belton .__ . .__ . . ... .. __ . . .. . 36
De Pue, Dean A. ._._.. . .__ ._. . . . 47
Dumler, Suzanne . .. ._. 4, 8, 10, 14, 39, 43,46, 50
Dunn, Bertha D. .... ..._... . . . . .__ .... . ._ 35
Grant, W. T. _. . ._. . . ._ .. . . . . . 6
Hallows, Mary Ann Boughnou . . . . .__ . . . 11, 34
Hawkins, Randy . . . ._. __ . . 17
Hendershot, Robert .. . . ... . ._. 28, 37
Jenkins, Brook . ._.. 11, 40
King, Joanne . . . . . ._.._ 7, 29, 34, 42
Krueger, Clarke ._._. . ... . .__ . 16
Light-Orr, Chris . . . 41
Lively, David . .__ . .__ ... ._. __ . .. 20, 44
McKnight, Jan . . . . . 29, 31, 32, 36, 44, 51
O'Donnell, Debbie ... __ . . . . 6, 35, 42, 44, 51
Oels, P. . . . ._. .. __ . 28
Palko, David M. . ._. . .. . 49, 50
Palmgren, Pam .. . .... . .__ . . ._. .__ . ._._. 18
Ratti, Nancy 43
Rinaldo, Debbie 13, 19,23,33,37,45,49
Schwoerer, Barbara . . . .___ 28
Selk, Wanda .__ . ._. . 51
Selway, Joanne . . 4
Sexton, Steven . . .. __ . .. 28
Trammel, Glenda -----------------____________________________________________ 18, 35
Winningham, Kevin 21
Zudell, Sandra . . . . . .____________________________________ 20, 37
ProJe
Hawkins, Randy . .__ ._______________________________ 17, 48
Hearn, Shari . . 30-31
Kearns, James J. ._.. _.___________________________ 12-13
Lerch, Michael ... .. 22
Nesbitt, Larry . .. __ .. ... __ . . . .____ 39
2
Pkotography
Bonilla, Frank 23, 42, 50
Cedar, Lars 21
Janowicz, Bill __ _ 45
Mossman, E. J..__ _ __ _ 7, 16, 37
Walker, John W _ _ 38
Zuckerbrow, Joni _ _ _ _ 10, 32, 40
:lJrawingJ
A beyta, Vincent S. . _ _.._ _ _.......... 15, 26-27
Bishop, Brian _ _ _.._ 9
Cedar, Lars _._ __ .._ 41
Krueger, Clarke _ back cover
McKeon, Jim 20
Oels, P _ _ 47
Shields, Arthur __ 24
Poetry
first prize
second prize
third prize
proJe
first prize
second prize
third prize
photography
first prize
second prize
third prize
:lJrawingJ
first prize
second prize
third prize
Cover :lJeJign
Glenn Helm
Brook Jenkins 40
Joanne King 7
Jan McKnight 32
Randy Hawkins 48
Randy Hawkins _ 17
Shari Hearn 30-31
Joni Zuckerbrow ._...................................................................... 32
Joni Zuckerbrow 40
Frank Bonilla ,............. 50
Vincent S. Abeyta 26-27
Brian Bishop _ : 9
Clarke Krueger back cover
3
9reud to Patient
I thought love was
a laugh
a tickle
But it was actually released inhibitions with compounded paranoia.
I thought love was
a warmth that
spread
through my whole body,
down to my toes
But it was actually pseudo-complex fantasies with sexual overtones.
I thought love was
finding someone who
enjoyed Noel Coward
and
Randolph Scott movies
But it was actually the inner desire to regress including homosexual
tendencies.
Dear Dr. Freud
What is love?
Shut up, and hand me my security blanket.
Joanne Selway
vken and -Now
When I was small
I would gaze into the mirror
Wondering what I
Would look like when
I grew up.
Now I am older and
I wonder how I could
Ever have looked so young.
Suzanne Dumler
4
vlte 9irJt :lJropJ 01 J(ain
Scattered across the darkening sky,
clouds boil around the
embarrassed face of the setting sun.
Hot copper coin; sun, staining pink,
melting clouds.
Then, cooled by the line of a distant horizon
the clouds rest in twilight.
The clouds are calm in the faded light;
Drifting clouds, snow, ice color on a cold grey day.
Stars appear and
vanish
so slowly.
The clouds, so cruel
to cover up the stars like that;
greedy, to leave so few.
The wind comes
subtly
like thought unwanted when you try to sleep.
This wind, shy, wild, mischievous child
hiding at first, behind each leaf;
Quivering: so gently
sighing.
Then, demon god, screaming
laughing wind,
roaring, angry, laughing wind
and proud.
At last silence and darkness;
shadow, so very quiet,
so slow, so heavy; hard to listen, hard to breathe,
total oppression, divine tyrant, dictator.
While low on the edge of consciousness thunder
rolls across the land, distant, dying
only to be born again.
Solemn ridiculous drum roll.
Then, as if Heaven had collapsed
above, everywhere, splintered, broken
lightning, thunder, simultaneous, explosive.
Sound like the soul being ripped from the body,
only audible,
terrible.
And the first drops of rain.
Wendy Barker
5
Verminal Child
The lulled eyes of one,
that now meet the stolen face
of the one, Just Dead!
W. T. Grant
oI.Atatter 01 vime
A sea gull over
open water
lightly skims
the waves
Children unaware
of time
dance rhythmically
in the moonlight
A sea gull lies
smothered in oil
along a black
and sooty beach
Children running
from police
wait breatWessly
in the alley darkness
Debbie O'Donnell
6
c.J.O.lj.:b.JI. v.c.
I am cruising
Through reality
And from what I've seen
I don't believe
I'd care to stay
There are reasons,
I feel as I do,
But for all my fine words,
I don't think that I,
Can explain them to you.
When night comes,
I'll be on my way.
Like the vagabond wanderer,
I have,
Come to be.
In darkness,
Where I'll cast no shadow,
I will travel,
Until I find a place,
That's right for me.
Tom Byrne
Stagecoack Welt
The stagecoach West
is slowly being buried
along with all the "howdy partners"
and night watches on the north ridge
or the south forty.
It's submerged up to its axles
in campfire ashes and tumbleweeds
and promises of something better than
John Wayne
riding off into ·the sunset.
Harmonicas and git-boxes,
ohaw and branding irons,
are all a bit less eloquent
without "the boys" a-gathered 'round.
By chance one spies a wagon wheel ­severed
spokes and rotted wood
with grass grown tall around it -
and a simple glossy twinkling
of a saddened ancient's eyes
can take us back -
for a moment back to Cody's West ­then
back again to now:
to the nationwide attendance
......of a burial rite
Alissing 01 Connection
for Susan
1. 1 leaned on you
your pale fragile features
wide awake at the bus station
to meet me at 2: 00 a.m.
tired
unstuck in time
after leaving Vancouver
like a stray dog going sideways
crabbing in confusion for some
familiar scent or ground
2. you picked me up
and drove us to a small house
somewhere outside Des Moines, Washington
impossibly built by a small plane runway
3. we slept together
on the floor
blanket and sleeping bag
I was too tired to make love
or know if you wanted to
until the morning
you pulled me
awake
lost again
where was I?
this floor
you said "I couldn't sleep. . "
needeti love
4. you took me 1< your
own home
where I showered
then the airport
747
whipping time by
like clothes
tossed in a dryer
5. and only now
can 1 arrange the scenes
of last night
in some kind of
sequence
we passed by each other
Tom Bean
8
Edna
Your words are clear
Saran Wrap style
Clinging tightly
Binding to prevent
The escape of emoti0ns
Which are sealed
Inside.
Suzanne Dumler
9
--.
I
I
/
I
II
I /
I
J I
I,
----...
10
.JIeather Joni Zuckerbrow
animal crackers
upon the floor,
Foremost ice cream
smeared on the door.
small gray rocks
placed in a row,
broken flowers
which now can't grow.
little giggles and very big hugs
numerous toys thrown on the rug.
all these signs
seem to say:
Bonnie's kid
was here today.
Suzanne Dumler
got mad
when
i
told
him how
dumb
he
was acting
and
he
yelled
L
I
A
R
and
called
NO
FUDGIES!
Brook Jenkins
Journey !J.nto !lire
If I gaze into the fire,
I am amazed by its ability to clear my mind
Of unorganized thoughts. At first,
The brilliancy of its color and its overpowering warmth
Seem to push me away as if I were
A determined lover that it did not want.
But if I am steadfast and its resistance is low,
My mind, released from trivial concepts,
Is held within a realm of fascination
That engulfs my entire being.
Although the security of its affectionate chattering
Has captivated my vision, I am not restricted
To its insistent dancing or seductive antics.
My thoughts journey into unknown concepts;
A plan for the· future, or a newly conceived idea.
But when I am well into my journey,
An explosion of jealousy, imparted from my
Red-eyed lover, suddenly snaps my mind back to reality.
My feeling of disappointment is immediately
Compensated with a gentle caress and a
Soothing sensation of warmth. But before leaving,
I poke gently at the fire as if I were attempting
To calm a passion I could not control.
Mary Ann Boughnou Hallows
11
$ome ~ot Jt
by
James ]. Kearns
Have you ever been conned, I mean
conned by a real expert? My hand still
rested on the phone, too heavy to remove.
It was several seconds before I fully
realized what I had done. I had invited
Harry Branigan to the Braeside Country
Club.
Braeside was not your ordinary country
club. Membership was by invitation only
and the invitations were preceded by
recommendations of seveml club mem­bers
and lengthy investigation by various
committees. Those who were accepted
considered themselves among the elite;
others referred to the club as a nest of
snobs. And I had invited Harry as my
guest, or had I? I remember saying, Yes,
I was glad to hear from him after so long
a time. Yes, the advertising business was
doing well. Yes, I was playing golf tomor­row;
yes, there was room for one more.
As I mulled over the conversation it
seemed my contribution had simply been,
yes.
Harry and I had met in college where
for a short time he reigned as campus
hero. A slashing halfback, he seemed to
break school records at will. Sometime
during his senior year he left school to
play professional ball. Throughout the
years I met him occasionaly, the most
recent occasion being a couple of years
ago. At that time he informed me that
he was in on a real estate deal involving
severa! thousand llcres. He '.vas as brash
and exuberant as ever and I now felt
myself hoping he had changed.
At Braeside the clubhouse resembles
the interior of an elegant English pub.
Heavy oak tables, surrounded by deep­seated
captain's chairs, rest on plush
carpet. The conversation is muted and
golf is discussed as earnestly as stock
certificates. The ceiling is high-beamed
and the faint odor of expensive cigar
smoke pervades the air.
12
The stately grandfather clock in the
comer struck twice.
"This chap of yours was due here at
two." J. T. Bentley was not accustomed
to waiting for anyone. I felt inclined to
point out that he was not my "chap" but
one doesn't cross J. T. Bentley, retired
but still retaining chairmanship on the
boards of many national corporations.
"My word," this coming from Hugh
Chambers, executor of one of the largest
family fortunes in America. A short
dumpy man with the face of a cherub
whose reaction to any situation was
usually expressed by those two words.
There was a slight commotion near
the door. A locker-room voice inquired,
"Lookin' for Terry Caldwell, anybody
see Terry Caldwel1?" His eyes caught my
upraised hand and he made his way
across the room.
"Well, right on time, everybody's here;
that's what I like." He eased his huge
body into the empty chair. He hadn't
changed, he must be over fifty by now,
I thought, and he still looks like he could
make the starting lineup on any pro team.
After the introductions J. T. inquired,
"Do you play much golf, Mr. Branigan?"
"Every chance I get, which isn't too
often; by the way, what kinda shape is
this course in?"
J. T. was shaken. "I'll have you know,
Mr. Branigan that Braeside is..."
"Never mind, can't be as bad as some
I've played on."
As we walked to the first tee I could
see that the tips of J. T.'s ears were red.
When J. T.'s ears turn red junior members
have been known to turn in their club
cards.
I suggested that Harry lead off, only
hoping that he played a decent game. I
was not reassured when I noticed the age
and condition of his clubs. When he teed
up a used drugstore golf ball, I felt
crushed.
In no other sport are rhythm and timing
expressed as they are i~ a good golf
swing. Harry had a fluid swing that
would make most pros look like spastics.
There was a loud click and th~ ball took
off screaming down the fairway. It landed
a short pitch-shot in from off the green.
"Damn fine shot, one of the best I've
seen on this hole," said J. T.
"My word," said Hugh.
Now J. T. was a fine golfer who played
with the best in the club. However, he
made the mistake of trying to match
Harry's game. This mistake was com­pounded
by suoh solid advice from Harry
as, "Suck your gut in, or get your ass
into your swing." J. T. did not like to
be reminded of his large paunch and no
one-but no one-ever mentioned his ass.
His game was a disaster; finally after a
few holes Hary remarked with a resigned
air, "Some got it and some ain't." This
caused the red area around J. T.'s ears
to plummet to his belt line.
Harry continued to play superb golf
and the click of his golf shot would
always be followed by, "My word!"
It was around the fifteenth hole that
J. T. really came apart. Harry had made
another brilliant shot. I looked around
to see J. T., his club raised over Hugh's
head shouting, "Goddamn you, Hugh,
one more 'My word' out of you and I'll
brain you!" The big man had cracked.
The game ended wi~h Harry under par
and J. T. twenty strokes over his usual
game. Hugh and I both broke a hundred
and I should have been happy. J. T. had
not spoken to me the entire game but
his caustic looks spoke volumes. The
next committee meeting would hear of
the quality of the guests that some mem­bers
invited to ,the club.
We stood on the steps leading to the
parking lot. J. T. had gruffly ordered the
attendant to get our cars. Instead of bring­ing
the Cadillac 'belonging to J. T. first,
the attendant pulled up in a vintage Ford
with the left side caved in. Harry shook
hands an around saying that we must
do it again, then hurried to his car. He
had to enter from the passenger side due
to the damage. Rolling down the cracked
window he leaned out and shouted.
"Don't feel real bad, J. T., I guess some
just got it and some don',t."
J. T. was too furious to do anything
but stare at the car as it rattled away.
Hugh Chambers, his eyes sparkling with
admiration, moved his head slowly from
side to side and murmured, "My word."
Innocent...
your eyes plead with me
Ignorant. ..
of the bitterness and hatred.
Tiptoeing quietly
into my life,
my heart,
enveloping me in
a desperate affection.
You aren't aware
that you're not wanted.
You'll never know
your life is timed.
Not asking
but giving
love for concern.
And because of that
simple, immense love
you give to me
I'll stand alone
and defend your
right to be.
Debbie Rinaldo
13
Sometimes
it is so hard
to say what we do.
The misconceptions
and all.
Golden rules
and
forms imprinted
on the wall
for the masses to follow.
Sometimes
it is so hard
to find where
they stop
and
you begin.
Lose without a goal
because
Destiny needs a format
seeking,
seeking
your place in the line
of human ancestors and
past ghosts;
Only to find the gate closed.
14
So
Recede and reassess your desires
take another number
in the line
of life
and
wait, wait, wait
while inflation brings the values down.
Sometimes
it is so hard
to do what we say.
Our thoughts have
freed us from the bonds
born into
but
our actions. perceived by others'
are stopped cold from within.
The mock trial is the justice
within the mock world.
And we all;
knowing or not
are destroyed to the point
of conforming to the reading readiness
of the "Truths",
carved out for all
to follow.
Suzanne D.umler
In .J{emorg 01 Vaughn ljoJe (1942.1975)
...... : }
~.
16
'-
And for a brief time,
That Love which flows through each
and everyone of us;
That Love which breathes Life into
the flowers and the trees;
That Love whose sea blue hushhhh
slides across the sandy shores;
That Love which warms the ancient,
unmoving desert stone;
That Love we call God, Jesus, Jehovah,
E=mc2, Krishna, Buddha, Tao;
That Love we call mother, father,
sister, brother, son, daughter;
That Love which is both good and evil,
pleasure and pain, creation and
destruction;
That Love which flows down my cheeks
in a flood of tears;
That Love which flows from my pen in
a ribbon of words;
That Love which always was and always
w:ill be;
/rhat Lmle which called itself Vaughn
! .'t;~:' .-t~lU!~, for such a brief. time,
. my friend.
"
/ ...
~-
; . ~,
..
E. J. Mossman
.Jtountain !irown
by Randy Hawkins
"I don't think they can do it. It's too
much. They're only human."
"I made them, remember. They can
do it if they try."
"But, God - - -"
"Just call me Joe. I never have liked
God, Yahweh, or Lord. Just cut Jehovah
in half and call me Joe."
"Sure, God.. .I mean Joe."
"And for Christ's sake get off your
knees; you're making me nervous."
"Who is that?"
"Who is what?"
"Who is Christ?"
"Did I say that? Just strike that one
out; that is another story. Didn't mean
to let that slip. About the ten laws I've
given you - just give them to the tribes
and see if they can swing it."
"It's too much. I'm telling you! They're
going to break them over and over again.
Why not leave out that part about covet­ing
your neighbor's wife? Definitely that
is going to go over like that part about
not killing. Honestly, Joe, be sensible.
They'll never be able to do it. Believe
me, I'm one of them."
. "No kidding? Cool it, Moses. You're
going to make me mad and I'm going to
burn the whole damn place up. No mess­ing
around like the last time - I'll just
fry it like a pimple, off the face of this
unblemished universe. Except for your
group. You are so disgusting. I ask ten
measly things of you. And you tell me
you cannot do it. Sickening!"
"I'm sorry."
"You're sorry?. I'm worn out. I gave
you these ten because they're easy to
remember, require a minimum amount of
effort. Mainly all you have to do is
abstain: don't drool over your neighbor's
wife. Don't kill her husband because he
caught you drooling. That's not too much,
is it? Just relax and be glad I don't ask
you what I ask of myself; you'd go
bananas. Please, Mo, just give them to
the tribes and tell them that if they're
good, I'm going to bless them as a
nation. If not - el zappo! Got it?"
"Got it."
"Joe?"
"Yeah."
"Before I go, can I ask you one
question?"
"Sure. But make it quick. Already
they're making a calf down there and
dancing like the angels on Saturday night."
"Joe, what is love?"
"God only knows."
(Creativity)
a balloon was given
to me
at first I could do nothing
with it
it was all green and wrinkled
and 1 considered for awhile
perhaps it was dead
it wasn't though
I managed to blow it up
till it became
larger than my head
I could see through it
I could put my hand on
the other side of it and
wave at myself
it looked as if
I was changing or something
of myself was in another land
My hand looked so pretty
over there
that I smiled
and it waved
And I decided to wave back
but when I did
the balloon farted in
my face
spit in my eyes
went straight for my heart
and then it died
and just hung there
like a flabby breast
I picked it off with two
fingers delicately
and threw it
in the trash
Randy Hawkins
17
J 8
Karen M. Applewhite
Subsiding, withdrawing into yourself, drained of color, exhausted, -
$anJ anJ Water
Rock me with water, love in sand,
Make me feel, I'm in demand.
Catch me, catch me, if you can.
This you know is how I stand,
Always and ever, in dreamland.
Catch me, catch me, if you can.
Holding out his hand,
Running toward me in the sand,
Catch me, catch me, if you can.
In dreamland, I'll see my man,
You know I'll see him, if I can,
In sand and water, you can hear a band,
Catch me, catch me, if you can.
I can and will and when I do
I know I'm going to feel brand new.
Rock me with water, love me in sand,
Catch me, catch me, if you can.
Glenda Trammel
Softening into pa!>tels absorbed by wispy stragglers over
watery smooth,
Beauteous, drowning apparition sinking behind the horizon's sharp edge,
Lured into another man's world.
Broken again by pink cloud dolphin rising out of sea blue,
Stretching, arching in silent tribute to your momentary brilliance,
ship.
$unJet
Pam Palmgren
a
i am content - alone
with myself, as
my fantasies fly
me home,
but here i am
on
Opaque slicks of steel gray-blue smeared across your burning surface,
Ripped apart by shafts of fiery light,
on a ship.
rocking, tossing waves
directing our small vessel homeward.
a seagull glides effortlessly,
parting the blue of
the ocean and sky.
his spreading wings
stretch smoothly, muscles strain.
On 01 $kip
people talking, smiling, laughing
accents afar echo
through me.
the shuffling of cards
. lulls me to sleep.
19
by Debbie Rinaldo
IV
Softly and gently
a warm breeze
arrives from the south
carrying with it
a sweet scent
of sugary blossoms.
With a welcoming embrace
my life blood starts to tingle.
The breeze turns jovial
and frolics among my limos
that wake up to greet
~e newborn spring.
III
Silent sentinel
in the snowy stillness
that hugs the earth.
Memories of my
golden days
lying about my feet
resting so lightly
upon a powdery drift.
My whiteness
blends and merges
to become part
of the dazzling
sundrenched
scene painted
around me.
II
One morning
I awaken
to new sensations.
A chill clings to the
edges of the
late summer wind.
My leaves begin to glow
in radiant hues of fire.
The crisp wandering
winds set my
golden coins
a-trembling and
quaking
in the
wake of winter.
I
Stillnes'S
surrounds me.
The golden warmth
of the June-day sun
seeps through
my every fiber.
In silence I stand
wai,ting patiently
to stretch and shake
loose
my dry limbs
and silver-green crown.
90r cAn Oregon Wile
Sleep well young mother,
the act of life manifesting itself within.
Sleep well,
prepare to harvest the nth crop
of the nth womb since the first cry
of new life burst from the sack
wet and sightless.
New generations projected through that tube,
their pliable forms pushing out between
quivering thighs into spaces beyond:
guide with a gentle hand
and the realization he is not yours,
but his own and God's,
one with the sun and moon,
another shiny jewel on the wrist of Brahmin.
David Lively
The trees shed their leaves
As I send you from my life.
When will the spring come?
Sandra Zudell
To climb
To soar
To glide with the wind
as your best friend
To be 'ahle to leap
And not fall
But rise like the air itself
To hear nothing
But the rushing currents
And the flowing smoothness
that goes on for ever and ever
To move about unattached
From earthly cares
And seemingly have only
your direotion to worry about
And then to touch down
Only to take off again
To meet with your friends
the moon and the sun and the clouds
Kevin Winningham
21
You're Jt
by
Michael Lerch
The winds of deceit blow about my
head. I have to move. No longer able
to control my thoughts, clarity I seek.
I know of a grassy knoll surrounded by
palms and a stream. To there I will go
to separate reality from dreams.
On a warm and bright day like this,
the air is soon sensed as perfume. A rose
bush squats at the bottom of the hill. A
single crimson velvet blossom looks me
in the eye. Yes, you know what you are,
but the question of identity belongs to I.
The now of water continues from and
to nowhere. The thick layer of plush
grass a testament of its presence. The
towering palms too, stand witness of its
ever being. Cool and' clean, never stopping
for only one to enjoy.
Absorbing its energy I lie before the
sun. The simplicity and clarity of its
function becoming known to me. I slowly
surrender to the intoxicating elements.
Drugged to peacefulness, by nature, all
quite pleasant to me.
Far grumblings, coming closer, turning
to thunder stirs me awake. Mixed with
shouts and giggles my confusion cries
for a quick death. Two snorting horses,
each paced by a cajoling young woman,
prance between the columned palms.
Between the two they play a game of
tag. Gleefully crying to each other as
they chase. Within me a chuckle erupts.
Only a smile escapes. "You're it," ex­cl~
ims the brunette in blue, pulling her
steed to the left splashing through the
stream.
As breezes now through their manes,
the horses circle around me. "Giddy-app,
Hey-ho!" shouts the blond. "Never catch
me," yells the brunette in blue. Careen­ing
yet caressing the two trade roles.
22
Happiness I feel for them with all my
soul.
"You're it," claims the fair skinned
blonde. "No, you are," says the other.
Both pointing to their friend, "You're
It," in unison they hurriedly shout. "Ha
ha," I let slip. Both maidens look my
way, laughing at the day.
I smile and laugh. The two dismount
and to the streams the horses wander.
The girls snicker to each other coming
to share the top of the knoll with me.
From a few feet the two rush quickly.
"You're it!" they laugh as they collapse
hysterically.
Still holding back convulsions of silly­ness,
"I'm what?" I offer as exchange.
"You're it," the reply comes from the
calming blonde. The brunette in blue
offers, "so am I." I look at the blonde
and say, "I take it, so are you." "We all
are it, if we want to be," she says to me.
"This it, " I inquire, "does it bring the
laughter and joy that I've seen between
you?"
"Happiness through love, it is,' said
she, kissing me as gently as the rose kisses
the sun.
As I press my lips to hers, every
fiber alive, again I feel the intoxicating
overcoming my senses. Slowly she gives
me more of her kiss. Drugged to peaceful­ness,
by nature, all quite pleasant to me.
Brought 10 consciousness by the thump­ing
ground, I lay startled. Quickly I see
coming two snorting horses, each paced
by a cajoling young woman. To accept
reality I give my arm a pinch. Awake
am I and ready I am to accept the truth.
I hear them sing it to each other and
to the whole world. "You're it," they
sing to me without any fear. "You're it,"
I sing in refrain.
john .Atuir
You
have walked the
trails of the wind
and followed the
secret paths of
natures' creatures.
You
have been accepted,
loved and resp.:cted
among those
who run free and
unchallenged.
The mountains resound
in your honor
echoing the sighs
and the songs
you admired.
The trees respectively stand
hushed and worshipping.
in fond
memory of your CurIOUS mind.
And your
snow dusted
Sierras
stand in
awesome majesty
proclaiming
the truth
you taught
to man.
D('hhi(' l?il1({ldo
Frank Bonilla
23
The man races hard to catch the sun.
Under the hard work he seems to tire.
His legs lift higher, once, twice, l.ike on fire,
To catch the sun while he runs after The One.
He looks high, then low at the ever present horizon,
And wonders why he has to run in every season.
Is it because he is in search for some reason?
He holds his eyes straight to meet the risin' sun.
The sun kisses his face and warms his soul,
And his body feels the life and warmth and breath.
He feels as though he is in search of some faith.
In search of some certain lost role.
He looks hard and long and sees the sight,
That God had chosen him to see that night.
The dew on the grass
Soft as a kiss on the cheek
Refreshes the Day.
Barbara Schwoerer
Thru the whirling snow
A figure appeared in gray
The postman had come.
Robert Hendershot
28
Steven Sexton
Sea
As I stJand here
watching the tide come in
I wonder
and ask
"Where have you been?"
who last stood here
watching the sea
who stood
wondering,
here before me.
P. Oels
(jke Potter
And as He spins and molds and shapes
and fondles sired babes,
a cautious sort of tenderness
is what this Soul displays.
Pulling up and pushing down
making smooth and making round ­shapeless
ground takes higher form ­another
precious balhe is born.
LORD!
Listen up!
This just isn't right!
I got nothin' to eat Lord!
No place to sleep tonight.
29
Jan McKrnght
GOD!
Can you hear me?
Or ain't I good enough?
You'll probably write me off
As a business loss, God,
And shrug and mumble
"TOUGH."
Joanne King
CHRIST!
I gptta talk to you!
You done me in again!
You screwed me over double, Christ!
You just won't let me win.
With calloused earthen hands He strives
to model nature every day -
this quiet, loving, godly man -
He Himself of sun-baked clay.
If there is a god,
this man is He -
who births such b~auty as I see
from wheels of steel
and plates of wood,
as only true gods ever could.
I've been searching,
All my life,
For a friend,
I could love.
Could this be her?
Tom Byrne
~ .Name J'm .Not $ure 0/
Haunted by a face I know,
But can't remember.
From where.
And by a name,
That I'm not sure of.
encounter {iroup
by
Shari Hearn
"Find yourself in a peaceful, relaxing
environment," read the advertisement in
the morning paper. "For just $25 you
can participate in a weekend encounter
group with Groupie Inc."
Being a rather introspective person,
I decided to take them up on their
offer. So, on Friday afternoon I drove
to Groupie to sign up.
The Groupie building was attractive
enough, and on the inside hung a portrait
of Signund Freud sitting on a couch, in
swimming trunks. Alongside it, another
picture of what appeared to be an inkblot.
"What is that, an inkblot?" I asked the
receptionist. "Looks like spaghetti to me."
"It is. One of the Groupie leaders got
mad and threw his dinner at the wall."
"What made him so mad?"
"His shoe became untied. Now, may
I help you?"
After explaining my desire to join for
a weekend encounter, she asked me
questions as to my reasons for joining.
"Is there any special reason why you
wish to find yourself?"
"I lost my library card and forgot
who I am."
Her eyes rolled toward the ceiling. I
could tell she didn't appreciate good
humor.
"Have you ever seen a psychiatrist?"
she asked.
"I saw Dr. Joyce Brothers on the
Tonight Show once. Does she count?"
"You're in, that'll be $25," she de­manded,
gritting her teeth.
"Shouldn't I pay after I feel some
results?"
"Do you feel happy that you're join­ing?"
"Yes I do."
"Results enough, fork over the 25
bucks."
Friday night the group started, with
me getting attacked from all sides.
30
"Why did you decide to come here?"
asked the leader, who, by the way, had
one pair of shoes untied and spaghetti
stains on his jacket.
"To find out who I am and what my
purpose for living is."
"No fair, that's my answer!" shouted
one old lady (she must have been at
least 30) wearing blue flowered pants
and a plaid blouse. "I had that same
answer written on the palm of my hand."
"Why are you so dishonest, what have
you got to hide?" asked a squirrely look­ing
man of 40. "You copied Mary's
answer, didn't you?"
"Now, I think we're being unfair to
her," interrupted the leader.
"Thank you," I sighed.
"If she wants to lie, that's her business,"
the leader added quickly. "Besides, we
have ways of making you talk.
"Anyway, let's get to ·the business at
hand," he said, unbuttoning his jacket.
"Let's start the nude encounter, everyone
take his clothes off."
"Wait a minute!" I shouted. "You
mean we are going to be nude? As in no
clothes? As in, in the raw? As in, I'm
going to be sick?"
"Take them off!"
"You don't understand, me with my
clothes off is a big disappointment. It's
like opening your eyes to see Robert
Redford and seeing Rin Tin Tin. It's like
cereal without milk. It's like taking a
vitamin, only to later discover you made
a mistake and it was a laxative."
"Take them off!" the group shouted.
With that I quickly disrobed. Aside
from the few snickers I received, it
appeared things were going smoothly
until Mary went into hysterics.
"You copied my body!"
"What?"
"I was going to look like that."
"You knew Mary's body was going
David Bauer
away.
31
Jan McKnight
You can't think,
You can't breathe,
You can't eat,
You can't see ­Nothing
you can do ­It
just shines on.
Sunshine bakes your brain
In Yuma Arizona ��Nothing
you can do
It just shines on.
A swamp box and a cold beer -
That's the only break you get down here
From the brain baking sunshine
Of this dusty little town -
The only break you get
Till the sun goes down.
(Cont')
to look like that so you copied it, didn't
you? You thief!" accused the squirrely
man.
"All bodies basically look alike," I
screamed.
"Mine doesn't look like yours."
"I wonder why. Perhaps because we're
of a different sex."
All right, you're out of the group.
the leader shouted. "We all agreed there
would be no sex. You broke the rules."
Oh well, the weekend wasn't a total
disaster. It may have cost me $25, but
I came away with a feeling of being
sane, which is pretty satisfying. Also, I
stole their clothes as I was leaving, which
is even more satisfying.
the round spectre.
the patchwork of silk-spun clouds
candescence escorting lace-clad ladies silently.
splendid sky ballet.
each partner in passing momentarily brushes the
solitary brightness
elusive fingers touch
till away she dances.
away on a fringe of fading light to infinite
shadows.
cAn evening in tke Ikg
State people
Wait people
Mind your manners mister
(sister, brother, other)
Let us pray now
For this day now
I can't hear you ­What'd
you say now?
You've -said your prayer
So very nke
Now put away those
Cards and dice
And pass the food
The Lord's provided
And never more be
So misguided ­Tomorrow
holds
New faith my brothe:r
(mister, sister, other
And God will take
Your shaky hand
and guide your unsure souls
Through soup lines
Once again)
places
(like
hmmmm.
David Bauer
moss
33
lucky lizards.
imagine running full speed
like that.
feels kinda silly.
the silent shadowed ground
way
down
under
rocks)
feel that reassuring earth.
move so ,that both knees and toes
hands and elbows are touching
tuck your toes in the
that to
clings
now that your tie IS creased and
wrinkled
and
folded
under
your
chin
you're ready
let your belly
touch
the
cool
dust
on appreciating lizarJ~
you've got to stoop to see lizards.
go ahead
all
the
Debbie Rinaldo
dream and drift
upon an
autumn day
on a golden aspen
leaf...
float upon a
crisp north wind
spiraling on a
carousel. ..
dipping up and
down
through wisps
of clouds
hanging low on
mountain groves,
wandering fhrough
pathways of stark
white trunks that
reach to embrace
each other
across the lane.
Dancing along past
trembling tips of fiery gold,
tinkling the chimes
of silver glass.
Finally tiring .
slowly spiraling .
floating down to
sleep for the winter
on a s()ft carpet of gold.
-------------------
(va ,stephen)
By a thread -
by an unperceived prophecy
he lives -
in and out of cons'Ciousness and dreams
to wake to one familiar face -
to sleep to tunes of plasma pumping.
Like a mounmin yielding little ground,
he wears through wicked weather ­determined
still
to be renowned
among the rolling hills.
And as he gets his head together,
he wakes to more familiar faces,
and he smiles to hear the deadly race is
almost over -
almost won.
Joanne King
Within c:A J:.imiteJ ,scope
I have gazed through your eyes
To see a spark of fire
Deep within your soul.
Although confined within a limited scope,
I feel that it speaks of thoughts
That will never reach your lips.
With a hypnotizing effect
It eases my pain;
Slows my sorrow.
Reaohing out, it gently touches me
Within a sphere I have never known,
And then, pushes back into your mind,
Only to return with renewed force.
At times, placed beyond your mind;
Far from your spoken word,
I am comple,tely held by a train of thought
That may never release me.
And yet, how comforting:
To be captured so quietly;
Held for such a short span of time,
And returned almost violently,
To be found dreaming
Far from a thought
I have never known.
Mary Ann Boughnou Hallows
34
Bertha D. Dunn
I know for sure 1 am the one,
This young lad who was pleading for a ride
Where was he heading?
I wish I had not passed him by.
You search for truth,
And search for love
And yet you can not see
am your fate to destiny
It's me who has the key.
35
Glenda Trammel
You search for day by day
Why not give up and come with me,
And stop this whole delay.
Where was he going, this lad so young?
Was he trying to escape, or was he ensnared
With those young lads whose bodies were found?
Uhe ~aJ With Uhe Pack
I passed him by -
A young lad with a pack on his back.
I'm sorry I passed him by.
I might have been able to aid him,
To find out what it was that made him
Carry a pack on his back.
The memory will haunt my conscience for days­Will
make me remember always
Maybe I could have helped.
Perhaps if I'd become involved
His problem might have been solved,
And my conscience would have been at res.t.
Tonight I would have been able to sleep
Instead of wanting to weep.
He was only about 13 or 14, or less, this
little transient lad.
Debbie O'Donnell
Forever i will sing
the song of our friendship,
for your kindness is my lyrics
and love my tune.
Pillow valk
Here, in the soft dark cell,
toward the northeast corner of
my mind, I sit. I listen
to random thoughts walk
haltingly by my cell door,
down the corridors of my mind.
As I cross off another item
on the extended list tacked to the
syntax wall, I realize that Time
is my one master.
Sleep is a cruel and always
present dictator that sets a petty
pace of my list but Time; he
is the master that determines
just how long my list will be.
Here comes that ugly dictator
sleep, shuffling down the dusty
corridors to my cell, with orders
in hand from the master.
Perhaps I can form an alliance
with this lesser god, perhaps;
God, will I build in my sleep
tonight?
B. Coursey
He bears knowing who hides himself
'Neath quiet subtle smiles -
Who in daytime walks among the trees,
And in nighttime, 'mongst the roses wiles.
Jan McKnight
36
I(ain"ow~
I'm ch"clsing rainbows.
Forever on the go.
Yet
I can't reach them.
Stretching, forever reaching.
When I'm on cloud nine
rainbows are never mine.
Maybe
with feet on the ground,
I could have them.
Forever.
Things I want.
Dreams I chase.
Things I seek.
Never there.
Stretching, forever reaching.
Chasing rainbows
Feet on the ground.
On cloud nine.
Perhaps,
dreams are
unrealistic
or
maybe
rainbows are too high.
Stephany Beardslee
Yow: words have
touched my heart
and opened
the doors to sensitivity.
Your music has
filtered through
the hectic details
of my life...
and given me inner peace.
Your eyes have
searched through
the miles
to give me
meaning of existence.
You have taught me
that life
can be
gentle..
and how right it is to care.
Debbie Rinaldo
Upon the hill top
The man shuffled by Himself
It was old man winter.
Robert Hendershot
E. J. Mossman
The rain falls softly.
You cease to emanate warmth.
I cannot find tears.
Sandra Zudell
37
by John H. Walter i
{ieorge, Wkg cAre '!Jour ,skort~ rJ<ed, Wkite and tRlue?
by
Larry Nesbitt
"General Sir, Betsy Ross is in your
office waiting to see you. She says she
has some news." The General's aide
disappears and George Washington am­bles
through the huge double doors. He
cautiously closes them, walks across the
large egg-shaped room, and embraces
Betsy affectionately.
"Georgie, we've got to stop meeting
like this!"
"I know, 1 know," mutters George
Washington, "my aides are starting to
get suspicious."
"Georgie, I'm running out of excuses
for coming over here. Today 1 told them
that 1 was having a two-for-one sheet
sale. 1 think they went for it, but I'm
not sure."
George Washington picks up a twin­size
sheet. "These aren't too bad, how
much are they?"
"A dollar twenty-five. Oh Georgie, how
can you think about buying sheets at a
time like this. Kiss me! Kiss me!"
Georgie Washington kisses Betsy on
the mouth. "That's not bad!"
"Ohh...well, you can have another,"
sighs Betsy as she puckers up.
"Not that," states George Washington,
holding her off. "I mean a dollar twenty­five.
That's not bad. How come the price
is so low?"
"I don't know. They're just not moving.
1 got a good price from General Mill, so
1 bought several bolts thinking 1 could
turn a good profit. 1 ordered several
colors, but the· mill got the order mixed
up and ran the colors togeth6i-."
"Well," declares George Washington,
spreading one of the sheets across his
desk, "I like 'em."
"You've got to be kidding," says Betsy,
holding back a laugh, "who would want
to sleep on blue, red and white?"
"That's it!" exclaims George Washing­ton.
"What's it?"
"Blue, red, and white: I'll tell people
you're coming over to work on a flag
for our country. We don't have a flag
you know?"
"We don't? Then what's that flying
in front of the fort?"
"Oh," wonders George Washington,
looking out a window, "that's Martha's
bra." He embraces Betsy. "So starting
tomorrow bring your sheets over and
begin on the flag."
"Oh Georgie, you're so clever!"
"I know, 1 know. They don't call me
Father of Our Country for nothing, you
know?"
"I know Georgie, and that reminds me
... the news 1 have for you..."
1 cried outside
Yesterday.
Dripping trails
Of hot slippery tears
Melting their way down,
Hoping to meet
Some understanding and concern.
You were there
With terry cloth comfort and
Sponges of words;
Doing your job
Mopping up
As usual.
Suzanne Dumler
39
40
Jowntown uptown
i'm going downtown uptown
to seehear what i can -
to window shop in minds' eyes,
and seehear if there is here
anything worth buying
or any taste worth trying ­not
too bitter
sweet
i'll search
through all minds' windows can find,
and chalk them down up
if
when i've found what i've been looking for ­an
open door -
that leads to
from roundabout
where whispers echo off the walls
wilhout a spoken token word
and wrap around me tight and cozy,
like none i've ever seen
heard -
since my first last life.
Brook Jenkins
Joni Zuckerbrow
Arrogant faces and lonely and sly
thousand expressionless souls passing by
night empty streets and cold neon glare.
But the world was not empty because you were there.
Chris Light-Orr
Lars Cedar
41
It's been ages now since I left that place
yet through time and distance I still see your face.
I've done everything now and been everywhere.
But I often wonder: are you still there?
And then there were clouds in the sky above
in a country I would have liked to love.-
Hollow spaces and choirs in autumnal chill,
a black Madonna in a dome on a hill,
thousand candles flickered where people grew old
and nowhere shelter from so much cold.
The idol could not console them or care.
Yet I knew compassion because you were there.
.Jtemorg 0/ 01 Vown
I remember a city in industrial haze
with a million people - yet a lonely place­a
bloody red sun in the sky at noon
and smog that would bring the darkness too soon.
But of gloom and dusk I was never aware.
I had light all around me because you were there.
JVight J3ag
Bay, night bay ­gamuts
of ghostly hues
reflect your satin sheen
and bounce and sway
in tiny ripples
like dancing firelight.
Bay, night bay -
so soon you turn to morning ­bustling
with city traffic,
whiskey of deckhands
and tongues of sailors.
Bay, night bay -
gentle ripples turn to rolling waves
and quiet glowing lights
to horns and bellows,
and your satin sheen turns choppy,
and another day's begun.
Joanne King
42
Frank Bonilla
Jnnocent ChilJ
Run away child
find a new home;
say good-bye to mom and dad,
leave your toys behind.
Escape, travel on
no longer are you asked questions
you are able to question.
Be true to yourself,
for you are but an innocent child
wandering in streets made of gold.
Debbie O'Donnell
$now $trokes
I love the snow
best after
I've written
smooth, straight strokes
with my skis.
Nancy S. Ratti
The tide inside me
Comes sweeping and swooming
Upon the bank of my memory.
Drowning my thoughts
Quieting my tongue
U'sing small drops to represent my sorrow.
The storm inside me
Comes quickly and violently.
Oouding my cares
Shaking my soul
Giving Despair, in place of tomorrow.
The wind inside
I try to hide,
Seeking shelter which can not be found.
I am hurt
I am torn
By this incredible storm
I cry out in the silent dark hour.
It is really the pain
Corning again,
In rhythmic strong waves of sorrow.
But the wind has ceased
The feeling released
Saving some hurt for tomorrow.
The feeling inside me
Comes creeping and sneaking
Knowing Time will bring better days.
The pain is dissolved
The trouble will wait
To be used in memory of a later date.
Suzanne Dumler
43
And
44
Jan McKnight
Debbie O'Donnell
Somehow my thoughts
have become like seaweed
and are entangled in the
rocks of my imagination.
Unless the waves of creativity loosen them,
they will become stagnal1!t
and drop into the blackness of my unconscious.
Aluck
Now let me see if I hear where you're coming from
(so and so).
I hear you saying that you're lonely,
(slightly paranoid)
and too shy to make friends
(more or less lovers) .
Is that correct?
(Snap it up, it's almost time for lunch).
Is that correct?
Yeah. I guess.
(He guesses!)
You guess?
Yeah. But it's not all that simple. You see...
(Are you trying to tell me my business?)
I'm lonely, but I'm not really shy. It's just that. ..
(you're paranoid as hell)
I'm a little paranoid.
Well, this is a good start but time's almost up for today.
(Thank God!)
I'll be looking forward to seeing you next week
(chump).
David Lively
morning?
you
this
12 0 'clock oIppointment
those
have to
say
to
in death
who believe
just
what
did
Riding along
the roads of
the wind.
On the edge of the world...
where
the clouds
meet the sun.
Wisps of smoky white
floating into the pines,
outlining
the ghostly sentinels.
On the top of the world
looking down
into
misty valleys
carved by time.
Unseen cascades
of water
tumbling swiftly
over glossy rocks
carrying the
music
of the
mountains.
Debbie Rinaldo
Bill Janowicz
45
$gltJia3 ChilJ
(to Anne, whom I haven't met)
there was a great poet
who wrote many fine lines
in books and magazines
published in her time
she was special
something to behold
she lived to outwit Death
her attempted suicides told
her name was Sylvia
and i am Sylvia's child
the child she had never known
i am Sylvia's child
through no birth right of my own
i inherited generous tendencies
to dream her dreams
and live her life alone
She had courted Death
in poems and stories she wrote
and Death (kinfolk of mine)
being a damn devilish man
played her game
you can't say he ain't no sport
he played fair
ohasing and hiding
between bouts of sleeping pills
shock treatments slashed wrists
until he, grown tired
(he had better things to do)
told her she couldn't hide
so Sylvia stuffed rugs under the kitchen door
and a key under the mat
and Death found and embraced her
(actually he raped her)
and i was born by act of suicide
i have read about Sylvia
in books and magazines
i hear about her
from her friends' belated dreams
46
but today
i am Sylvia's child
her poems and her thoughts
are the same inside my head
wishing to die and to live
all in the very same breath
for i am Sylvia'S child
i too play a game with Dea·th
and Anne
you played for awhile
making up rules as you went
from thoughts to a plan of action
a letter to Death you sent
with your home address he found you
in ,the garage
door closed locked tight
your car motor running
ready to surrender, unwilling to fight
and today
i am Sylvia'S child
Anne is kinfolk of mine
we all play the game of death
play ~t to the end of the line
Suzanne Dumler
47
:..,.;
.. "".;..
Dean De Pue
(j/"e Written WorJ
the written word
in ancient times as thought
of as detrimental to the
learning process has long
since become extinct as
evidence of myself writing
this note so a day in the
future I may become introduced to
and acquainted with
the thoughts I once may have
transgressed such as the
means of aiding in memorization
as
the written word
l(am4eg,
by
Randy Hawkins
Ramsey was old - I mean old. Petri­fied,
really. She stood on the steps, huffin;;
and puffing like a little steam eng:ne,
fire in her liule eyes, smoke in her little
nose, and her little feet churning, churning
on the little brown welcome mat. I
thought she was sure going to tear the
sky apart with her little mice teeth. And
then those ever-present knitting needles!
It wasn't my fault, not exactly. In a
roundabout way it could have been, but
then I'm not a saint; according to Ramsey,
I am not even human. Whenever she
talks at me (never to me; for her I don't
exist), she wheezes; her voice rises and
lowers like. that of a drunken bird ­first
soprano, then tenor, then bass. It
drives me nuts. But I'm all rabbit ears and
owl eyes, with my mouth opened so
wide a whale could pass through and still
have room to spare. When she is finished,
I always expect her to bow, having com­pleted
all the parts in her own mini-opera.
She goes something like this:
"You're gonna go to hell. God's
gonna come down some day, and for
everything you've done, you're gonna
burn and burn and burn in hell. You're
gonna become a skeleton on fire, and
as you're burning I'll be sitting in heaven
watching you push your hands up to me
and askin' forgiveness, but I'm gonna
throw more coal on the fire. God is not
mocked!"
She turns back inside, slamming her
door, and calls up my mom and blows
everything so out of proportion it takes
me forever to get it all straightened out.
What happened was an accident, really,
not even that - just pure luck.
I was sitting in the backyard watching
the birds fertilize the lawn, when for
the first time I saw the weathervane. I
wouldn't have seen it if the bird hadn't
scored a direct hit - spat! right into the
center of it. The vane was shaped like
48
an arrow now, with a big green-looking
ball in the middle of it, as if Robn Hood
had scored a hit. So why not me hit it?
I went inside and hustled around until
I found my sling shot (for some reason
it was in the bathtub), and then I went
outside and hunted around for a rock.
It was kind of a dirty beige and a little
wrinkled like old Ramsey's face. Her
name isn't really Ramsey; I call her
Ramsey because she's like that old fellow
in Egypt preserved like a prune. I tried
to line things up as best I could, but
sometimes the rock goes in all directions,
like today. I pulled back my arm and
zap! I let the rock fly. Nothing happened.
I must have missed it, but then the pole
the weathervane was sitting on moved
a little, and then it moved some more;
and the whole thing - arrow, ball, and
all - fell right down Ramsey's chimney.
I heard a pouff, and then a puff of smoke
came out of her chimney - bluish gray
and kind of round. Then I heard Ramsey's
door slam.
There stood Ramsey with the blackest
face I ever saw, only her eyes showing,
glaring like God on fire. Her arms were
churning, churning, and she was tearing
apart the distance between us. I ran so
fast all my feet did was kiss the grass.
I ran around the back of the house,
around to the front, in through the living­room,
and straight up the stairs, and
wham, right under my bed.
That's where I've been for the past
two hours. Ramsey called almost before
I hit the top step. I know it was her,
because it took a half hour to teB what
took less than fifteen seconds to happen.
I heard my mom "yes-ing" and "no-ing"
and then Mom said, "Oh, not, not the
afghan! Wait one minute, I'll be right
over." Mom's been gone ever since; and
if I know Ramsey and my mom, by the
time Dad gets his version of the story and
comes up those stairs, he's going to yell
so loud the dead will never get back to
sleep.
J3roken WingA
Taken from your world of sheltering indifference
and ca&t into the light, you found your mind was resistant,
You've done all you can to see if you could hide
your hatred, boredom, and conflict deep inside.
You cry for compassion while reality you deny,
You're demanding wings of freedom but are much too scared to fly!
So long...goodbye,
I oan't ignore the truth
and I won',t live your lie,
So long...and goodbye!
It's just a shame that your wings were never meant to fly!
Now with every morning light that shines into your eyes
you elude its bright reminder you made a pillage of your life,
Waiting for the day of your glorious salvation
to realease you from your own indignation,
So long...goodbye!
You refuse to face the truth and I won't live your lie,
So long...and goodbye!
It's such a shame that your wings
were never meant to fly!
David Palko
ohalk drawings
on the sidewalk.
a glance at the world
through a dream.
swirling streaks
of pastel colors.
lines connecting
an elusive image.
squares of fantasy
a perfect world. .
side by side
on a busy street.
smeared colors
lines broken. .
a world destroyed
beneath our feet.
Debbie Rinaldo
49
Wheel 01 90rtune
The moon
At three in the morning
Belongs to anyone
Who is up to claim it.
Plush velvet silver
Covers the sound of night while silent bodies
Tum once in warm beds,
Readying themselves
For the second double feature of dreams.
The deep quiet
At four in the morning
Belongs to anyone
Who stays up to hear it.
But, be prepared
To give a piece away
For the truck driver on Peoria, at a bargain price.
The soft new sunrise
At five in the morning
Belongs to anyone
Who stays up to seek it.
But, promise yourself
To hand it over
To the world, who will make another day.
Suzanne Dumler
50
Frank Bonilla
Spinning on the wheel of fortune
(life's magical mystery ride),
Playing on the speculation that
risky deals contrive,
Taking all the ohances
(not a one to slip by),
Spun upon the wheel of fortune
you either live. . .
or die alive.
David M. Palko
tternity
Time is but
a sequence of space
that will follow his brother
until both disappear...
Debbie O'Donnell
ceetter to Papa
Papa,
Your daughters are growing up,
Whether,
Or DDt,
You want them to:
It's not up to you.
For they must face a world
Of darkness and hate;
You see -
It's not up to you or me,
Though we love them so.
And many problems have they
Who live in this world today.
But here they must stay,
For evermore.
So Papa,
Teach them to love this world,
For beauty surrounds it now
A:lthough,
A far better world would be,
If more people were like
You or me.
Wanda Selk
J'm Only $leeping
I'm only sleeping -
11l0ugh I naay appear qurte gone
And not together.
I'm here.
I hear the tears of you and yours
And mine, and whines of children
Passing by,
And lovers' cries as though
They've lost -
But not for real.
I'm only sleeping -
Though in a box of velvet line
And not of leather.
I see you,
And I'm glad I never got to be you;
Not even in the high school play ­The
way I always wanted -
Even though you played the part
And got to ride the apple cart
Like you were holy-rolling better ­But
you weren't.
I'm only sleeping -
Though moving still I toss and turn
Unknowing whether
I won or lost -
And either way, the total cost,
Including state and local taxes.
And as the pastor packs his chaw
Between his rotting gum and jaw
And tacks my lid down tight
For night -
I'm only sleeping.
Jan McKnight
51
52
voJ.
All was quiet on the western front -.
No sign of the Cosmic Unraveler.
No wrench was thrown,
By this Plague of the gods,
In the works of our simpleton's
Traveler.
Moonface Winkler