MAP
#78
Theme:
Festival-inspired poems
From
Guy LeCharles Gonzales of New York:
Intangible
It
was the moistness of her eyes
that
spoke the loudest.
Her
thank you was sincere
specific
stringless
Lips
tightened
the
sad smile of a child
who's
understood for the first time
adults
are mortal
fallible
human
A
drop of wisdom
ripples
My
son she says
He
writes, too…
I
smile
nod
slightly
allow
her the moment
She
smiles back
leans
forward
kisses
me on the cheek
squeezes
my hand tightly
For
a moment
we
are mother and son
healing
old wounds
and
I know she will call him tonight…
©
1999, Guy LeCharles Gonzalez
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2.
From Victoria Mosley of London
Austin
99 Sixth Street
I
knew it was you
slumped
rabbit eyed
on
another sixth street bar,
at
least my body knew;
a
friend said the body never lies
mine
took one look
relaxed
gave up and sighed.
I
don’t think you noticed me at first
more
intent on the blonde girl on your left,
there
was such sadness in your eyes
as
though you’d lost the best part of something .
You
said there was a beauty in sadness
that
it ebbed and flowed and I replied
that
it could be merely addictive .
It
took a long time to hook you to my line
and
I don’t think you cared if I left or stayed
which
got me of course, it’s always been that way :
so
I bubbled ,tumbled , soda popped
though
I couldn’t work out why
till
you held me tight to say goodbye
and
it felt so familiar it took my breath away .
©
1999 Victoria Mosley
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
3.
From Nicki Miller of Fredericksburg, Maryland
the
couple
they
are just an anonymous couple,
young,
somewhere in their thirties,
captured
now in a snapshot
etched
permanently in my mind.
it's
obvious not just to me, but
all
the world within their range
they
know what matters --
the
way you know what matters.
a
common thread of poetry invisibly
propels
them here, to a
table
just ahead of me.
she,
with her wavy reddish mane,
and
he, clean shaven and pressed,
leaning
toward her
ten
o'clock calm, hands folded,
striving
to inhabit her zen.
they
never saw me see them.
they
are like supple willows whose
green
tendrils nod and bend
toward
the life-giving water
of
each other, while drinking deeply
from
their roots. I feel a twinge --
not
close to the surface, but
within
some primal genetic tissue,
as
though the only thing
that
really matters is
the
touch of their toes, familiar
and
serene, or the intimate air
in
the brush of her tapping fingers
on
his blue jean clad thigh, or
his
gentle squeeze of her elbow
while
the lights in her rivulets tease
his
cheek.
public
intimacies. their domain a
planet
with a population of two. And
while
all of humanity labors or
rests
or sleeps of despairs or
suffers
beyond their borders,
they
are unaware. they have no use
for
external approval, or time wasted
wishing
for something more, or for mining
diamonds
within shafts of coal veins.
it's
in the angle of his head inclined
toward
her, the quiet, satisfied tones
of
his voice embracing her spirit
and
mind. it's in the trace of her finger
on
his knuckle. it's like the tiny smile
that
unconsciously escapes me when
i
nod affirmation at your soft words.
they
know this is all they need.
nicki
miller, 15 april 1999
barnes
& noble, guadalupe st
austin,
tx
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
4.
Moshe Benarroch of Jerusalem, Israel
A
senryu for Ted Reilly
An
irishman
on
an irish horse
wherever
he goes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
5.
And from R. Henry, of Austin
Festival
of Words
(A
Nonce)
Some
came to see, some came to be seen
Some
just to hear, and some to be heard
Some
gathered here, some gathered there
But
wherever they were, there were the words
Always
the words, the overflowing words
And
with every word there was always a there
But
this there and then surpassed them all!
There
being the veranda of old Huston Hall
And
then being this sunny Sunday afternoon --
But
there and then would be nothing without they
They
with their words, their smiles and applause
On
the grass, in the tree, and the love-seated swing
Each
holding a glass of some thirst-quenching thing
Each
holding an anthology in support of the Cause
As
everyone relished this year's word-dejavu', so
Bouquets
to the old Hall and, yes, to Stazja, too!
Thanks
for the smiles of it!