Our Eden...

...by James Conway

(part 2 of 5 for feature week!)

Lost in the darkness of my mind


Believing I would never walk again in light

My world had crumbled leaving me exposed

Black feathered beasts circled, picking at my bones



I turned around to find you were still smiling

An angel's light to save me from my blindness

Fresh wounds making it hard to stop the bleeding

You took me away to heal in your Eden



The miles we swiftly put behind us

And I will never forget that act of kindness

As the days passed I began to feel stronger

The black cloud hanging over me no longer



I am sorry for every minute I was away

For every second I didn't truly see your face

Or the pain that was growing in your eyes

As you were forced to watch my spirit die



I love you my love, more than I can say

And I promise to treasure every day

And every breath, and every season

Knowing one day we will return to our Eden.

Lights Out...

...by James Conway

(day 1 of 5 for feature week!)

I lock the door behind me, privacy aplenty.


No Angels welcome here, only the demon from within.

I turn the tap, a loud hiss arguing against it's will.

Warmth of the water fills the room.



Reflecting into the mirror like yesterdays past, I see nothing I care for today.

Eons pass while the tomb fills up completely.

I wait.

One last drag from the cigarette, my only honest friend at this hour.

Time for bravery to take the call, no more failed promises.

No more waiting.



Steam releases toward the ceiling.

Stupid tears fall's from blackness within.

A window fogs up, God wants no part in this.

The metal feels hot between my fevering and cursed fingers.



The silence is almost deafening apart from the beat in my chest, which pleas for mercy.

Surprisingly, pain is minimal, nothing like I would imagine.

Warm ribbons of red roll down the last of my mortality, licking at my fingers



I match the other, as dozen's of streams run down in race.

Bombs drop forth and splash into the coffin, flowering like crimson rose's.

I close my eyes, slide deeper into the fading warmth

The amber from the cigarette goes out

I follow.

Soul's Rebirth...

...by Rebecca Besser

(part 5 of 5 for feature week!)

If I were a thread, what could I weave?




Would it be anything that you would believe?





There is a sky. There is an earth.



Is there any more to this existence's berth?





Life expands. It reaches out.



Harboring, within and without, a field of doubt.





Deeper and farther, I seek to go.



What I am seeking is more than I know.





I seek the stars. I leave the earth.



In you, God, I find my soul's rebirth.





Take my life, take my all.



I will trust in you, and I will never fall.

Break the Thread...

...by Rebecca Besser

(part 4 of 5 for feature week!)

In and out we weave, we weave.




Ourselves and other we deceive, deceive.



Lies we are taught to believe, believe.



Original thought not free to conceive, conceive.





People all want to control, control.



Tell you what to put in your bowl, bowl.



Tell you what to believe in your soul, soul.



Until they bury you in a hole, hole.





Will you break the thread, thread?



The one that controls your head, head.



When you’re laying alone in your bed, bed.



Thinking of what others have said, said.





Beyond what you now know, know.



There is information to show, show.



It tells you where you will go, go.



To Heaven or Hell by what you sow, sow.

I Miss You...

...by Rebecca Besser

(part 1 of 5 for her feature week!)


Six more days,




and I would have



held you in my arms.



                                         I



hate that I lost you.



I never got to know



you, so how can I



                                        miss



you so very much?



My special baby boy,



no one else can be



                                     you.



I held you in the



hospital. Even though



you didn’t move in



                                       my



arms. I kissed you



even though you



couldn’t feel my



                                      love.



You will be part



of me forever. I’ll



always remember you,



                                       and



will always hold you



in a special place in



my heart. Love will



                                       always



be a part of my



memories of you.



I miss you, and always



                                         will.

Time vs. Life...

...by Claudette Young

(part 5 of 5 for feature week)


Experts say that time is without

measure, infinite. I cannot argue with

Logic that can’t be disputed.

Nevertheless, time is measured in

Days, and months, and years; a

Situation which should never have

Arisen. Time should be measured

In the amount of life one can

Capture within a single breath.

Life and living is all that time

For us entails. So many people live

For tomorrow without realizing

That one lives only today since

Tomorrow can never reach the

Doorstep of the midnight sun.

However, the question of what is

Life rears up, causing a certain

Stir of confusion. I can only

Answer the question by saying...



Life is a baby’s smile or cry.

It watches a child’s first step

Toward understanding. It

Surrounds one’s mind with all the

Knowledge it can hold. Life sees a

Flower bloom and the rainbow

After a summer shower. It learns

To cry in compassion for

Fellow men. Life learns to love

Deeply and quietly within

The mind and soul without

Asking for return of that love.

Life hears the wails of pain

From those who starve and thirst

From loneliness. Life kisses

And caresses a loved one.

Life touches an elder.

It is love, peace, and honor. But

Above all else, life is God, for

He alone was the unknown genius

Who created its body.

These occurrences are life –

All of which can be contained

Within a sunbeam. Because of what

Life is, time and all its measurements

Are unimportant, irrelevant and

Totally immaterial. Because, you see,

One experiences Life, not Time.

Cycles...

...by Claudette Young

(part 4 of 5 of feature week)

Time measures


Life’s pleasures,

Gentle birth

Less Death’s mirth.

Walking tall

Seeing small.

Man arises

Time chastises.

Spirit Walk...

...by Claudette Young

(part 3 of 5 for feature week)

Walking paths of shadow


Timeless in my effort,

Gliding along, hearing

The wind rustle grasses

In fields waiting fallow.

Gently do I wander,

Trails of dimmer needing,

A hunter among masses.

Voices...

...by Claudette Young

(part 2 of 5 for feature week)

Enshrouding mist of dream time


Whisper secrets never heard,

Give pause to thought more sublime

Of roofless palaces unlearned

Waiting, breathless, listening

To sighs teaching lessons real,

Heart’s demands always demanding

Desires fulfilled, needs repeal

Illusion, leaving behind pleasure

In shifting sands under sky’s azure.

Big Bang...

...by Claudette Young

(part 1 of 5 for her feature week!)

Ending here, ending now,


Finish truth but how

The void fills the soul,

Atoms create the whole

Energy sparks abound,

Breeding, feeding, profound. 

Resurrection...

...by Jim Bronyaur & Laura Ebohon

(final day of feature week!)

(Jim Bronyaur)

…do they come back?


Inked letters –

hacked to paper

what story do they carry… tell…

Does a softer ground mean more

- than a frozen one?

Is it a misty thought

(or spirit)

That comes…

A soft touch on the back of your neck

or the lost wandering up a cement drive…

I’m back. I’m here. I’m ready.

(Laura Ebohon)

Layers of tainted skin


like gathered fabric

pleated by time into ruffles of sin,

where guilt slowly infiltrated

subtle, endless needles

sewing yarn of sorrow and regrets...

Fragile conscience,

Blind to the spiritual nature

of forgiveness,

Holy gift of departing memories from pain

Looking for the guidance of divine power

holding on to the belief that beyond Life

on the other side of these walls of Time,

over the bridge of Death,

under these dark tunnels of crimes,

through the maze of convictions,

there are eternal flames of Love,

and the possibility of Salvation...

In an ethereal journey back to Life

running through green fields of peace

swimming in calm seas of wonder

passing by streets of celestial calm

where we talk without words

we see the invisible

we breath eternity

In the screaming light of Resurrection!

Life...

...by Jim Bronyaur

(part 4 of 5 of feature week with Laura Ebohon)

Awake!


Begin!

(to understand all that will remain unknown).

The time has started…

(it’s also losing breath by breath –

and someday you’ll learn to appreciate that –

once you get closer to that last one…)

Yes, the blood may be existed

but it’s the celebration of innocence.

(and innocent).

It’s the fresh eyes of the “new” –

those too (two) are in such a way given life.

(again).

The sounds outside –

and inside –

they all add up to something greater than we can ever understand.

Like the changing winds that push and pull seasons

Like the rolling clouds bringing picture and thunder

Like the other skies… long fingers spin and big eyes mean.

But this… only this… just this…

This… this is life.

Life...

...by Laura Ebohon

(part 3 of 5 of the feature week with Jim Bronyaur)

Growth of tissues


covered in a membrane of surreal events,

mother cell of multicellular layers

procreation of reflections,

vegetative production of wishes...

In that room

suspended between life and whispers,

surrounded by cell walls,

beating of hearts and pulsing of souls,

through the net of little holes of hope

thick thread-like organisms,

Breaths and a feverish search for happiness

anxiously determined by the conjectures of time

when pain strikes like poison

relentlessly,

locking doors,

relegating desires,

creating divisions.

Like a deep chasm between conscious being

and unconscious dreaming

connecting again

through the bridge of destiny,

eye lids shut

freezing images

in departments of never.

Coincidences

missed opportunities

and the strongest will

to see tomorrow's colorful rainbows

through rain drops of doubts

and whistling of winds...

Tilting against windmills!

Death...

...by Jim Bronyaur
(part 2 of 5 of feature week w/ Laura Ebohon)

It’s been a good run…


As if bubbly rusted holes tear flesh away

As if the engine won’t start –

and all the little pieces break and shatter.

When the passing time deals its final winning hand

you aren’t the only one with fuzzy eyes…

but you do get the answer to the biggest mystery…

(what’s next?)

I can only imagine how feeble the feeling of failing must be –

to know IT’s coming… any second…

(breath in, breath out, breath in, breath…)

There is the trickster lurking –

the more evil hands of the clock

(the ones rubbing together –

creating sweat in the small lines of the hands –

as they reach for your neck…)

It happens more than you think.

(but so does good things…)

It happens more than you have ever thought about.

(it does.)

There will be a last good morning

There will be a last good night

There will be a last bloomed flower

- a last kiss

- a last moment you will never have back

I don’t make the rules.

I can only follow.

I am the piece of paper in the wind.

I am the autumn leaf that makes it through winter.

I am the blade of grass that will not be cut.

But no matter what I am or what I try

(or you)

Everything will end. Yes –

it will.

Death...

...by Laura Ebohon

(part 1 of 5 for the feature week)

Curtains drop shut on this stage,


without the anticipation of a closing scene,

no hints, no premonitions...

A simple termination of all biological functions,

no words, no gestures

definitive extinction of breaths and hopes,

destruction of plans

left to blow in the wind of never.

Looking from the other side of consciousness

through holes in the wall of time

everything seems so small...

light, paper thin...

Tears are dry,

hands are cold,

Unknown voices all around

whispering secrets

no wish, no desire,

no saviour, no sin...

Immense space of nothing

only flashbacks of padded images and colors

without memory

wandering through dreams and reality

It all seems so far away,

existence and essence

ideas and abstractions.

Trying to reach those fields of colors,

getting caught by a lightning,

finding you,

entering the walls of your heart

where death dies again

it dissolves in the endless spirals of your embrace.

Love and Wine in the Afternoon

by
Rosalyn H. Marhatta

She traces the rim of the wineglass
with her index finger
feeling the tune it plays as the air shivers
around the table of sparkling expectations.

Tilting the glass to her lips,
she blows a melody into the red liquid of dreams
and stares across the table at him, watching
as he folds the napkin into his lap for the third time
to cover his thoughts
of her closeness
and what would happen after dinner.

He adjusts his collar and pulls at it
before he leans
into her aura
to touch the air closest to her with his lips
and feel the heat of her breath that shimmers with the scent of rose petals
and lemon drops.

Her eyelashes flutter like hummingbird wings
as she screens her emotions with the care of
a surgeon making his first cut.

Never the gambler, the wine emboldens her
and she throws her emotional dice
on the table and swallows the last of her reserve
before drinking in his desire
and tasting the wine of her future
after dinner.

On the Air

by
Maria Kelly

the Breath of the World is not

stoppered in a jar,

or produced with a machine.

the Wind whispers on its way

from Here to Somewhere Else:

it is Nature’s greatest contradiction.

it is neither close nor far.

it is invisible,

and is as unknowable

as the hour of one’s Death.

it is as fleeting and as constant

and as precious as Life.

it moves---and lives:

with everything,

through everything,

in Everything.

Polar Melt

by
Gary Beck

Sea ice in the Arctic,
habitat for polar bears,
is melting so quickly
that bears are losing their homes
and must swim for their lives
in a desperate attempt
to reach the polar ice edge,
so far away most won't arrive.
Since we won't stop climate change,
perhaps President Obama
should order the construction
of artificial ice floes
to house an endangered species.

Triumpant

by
Michelle Dennis Evans

Fearlessly flying




Freedom flourishing



Boasting and cheering



It’s done, complete



The winner you meet



It’s all because of defeat



The high mountain



The ridge sharp



Balance required



The prize of great worth



Taken



Triumphant

Wisdom Filled

by
Michelle Dennis Evans

Shimmering in the winter sun




Silver haired



Wise and frail



Able to move fingers still



Sewing precious treasures



Cross stitch, running stitch



Sweet embroidered beauties



Ready to mark the pages



Of books still yet to read



Faces familiar



Friendly family



The joyful life



Know soon



The end is near



A memory



Left for all



Enchanted



Endearing