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About The North Coast times-eagle. (Wheeler, Oregon) 1971-2007 | View Entire Issue (Jan. 1, 2002)
PAGE 13 NORTH COAST TIMES E A G L E , JAN&FEBRUARY 2002 CONCUBINE He will be back and you will be there waiting He will believe he wants you and you will know the difference between desire and fear of no desire You will know again the hands and lips that move by rote, the body that cannot leave itself, the churning desperation of the old But you will wait like the cool observer you have learned to be. You will mouth the little words, and reassure, and stroke, and watch it happen. TRUTHFULLY SPEAKING Speak to me, so softly, so intensely... Knowing of my flaws, my insecurities. Hold me knowing or not knowing of what is to come or not to come Understand, that the pure souls last even in unstable manners such as our own. Speak to me in ways of your own, not thinking of the days to come, but today as if the last, today as our own. Unknown to why things are the way they are or just come to realize ignorance as a substitute -JACKIE SMITH You will lie open to him, willing liquid to come as proof of your devotion You will flex trained muscles to lock his body into passion He will believe. He will be back. -ELIZABETH HOBBS WHILE HE HOLDS THE GUN I wouldn’t be able to touch you lightly These hands would want Back pages Words crossed out Made up languages Memorizing dizzy I would not remember to forget Parts subtracted or ignored The indentation of your weight Staining hands I wouldn’t be able to touch you lightly We have both seen too much Scars as our metals You wear bronze I wear copper My pocket knife lover Leaves behind bandaged palms I tie ribbons around matches Hands that could build temples Take refuge in my pockets -ARIANA HARLEY HAIKU Very small children Limp hair hanging like silk thread Their eyes angelic Old men and women Walking with canes and limping Hunched against dying -RICHARD SCHULTZ (d. 1/1993) YOU WILL WIN i § s Snow is all you wear — and wonder wound about you like a shawl. I am hearing a distant thunder. Thunder holds me in its thrall. Snow is filled with tiny lightning; I am sparks without a flame flying on a wind of icy brightness, crying out the name that hums most magic to my ancient mystery-believing ways. Someone winds a shawl of lace about me and its fineness says, ‘Of the herd of racing horses overhead, one calls to you.' Snow is falling, I shall learn to wear it, while you wear the blue. -JUDITH GRIFFIS MY FAVORITE THINGS Music by Richart Rockers Lyrics by Nascar Hammerbrain Toasting more convicts is upping my rating My dad and his pals have so much money waiting The see-lection over 'fore the fat lady sings These are a few of my favorite things Stealing elections is making us wealthy Kickbacks for our pals is keeping them healthy We pick our war cabinet and start pulling strings These are a few of my favorite things Pipelines and poppies and top secret war plans Cheney and Rumsfeld love killing those Afghans Selling oil futures and living like kings These are a few of my favorite things When the fowls roost When the shit flings When I’m feeling sad I simply remember my favorite things And then I don’t feel so bad -R. LOUIS RICHARDS POETRY BREATHING Remember the rhythm of the dance? Your body and mine, lingering under the moon. Can I make music always? Will you dream with me forever? SPEAKING The sun lifts the darkness; There 's a smile on your lips. There will be rains I'll need I cherish you, beautiful one. no shelter from; cold winds But more than that, I love you no walls need broach the chill for me: With all my heart. I love you. I want to lay under the stars with you. when fire splits seams I want to be with you. out of the ground, I won’t No talking, need the warmth at all: lone, ever, Just breathing. And being together. when you who have given In the silence, your days to me, when you Under the stars. come close, I won’t sense If I can lay with you And hear you breathe. . that last approach: not That's all I want tonight. knowing how to speak, I’ll say nothing. I just want to be with you. You healed my heart, -A R AMMONS (1926-2001) You set my soul free. I just want to be with you. -JESSI DUNKIN ROAR, TORN & WEARY Tis weary I am of cellular attraction Perhaps extinction shall smoldered creatures die. or cry into the moonlight day so oblique and staring woofy little germs under my window lit Little Chopin caught it almost in the act of footfalls lightly scudding in the blackened soul of Ceres Harump and cattywumps went the sacrifice so vain and ran away to Russia, there to go insane and pummeled bombs are so swearing that the bitch must fall but graceful heroes remained undaunted in space's twinkling halls So sappers, flappers and midnight zappers scale the walls so dim Better save the pastor from Thor and Hastor for immortality runs thin Haul away the planet earth mountain of sorrows weep for longer lanes for ferried rows the human race be deep I forgot my jabberwocky and insulted two queens but they know it wasn't really real or me choo choo mama I know I'll find you yet so stall on the bow line and let me sail by heck SMALL BIRDS IN WINTER In puddles, pools the rain makes rings, The gale would drown you in its wail and keen At dawn, at last, the sun They dry their wings, Sings in the hollow where the center drops. Glean what you can before you are too weak Wings to lift them when the falling stops Out of water wells the start of things, Runs rivulet to river, a gathering skein. In puddles, pools this rain makes rings, Springs from ridge lines, mountain tops Convenes in clouds that storm and wreak Sings in the hollow where the center drops But it's light that sparks beginnings, Junco, finch, paired chains of adenine — At dawn, at last, the sun. They dry their wings, Brings into being their bonding blocks. Thymine, form the tongue all living speak Wings to life them when the falling stops Rung-linked ladder, helixed, double springs, Copies down the name in guanine — In puddles, pools the rain makes rings, Springs of code towhee, thrush, that now unlocks Cytosine, writes warblers yellow eye streak Sings in the hollow where the center drops A well, a leaf, a door turns and in its turnings Each trigram, sparrow, wren, spells out unseen At dawn, at last, the sun. They dry their wings, Swings open, spreads, uncoils the flocks Proteins, warbler made flesh, made feather, beak Wings to lift them when the falling stops Wind whips a branch a chickadee clings, She finds shelter in a maple's lee and preens, In puddles, pools the rain makes rings, At dawn, at last, in sun, they dry their wings, Slings her to ground where the leaf-mold rots Cleans feathers, calls, calls her name into the bleak Sings in the hollow where the center drops Wings that lift them, now, as the falling stops -JIM DOTT Get a view of the so many queens with bobbing heads and darting eyes; their beanstalk tongues and foaming motes — Bear up fair damsel the long train is running burning tongues and sickening talons the bone to stone I swear Just how long is a Chinese dragon's segmented tail? The joints must knock each other to hell just like the USA nobody really knows or sees Opinions are like stabs in the dark are they yours or mine? Nori They are balderdash up hogback mountain They are Mexican surf and Enrique lobsters The red lion at dueling with guitars and mandolins preying for peace and getting primitive with peyote tea scaring one and other till we are laughing in the aisles swimming in the flaxen valleys, napping in the purple heather running deep in the cold blue waters pragmatically scheming only to freak in the free world's waves Pentanglers and heaven’s hexagrams shall see the world as it is The vibrational roaring rich gurgle of the blessed children of the sun ripping after butterflies screaming foul at the fates and hissing of the devil -CHRIS KRAEMER
