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About The North Coast times-eagle. (Wheeler, Oregon) 1971-2007 | View Entire Issue (May 1, 2002)
PAGE 8 DAWN Armed with a thermos of hot coffee I go out to look at the dawn. Cold cleaves my face The sky blazes apocalyptic with stars That warmth which has stayed with me from my bed ebbs Climbing the hill I look down at the houses huddled into themselves like shriveled snails. The streetlamps bob, Japanese buoys Tangled in skeins of ice. Pale blue smoke rises from a few chimneys, wavering After my third swig of coffee I leave one dream for another. In the East, zodiacal light over the forest etched against the horizon like delicate feathers. One by one the houses burst into flame. The stars slide gently back to their dark kingdom. O my ghost — the sky's conflagration of raw hydrogen; the earth opens its thighs. The Sun is being bom! -SUNYATA MacLEAN BARBARA GRANT POETRY SPRING Festina lente (Latin): "Hurry slowly II Spring like an old wound opens anew. Pus, purplish bruises are flowers. The scab’s torn off. Ripped, scar tissue reveals fresh bright blood. FOR SHIRLEY Today, I noticed that bright blond has finally grown from your hair, leaving not brown but a better lion tewny color, the basic shade, animal in nature, darker inside. Then you stepped onto the porch, a heavy gold in the sunlight. -WALT CURTIS The street I live on comes and goes. Up and down, back and forth it flows. My neighbors’ houses bob about, As traffic rambles in and out. Deep loud rumble to high pitched whine, They travel by this house of mine. Wake, wave and wind does rock My little house at the marina dock. -TERESA EIKER -MICHAEL MARSH (d. 5/1991) POOR FISH Hoping in their hearts Something better can be found Like waves from the ocean People come to this sacred ground Between beauty and pollution They all run round and round As the rulers of the world Lead us down to zero ground Love and beauty on one side Fear and hate on the other Some are called enemy Some are called brother if the bride wears white then I shall wear black, not light like the indifferent color of ashes, but the black of wet dirt, the black of uncrystallized carbon hidden before it spins into diamond; the black of crow like a dark cavern scissored across sky, the black of obsidian shining, on fire, blade flake chisel flint... SEARCHING Looking for someone who's not there Peering into the night Wishing for their loving touch Stuck in this moment — Can’t get out — Surrounded by the here and now. Looking for someone who's not there. Waiting for their call Missing their dashing smile In between the orange trees, Wanting to be alone. Hiding from people, Then making new fhends, Still looking. Wanting one who's not there. Listening for their laugh Sitting in the moonlight Looking to the stars Feeling the cold. No control of your actions Looking for her. She’s not there. And going home, Going home. She’ll be there. she carries the drag of her dress already like laundry and the flowers look tired in the bright, expectant sun and we pass, I whisper: “pay attention to everything they tell you to forget...” (For britta. You are the coolest person in the world. I love you.) MANY COLORED FEATHERS We are a mixed up people Not as we used to be When alone and isolated Were our communities We are all together Birds can’t fly Unless the feathers work together WEARING BLACK upon the slimy boat the ancient fisherman paws coldly at his privates as the lights flash on & off Ophelia of Hamlet: "He falls to such perusal of my face, as he would draw it." ~W.S while we lie here together sucking madly through our gills the scene has happened now and no one is the wiser not even the blond dagger of a lightbulb in the cold -MARTY CHRISTENSEN What’s wrong with this picture What’s wrong with us all Why in some ways do we rise Why in some ways do we fall In far and different places All cultures started small As time went on Some did grow tall Some were lost New ones did come As many colored feathers We must live and love as one For we are all together Many colored feathers Birds can't fly Unless the feathers work together THE TRIUMPH OF CONSTANT LOSS We shall never be what we are momentarily, but this constant loss is a triumph. Only the silence of the leaf is saved; the body darkens together with the day until the unexpected glowing of black at night. Fragments of life replace colors in the small portrayals of dream; bruises replace shades of light on the temporary skin. Blind to so much black I sought a god and was given only a toe to rub myself with. I am triumphant now in the most secret places where the idea is conceived: here I leam at last that I shall be the first to leave -KATERINA ANGELAKI-ROOKE -DANIEL B ELEY JOY KOUTSKY -JUANITA HUEBNER -JESSI DUNKIN NAMELESS You laugh without sound, You leave with no trace; Yet the still candle of my heart Flickers and moves ....Are you cloud? You laugh without sound, You cry with no noise; Yet the bright moon of my spirit Dims and darkens ....Are you wind? -CHUNG TIN WEN "Art is a lie that makes us see the truth." -PABLO PICASSO KENT STATE To Tiananmen Square: Our Own Memorium A gathering it was to be! A gathering for all to see That we who did not hate or fear Would not be made to hate or fear We tumbled into the streets at noon, As if a parade were coming soon. Our widened eyes caught bayonet gleams: Now all that’s left of the crowd is its screams. -LARRY BARROWS
