P A G E 10
TIME TO LIVE
This can be the dawn of creation’s children
little giants who can lift this earth with their bosoms
reshaping their elders' remains from windswept chaos
into the wild and verdant paradisical wonders heaven meant for us
little giants crushing greedy polluters back into anthills
who knows how tall they will grow up to be
we’ll all walk with these kids as they see the world
who will be known as savior or devil for their lives to come
profits and reminders, what is left of a soul to reach
land ho land ho the flash of the planet has reached out to the stars
and left hot legacy or by whose tenets did you step
or stomp with iron treads too often
this smokin shithole is what is left to you
so clean up what is left or most will die
generations come and generations go leaving their wealth behind
comely folk ...innocent and wise... unaware the ends of the earth are frayed
is America a cancer upon the world, is this flash of glory grisly suicide
and whose conscience is going to help love what is left
oh lord, oh lord, most love you so...glowing icons speaking freely
of America, don't get me wrong, it is not death-hate,..just objections aplenty
for I am sick as well and older than young saviors
chaos connected until the blood is let but whose bell is rung
shouldst thou drink thy dragon’s belly strange and soft
lucid and wise hungering not having all for selfish flame
love tries to live but wings get old needing childish grief
so God save this world for all to be abounding in harmony and peace
-CHRISTOPHER KRAEMER
DRAWING BY HAYDEN GREELMAN, WHO IS 10 FEBRUARY 18
POETRY
WINTER SHIVERS
that winter I wore three coats from the goodwill
tired shoes
fishing tackle for jewelry.
SURVIVORS
War is painful to those who fight as well ones they leave behind
but the greatest honor survivors can give those who fought
is to keep going on with their lives
I have real respect for those who fight, those who die
and those who are left behind because of war.
They are survivors alongside us, among us; we are they.
the Hl ones
Ill Remember those
.. . who die as well rjtlj
K who
ilOSU survive.
■■
-ANNA MYERS
BATTLEFIELD PSYCHIATRY
‘Suicide has become such a pressing issue that the
Army sent an assessment team to Iraq late last year
to see if anything more could be done to prevent troops
from killing themselves. ”
-M A T T KELLY, AP WRITER, 1/14/2004
How well is it working?
asks another press release,
to which we in turn must query:
How well do we think?
Whip people into
patriotic killing, then
post them as front-and-center
"nation-building" targets, follow
with (consistently!) unclear or nonexistent aims,
along with indeterminate stretches of duty;
be sure to make them
keep the peace as well as murder
innocents. All this
in direct opposition to
everything learned
at home, in church, at school, and even
from our country’s formal proclamations,
and what do we think might be
the outcome, for many of them
out there squinting into the sky
of another day raid, another night patrol?
SWEATLODGE
Clean me down in the marrow of my bones.
Make my body a place the Great Spirit will roam.
Sweat me until my pores pour blood.
Purify me till I see,
till I be perfect love.
Take away my misconceptions.
Make me humble, give me grace.
Baptize me with your fire
that within me understanding will take place.
-DANIEL ELEY
in bed at night the railroad tracks screamed to me
“it’s cold” they said “we’re tight”.
when it was light I visited them
bringing painted rocks to edge their ties.
that winter I wore three coats from the goodwill
my hair was a ratted cap and always in my mouth.
flies drank cool fountains from my eyelids.
that winter I bedded with a screaming man for a lump of coal
I’m looking through their words for blame
their pictures steal me still the same
I know the dreams we make and call them out
by name
heads full of prosperity
and blind eyes to reality
I’d like to think they made the sell
I like to think they’d broken in
that I was pushed down when I fell
into this labyrinth of sin
(but now I see the picture’s right in front of me)
the Sunday skies are turning gray
the other eyes just looked away
seems no one wants to hear the ugly truth
that I found out today
I let them out and
I let them in
to my inner sanctum
-TERESA BARNES
Finally, of course,
it being war, add this:
“...the accessibility of weapons
in a war zone can quickly turn a
passing thought into action.” No need for
long investigations or furrowed brows.
It is simple, it is elementary.
Suicide
before or after
"engagements” over there, or
disconnection once back here
needs no study now, if ever it once did —
Wars have methodically
pummeled children, women and
men into the victim’s surprised and final
disbelief,
and the fatalities of shredded self.
-CAROLYN DUNN
that winter I ate rice with pepper I stole from denny’s
i had crystal balls frozen in my brain
a friend Mags
who sang songs of russian boatmen,
there was no tampax for me that winter
i crouched in the bathroom for a week
bleeding on newspapers
i hung the most artistic splatters on the wall.
that winter shivers.
-MONICA KOSKEY
FRIENDS AT THE RIVER’S EDGE
For Paul Jackson, Columbia River Bar Pilot
who died at age 57 on October 19, 2003
I used to have a neighbor, a young woman,
whose husband was in the Coast Guard
until he got cancer and passed away
one summer in his own bed.
She said it was hard to believe he was gone
since he was gone so often.
At first, to face the mornings, she told herself
he was just out to sea and would
be home soon.
Then it became a habit she couldn’t break.
She moved because she couldn’t look at the river
for the rest of the days
and I never knew what became of her.
I think of her sometimes when I am on the riverwalk
watching your men pilot your ships
walking where your boots touched until that one day
when you crossed your last bar.
That poor young wife.
How sad to have to give up the lovely habit of
scanning the horizon, waiting
for a man to return from his voyage.
As friends we are unconcerned with curfews, ticking clocks
or promises made with altars between.
We pour out a pint
choose a topic in your honor.
Scrabble tiles laid out
dogs warming our feet
we are waiting for you to come from the sea.
DRAWING BY DONNA JOY DEUFEL. AGE 8
-DEBBIE BARENDSE REED