02.09:102
JARRETT FULTON
A Breathing Carcass


Have you ever felt that you were at the bottom of the food chain?
Why did God give us nerves to feel so much pain?
Feeling those rigid jaws chewing,
Nibbling my precious, unstylish body
With claws that slash through my flesh
The only sound is my screaming
Becoming?
A breathing carcass
¼ of myself is missing
As the Earth lies there and watches
The beast and I are silhouetted like two lovers in the murky shadows
I'm dying
But the pain does not cease
The beast devours my body and all its wealth
And I chant… I chant death
Can you picture this torment?
My body paralyzed, my mouth glutted with blood
Only to cover my screams
My screams…
Jarrett Fulton: I have written poetry for a year now and received high praises from editors from the states to as far as United Kingdom. Few of my poems are now featured in magazines and zines such as Behold, The Harrow, Alternate Species, Harlem Live, and DrumsBeat Magazine.



     copyright     

return to contents, this issue

Poets
Parts
MAIL
02.09

097
098
099
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
TOP
02.09:102
MICHAEL DAVID COFFEY
Quiet Early One Morning



Quiet early one morning the dust of time
Caught between earth and heaven
In a breath of golden thoughts
Betwixt the moon and sun in burning dreams
Fire and fortune mixed in a moment
Here I paused frozen in a frame of time

Quiet in the early days dreaming of passion
Of lust and life and moments in a heavenly place
Sheets and flesh and crescendos
Screeching violins and trombones
Blasting my senses in the vibrant play

And on into living and laughing
Playing the night and meeting the dawn
Booze and Beatles, braving the darkness
Dancing and dreaming
Caught in the dusky incensed room

Quiet on the shore, cold sand
And whispering waters, creeping up
Kissing the gray dawn's luster
The sun breaking the dream
To reveal a hope, a wish, a future

Quiet broken by the day's blustery entrance
Traffic and travel
Jetstreams and gulfstreams
Living the jetset way
Among five star hotels and far-flung islands

The drowning, the dull throb
Of endless weary replays
Lost in the game of meaningless scenes
Replayed, revised, revisited
Lies and promises made, to be broken

To return again to the quiet times, the wishing
for
A walk on a silent moon sung promenade
Of virgin sand and dewy kisses
A place of peace and honest fellowship
Quiet early one morning ... again




     copyright     

return to contents, this issue

Poets
Parts
MAIL
02.09

097
098
099
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
TOP


Xaxa Banner Exchange