PoetryRepairShop 05.01:011 UMA ASOPA Almost Someone asked me, if I have ever been to a beach on moonlit night. Did I listen to the sea acknowledging its retreat - waves falling silent, as their fury would leave? Did I feel them cut through my heels, as they thrashed against the rocks, or the gravel I stood on? Yes I was there, almost, but not on full moon. I never heard it whisper nor felt its salt. The sea tempted me, but I came back from every shore feet wet, without going knee deep. Every time I heard its song, incomplete. Copyright 2005, all rights revert to the poet.

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PoetryRepairShop 05.01:011 POETRYREPAIRS.US! We are looking for creative editors and webmasters to join PoetryRepairS at our new poetry and poetry-related portal and website, we envision a front door to many and diverse cultures, languages, and interests. To achieve our goal, we seek webmasters/editors for the following poetryrepairs subdomains and sites: //arabic.poetryrepairs.us and //chinese.poetryrepairs.us //french.poetryrepairs.us and //spanish.poetryrepairs.us and //slavic.poetryrepairs.us We seek webmasters and editors for subdomains clearly related PoetryRepairShop - sites such as //poetics.poetryrepairs.us //reviews.poetryrepairs.us //resources.poetryrepairs.com (resources for poets) //search.poetryrepairs.us //zines.poetryrepairs.us and feel free to suggest a website or subdomain of your interest. All webmaster/editor positions are offered without monetary compensation; we're looking for individuals eager to share online experience as a creative team. Please note: If you wish to purchase a subdomainsubdomains are available Copyright 2005, all rights revert to the poet.

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PoetryRepairShop 05.01:011 JANOS v. HORVATH Lonesome Journey Uptown There are no emotions out tonight Neither crickets nor other sign of life Only my own As I get to the bus station to go uptown The driver looks down upon my wrinkled face He grieves for me He gives hope of trust and lets me sit behind him He hands me a warm towel and I dry myself We leave the station no sooner than the last minute I look back to the empty seats I see no faces I look down the street I left I see no trace of life Uptown I leave the bus The rain drizzles Moments later it stops The stars have vision now A single porch light is lit on my street It must be mine The single house at which I stare Paint peeling and wood rots Timber scattered on the rust lawn I enter A stack of bills lie soaked at my feet In my room I sit in shame I get into my night clothes and sleep The next morning I awake With sounds of the world I start again This is the harshness of life Copyright 2005, all rights revert to the poet.

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