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I Must Be Ice by MARYANN HAZEN-STEARNS

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MARYANN HAZEN-STEARNS I Must Be Ice (from UNDER THE LIMBO STICK) I must be ice or at least the spider thin line of frost that tracks across your window pane, that branches out from the center splinters into blue-veins doubles, triples, again and again until your view is blinded in the crystalline shine of mine. You might melt fingertip circles there on the glass, but you won't touch the perfect white pattern which accumulates overnight. You'll wait, shallow breath puffing, till the sun rolls around from the side, if it comes over today. I could be ice or snow you know, or frost but as it is, I'm just slightly less warm than you. Copyright 2006, all rights retained by the poet

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hoping the Samaritan on the road to Jerusalem is around ... after midnight ... by DAVID BARNES

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DAVID BARNES hoping the Samaritan on the road to Jerusalem is around ... after midnight ... Dedicated to: Dennis Greene Short stanzas potent in meaning, need no biography, no explanation. His fingers tremble, slowly moving through pages, yet with certainty the pen moves through his imposed restrictions, shifting language in precision, words come; go by the way, discarded, painting the color of expressions. Seasons flow through him pass, return; stimulating mind, implants; hands retrieve the balancing case, colored pills ingested, convey a semblance of respite from unwanted burdens. I have learned much about Parkinson's disease written by hesitant, poetic hands. When I thought I was empty; he fills the well, with his moral fiber, And he carries unwanted burdens with no stopover. Who am I to complain? I listen to his criticisms, as he lacerates my words, moving black pigment on crisp white pages: We didn't ask for this. He with his disease, I with my infirmity; though we know the broken road, word-for-word. And he would be first to say short stanzas potent in meaning, need no biography, no explanation. Our poems edited. Coffee he asks? Shuffling - slowly away. (c) deBarnes November 2000 -24th Parkinson's Workshop, republished here with the consent of the poet; all rights retained by the poet

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Penny Sun Soaring by MARYANN HAZEN-STEARNS

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MARYANN HAZEN-STEARNS Penny Sun Soaring (of the Counterculture Nation) Penny Sun Soaring meets the river. Silver Moon waves from the sea. Cradled on dusk, on dew, I whisper again, don't forget me, against cheek of plum-colored sky don't forget me. Sky Listens Closely. I remember auburn fire hair, scattered melodies upon mountain side, paisley, patchouli, kites, lights, pipes, drums, dreams. Pulse of universe dancing in my wrist, flutter of dove in my wrist and the night bird who trembles in tune whispering don't forget me, wings whirring spurred by a small craziness inside. An explosion of flowers in my eye, Penny Sun Soaring. Don't forget me, desire and dream in the fire. Copyright 2006, from UNDER THE LIMBO STICK reprinted here with permission of the poet; all rights retained by the poet

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