VERNON WARING : conclusion
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PEGGY MEEKS-KING : An Interlude
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contemporary international poetry - for your reading pleasure,
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All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge




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VERNON WARING
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someone still likes the way words race across a page like brazen insects someone still marvels at the magic and movement of poetry rhythms that challenge and calm the heart someone still respects the simple music of a single sonnet so sweetly sounding the reader whirls in exhilaration like a ballerina in a sunlit room now take the words and make them twist and turn and jump and rise and fall you are their master their leader their captain make them bow to your voice make them cower and despise you call you hateful names curse your power bind them up in a choke hold watch the blood fill their faces their tiny mouths squealing in pain then release them slowly into the night whispering your forgiveness currying their favor for you know in their naked humility in their confusion and fear they are after all only words
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I have many things to write unto you but   I will not write with pen and ink
--JOHN the theologian





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MARIE KAZALIA
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back again early afternoon drinking a fruit and cranberry juice smoothie calmer about coming here this time - sitting at a table in the spot where the band had played that nite I smoked opium for the first time - don't see the owner or Dave none of the musicians can look up into the open ceiling the white wood railing around the upstairs I'd passed along following Dave and a hard greasy little guy who'd said nothing - Kandi the singer and another femme one other guy into a private room located now above my hat covered head that nite we all sat on chairs, a sofa on the edge of a huge bed - Dave pulled out foil filled with black opium instructed me in how to suck up the white smoke changing me loosening me up forever
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Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato





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PEGGY MEEKS-KING
An Interlude

As I walked down the streets of life I've met many people and seen many sights. The place I call my home is the Earth with its Moon, Sun and Stars to wonder at, with eclipses that can make a noon's day sky seem like dusk. Many phenomena happen on this Earth that many of us for the most part are unaware of. Black butterflies, under a white cloud, beneath a blue sky. Many things we are aware of and wish would disappear: war, hate, hunger, fear, broken hearts and death. But with life's joys also comes it pains, an interlude of sorts; life is a stage and we are all players in the play of life.

What I remember the most as a child was the stories of death. My Grandmother told me the stories of her life. These tales I never forgot because they were carved on my heart like stone. When my Grandmother was a child, they said she would never live to be a young woman. As a child she was weak and sick most of the time. But like a small tree that is weak in the storm endures, my Grandmother also endured the storms of life. Many tears, tears of joy, sadness, disappointment, pain and loneliness. My Grandmother's second child, Ruth, died at the age of three from diphtheria. Her beloved husband, David, died of a hole in the heart caused by rheumatic fever, leaving her with five small children. In my Grandmother's yard there was only one kind of flower, it was Lily of the Valley, a low plant with a spike of flowers. As a small child, I can remember looking out the windows at lightning when it was storming; my Grandmother would say, 'Don't do that,' and I would wonder why because I liked to watch it storm. In my Grandmother's closet were many pictures; among them were funeral pictures. I remember seeing the pictures at a young age and thinking, 'what is death?' then I would get a very sad feeling and cry. My Grandmother told me tales of war; in W.W. 06 she had three stars in her window, not heavenly stars, but these were earthly stars caused by war. One son was in Egypt, one son was in the Army, and one son was on a ship on the ocean where he saw the rainbow's edge. Three stars in her window to stand for each son in the war. When the war was over only two sons returned; one was a POW. My Grandmother told me that she thought she would never see that son again. After two years she saw him again. But like time, all things pass, even war. My Grandmother also told me tales of the old country, of the Iron Curtain and of the holocaust when people were burned in ovens. She told me about angels and that the most powerful thing upon this earth was the written word because it can change many things: injustice, ignorance and even war.

Also, the most unbreakable thing we possess is our human spirit. I learned from my Grandmother that life is not fair and that life is always uncertain. I thought of my Grandmother, Delphi Nichols, when the Iron Curtain came falling down twenty years after her death. For all of life's dark sides, in the spring a flower will bloom and all is almost forgotten.
POETRYREPAIRS 12.06: 072
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VERNON WARING : conclusion
MARIE KAZALIA : Cafe.com
PEGGY MEEKS-KING : An Interlude

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