ilankmg iriends, iilling warmly light,
laughing, leaving love unsaid,

seldom spoken, slowly touching;

told in time treating gently

oi ever.

eyes endlessly asking, questions
coming, calling readiness,
reaffirming reaching. Seeing
strong silence suddenly meit,
meaning music.

magical morning, springingly
setting sunlight into tone,

trying trembling, testing, looking
letting love linger wordless,
wandered welcoming.

wildly wondrous humanity,
harmony ol hands and meanings,
more magniliceht in tension,
throbbing, tempered tenderness--
greatiully growing green»

giving vital trial
all ways, wanting now,
Wishing presents

upon me.
Sherry Mayrent

A Year On the Road

She’d been merely a whisp

in the spring oi ”7-1

And unobtainable

But the year proved substantial
For both
Separately/Communally.

The growth was amazing-

She was lull

and Iree

and a wumnn.

~l-le was empty

alone

unattached

Except to her eyes

her lips

her thighs

Which he'd seen,

in passing, the year betore
But memories become dreams
And dreams reality, in time.
And time had passed.

TlILt was sure

Lo\e was no longer oboession
Just a game to play

When the right opponent came along,
Ayrctl‘ was proof of that.
Unlll she rang his doorbell
On" gray morn

amt melted allover him

Blit ring the treadmarks

Ola year on the road.

Marty lker

Illusion

I awake
Anxiously wondering

Whether the light i see
Creeping by the curtains

seems as bright outside
As in my dark room

Pamela Palmer

with apologies to eie.

is there really was there any at all
yesterdaysbeioretoday indeed lfthls

is as eye stare at my toestypingstare
at my toestyping or

am i it i is i only dreamings leepingo
r possibly perhaps unborn

am (who) i (who) me tetus or iotuses
may bed ontex is tatai land orm aybewords
don iexist atal land

i just dreamt hey do and may bei’m

the only7person?alive it alive is

it persons be in this earth if

earthss uchb e asthis ii thisbe

and all is ee isonly my imagination if
imaginationszzzz .i'm getty dizzing

my feet sleep suundly?which from which?

it youreading this 7you are?
lra Aronin

when I watch a bus,
1 watch tor a while
and then the bus tells me that
i shouldn't watch instead i too should be
a bus driving down the street with people
inside me, But I can't be a
bus, even though I think that there
are people inside me, and so I go
away, Everyone i watch lets me watch
only a little while. Then they want me
to become watchable too. They want to
take me under their tire and make
a real bus oi me. .Then perhaps they
think we can watch each other.
Actually they can watch me now, it
they wanted to. But they don't seem
to, And it is really very diiiicult
because I am really not a bus or a
{lower or even a man and i cannot be
these things. instead I am a watcher.
Perhaps it would be better it they
were watchers too,

Albert Ascoli

alone upon the wire the last crow sits,
a silent silhouette against the sky;

the light or the late autumn sun grows dim,
slowly, so slowly day begins to die.

then, in the drying light, evenings iirst star

iaintly appears upon the horizon;

cold silent waves ol darkness hithe the earth»

the last crow has slipped away with the sun
David Mora

 

Poem oi the Oregon Coast
We come always to the sea
To find what mind has lost
in the waves rolling the chant,
The wind sighing us home.
We go now as we went
As children in the ’56 Plymouth
Ecstatic with the smell of the sea laughter
Swelling irrepressibly in our puny breas

We walk the beach

In mid-winter atmosphere of
Delicate gray , elements oi

Earth, air, and Water iuse,

And fire hangs denied,

We walk past the son's harvest

Of driftwood stacked high on the beach;
Logs from the lorest waters
Retain the clinging arms

ot sentimental kelp, dangling arms
01‘ disembodied kelp.

Not content with the sea’s
Hidden soul, we mount our arrays

or gods, struggling to reveal

Some vaunted truth to each other.

The sun dips lower on the horizon,

The wind ranges through the tall grass,
oiii words disappear

Our eyes lift to the sea,
Regaining the moment to see

The sen and the l‘iVei‘

Meellng in the whiteness ol revelation:
And ial'lher » sea lions

Searching the depths,

Surlacing, rolling, diving,
The dark Sides glistening

Smooth Its the night. quiet as the moon

Suddenly, a sea lion bursts
into the air

silver salmon wriggling between
The gulls cry with anticipation

As the sea lion shakes and rips

The life lroin the salmon —

pieces ol ilesti scattering

Across the ltntel, like dry leaves in the with

tho yaw

Motionless and without words
We linger tor a longtime
Watching With the gulls, the sea lions.

s, T Wellm'

