Poetry Contributions to this section are gratefully accepted

Poetry

Contributions to this section are gratefully accepted.
This would include your own poetry
Or favorite poem contributions.
Photographs, drawings and other graphic
Contributions are included for increased enjoyment.

Please email your contributions thru Contribution Page.

Poetry Contributions:

TAROT DREAM

A staccato sense of wonder
Beating within my breast
Like a drum
As though I had glanced down
From the High Mountain during a Vision Quest
And far below, a straining hum:
A medieval market village
With dancing dogs and boys with sticks:
In the town center, a fountain,
Where one lone juggler
Plies a tattered bag of tricks
Outside the courtyard wall.
Deep within the castle,
Gliding along a lantern lit hall,
The High Priestess passes
A corporeal vassal,
The Queen of Swords and all pentacle pages,
Wise men, blind men, hanged men,
beggars, sages.

-Tehuti93

SILVER CLAD I awoke, remembering a dream Where seeming became seen And meaning ceased, A hazy, amber-lighted fantasy street Of exotic shop wint=dows with Gifts from the Far East And jasmine scent and figurines of old. At the street's bend, I did behold A silver-clad magician Who led me through a gate of gold. -Beladoro

	Magi Crowley

Lilith, I Don't Cut My Grass

by Enid Dame

Lilith, comes out of ancient Sumerian mythology as a female mythological figure representing at first a Sumerian goddess of the wind, -then, the essence of the erotic female in the secret rites of sexual mysticism, the beautiful first female Eve, a winged demon seductress. A complex and long lasting icon from Mesopotamia to the Hebrew mysticism of the Qabbala

LILITH, I DON'T CUT MY GRASS

....ALTHOUGH lILITH HAS EXISTED SINCE THE SIXTH, OR EVEN
THE FIFTH DAY OF CREATION, SHE IS NOT IMMORTAL.
Raphael Patai
The Hebrew Goddess

Lilith, I don't cut my grass
as you never cut your hair.
I picture you in my backyard
where it's always cool and ferny,
where jewelweeds grow taller than trees,
where wild berries tangle
like knots in cats' fur.

I see you sorting out the birds from the cats:
two of your favorite animals.
Contradictions never scared you.

Lilith, you smell like the earth
and marigolds and mulchy leaves.
Your arms are mud-bespattered.
You don't look like my mother.

I couldn't ask my mother
for a blessing.
She was too much afraid
of her own craziness.
She only spoke to cats.

Every few months
She went to an expert
to burn all the wilderness
out of her hair.
Once she tried to take me with her.
I scratched and fought,
yowled, ran up an elm tree.
It took years to climb down.

Lilith, I'm almost 50.I'm running of time, money, eyesight.
I still bleed but for how long?
Not like this yard where everything is liquid:
Where roses sag and break their waters,
tomatoes offer up their juices,
slugs die dreamily in beerbowls, you dip your toes in green mud.

Lilith, neighbors are complaining.They're collecting money
to buy me a power mover.
How can I tell them
I'm terrified of power?
There's too much let loose in the world.
It's one gift I don't need.

Lilith, it's growing later.
I knew you won't hang on forever.
they say Messiah's coming any day now.
I hear his footsteps ringing in the hallway.
The clean clang of authority.
I see his shadow looming big as a condominium
sucking up the sun.
No stopping that man!
He's carrying a squirtgun filled with chemicals.
No room for weeds in his world.

Lilith, bless this garden
while both of us
still use it.

Poetry and Haiku from Katie

   Morning

   Slowly coming up
   Walking in the dew softly
   Keeping the silence

   Evening

   Slowly going down
   Walking the darkness hugging
   Grasping your bony arms

Anorexic Angel

I can try to be inspirational to your dying
  Body, that trembles with lack of hope
   (You starved yourself of hope)
   I can tell you how beautiful you look,
   And you’re too lost to know that I’m not lying
   Only your shadow is left to embrace me,
   Although they said it was too painful for you
   They don’t realize you’re not even there,
   And I can hear you laughing from far away,
   (If that is even your ability to have fun)
   I can try to coax you back, with lies,
   The truth, of how your body
   Needs, because it isn’t, perfection yet,
   Not yet,
   I can promise you that you’ll make it
   An image of your soul,
   If you’re willing to believe me, but
   Are you beyond willing?
   And if I could scorn your petty advances at perfection
   (Assuming I still have the heart to break yours)
   Would you have enough hope to drain the rest away,
   And still make it out alive, before you die
   (I could slip you between the cracks)

   I can try to make sure you don’t live,
   If you promise to come back
   For one instant, and arch up into my body,
   Could you not be fragile,
   So I can show you the strength of my love?
   (I was never the one who asked you too much)
   And I am not selfish, (yes I am) for wanting you to go back
   To the time that forced you into your present condition,
   Because for a few days you were beautiful,
   And right before you slipped away
   I loved you,
   My anorexic angel
   But the lack of hope won’t grant you wings)

   The Loss of a Friend
    (for Margaret Mudge)

I tap on your door pane,
   Can sense
   That something
   Has gone horribly wrong.
   No bounding stride,
   No fussing with a barking dog.
   Silently a serious faced daughter
   Gestures toward the bedroom.
   The incongruity of the great white head
   Nested in a pillow at mid morning
   Alarms me at once
   That this might be a deathbed.
   Your body stretches awkwardly
   Beneath the floral shroud bedspread
   Clutched at your chin,
   By determined knuckles.
   Your still-strong voice
   Is told the lie by the pill bottles
   Huddled on your nightstand
   Like a defeated army.
   Later,
   When a tense voice on my answering machine
   Merely requests a return call,
   I know that all
   Is spent.
   Now, I rest against a closed door
   Of memories shared.
   I shiver on this February day
   With its useless sun and
   Grit gray mounds of snow.
   Numb-locked, I stared
   And dreamed of dreams of deeds you dared.
                 Dorian

The peace and serenity of the woodland,
Especially in the fall
Is an experience in life that the mind and soul
Are compelled to recall.
The echo of a wolf howling far,
Far away somewhere along a river
Touches the sense of your soul
And causes you to be still and consider

The silence of peace and nature in harmonic embrace,
The majestic stillness of trees,
Wistful movement of air, a dignified place,
Makes the inner self give up pressure and stress
That life can impose
Makes the heart and soul unite in peaceful compose.

The bridge between life and death
Is a mystery solved by no mortal man,
Yet our senses know the presence of other souls
We do not understand
The link between this life's time and space
And some other is not for us to know,
But a heart, mind, and soul at peace
Will prepare us for where we must go.

The uncertainity, the solitude,
Moving forward to the end ,
The quiet feeling of despair,
We cannot hope to grasp, but we know we will be there.
So like the solemn oaks in the timberland,
Like the gentle brooks in our mind,
Be strong, be good and be kind.