women’s poetry for a change
issue # 59
fall 2003


rochelle hope mehr
the beginning of wisdom
may have come
when I realized
that there is nothing in this world
that can make me happy
the end of wisdom is to prove
that happiness lies
not in this world
but in this poem
your body expands
inhaling mine
for our every fulfillment
eleanor koldofsky
temi rose
we learn our abuse like a catechism
repeat its sanctified phrases
until we expire crawling to the altar
our self destruction guaranteed
rochelle hope mehr
it’s not a happy way to live
it’s not a joyous way to live
but it keeps me alive
it feeds me as it feeds upon me
we have a symbiotic relationship
we two
anger and me
every time I forget
every time I let down my guard
and am singed by ignorance, prejudice
or malice
its hungry tongue laps
hard against my breast
and I am galvanized
into pure ire
I won’t melt a heart
but I will resonate through
the canyons of insensate resistance
margaret boles
today I play a waiting game
for some time it has been the same
yesterday I waited with my mother
today I have another
waiting room to view
(that’s nothing new)
yesterday it was hospital and doctor
today, music exam and daughter
tomorrow dentist and my son
another week, more treatment begun
and every week I must wait
whle they sing or swim or skate
I wait at school at one and two
waiting, waiting, nothing to do
how much waiting can I take?
waiting my life away for goodness sake
my life - the waiting game
rochelle hope mehr
frozen in time
unable to divine
its source
obsessed with the depths
unable to confess
the love
from above
najwa salam brax
in my cozy, rosy garden varicolored
rosebushes dance and sway
an artistic ballet that sets the rock
to sing in the awakening summer
pansies, still butterflies dreaming
of platonic shadows to reveal
their true existence. wild butterflies
inspire matter and spirit - they waltz
with iridescent birds of paradise
spreading tiny muses of serenity
my thought swells into visions
my heart catches flitting beauties
of paradise. in my flower-filled garden
new ideas flap in the summer breeze
a long poem is born, well written
by various pens. Shall I trim it, edit
and publish in the book of nature?
Orpheus sends his immortal notes
on ethereal wings, circles of butterflies
in rainbow flight herald nature’s
feathery dreams. I fly with them
a wing merging with wings