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| look 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 |
sanctus temi rose we learn our abuse like a catechism repeat its sanctified phrases until we expire crawling to the altar our self destruction guaranteed sanctified |
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| anger 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 |
waiting 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 |
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| trogolodyte rochelle hope mehr frozen in time stalagmite unable to divine its source obsessed with the depths unable to confess the love from above |
born 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 |
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