There was a place,
Where I used to go,
Hidden away, on a mountain face,
All covered in snow.
There was a place where I used to go,
Just to get away.
And to learn what I did not know
And sometimes just to play.
But then they came,
Like some monstrous beast,
And ruined our peace, they are to blame
Upon our tranquility they feast.
And now that place,
Where I used to go,
No longer is hidden away, on that mountain face,
All covered in snow.
Christopher Robert Keizur, Jan 27, 2009
Monday, February 2, 2009
The Land of Fog
Choking fog is all around,
And as I walk along the cold wet sand,
I can hear waves crashing, upon that sand they pound.
And I walk through the fog, through this land.
Few others have trod this path,
And yet I go on,
The wind howls, somehow I incurred its wrath,
Simply because I walk, from the rest of the world I am gone.
No advice reaches me, I am on my own.
No map to guide me,
Here I am alone.
But then I see,
The fog is abating, could it be true?
After all this, I might be okay?
Escape is drawing closer, somehow I always knew.
I just have to find my way.
Christopher Robert Keizur, Jan 25, 2009
And as I walk along the cold wet sand,
I can hear waves crashing, upon that sand they pound.
And I walk through the fog, through this land.
Few others have trod this path,
And yet I go on,
The wind howls, somehow I incurred its wrath,
Simply because I walk, from the rest of the world I am gone.
No advice reaches me, I am on my own.
No map to guide me,
Here I am alone.
But then I see,
The fog is abating, could it be true?
After all this, I might be okay?
Escape is drawing closer, somehow I always knew.
I just have to find my way.
Christopher Robert Keizur, Jan 25, 2009
you'll see them
in the blue sky so very high
their wings flap with melody
soaring above clouds flying by
with a bird and human similarity
god has made them they have praised him
thier job is to always watch over me
they fill my cup and raise me up
a unique species that are niether he or she
but some become heathens
beyond underground
anytime of season
you'll see them around
now i have reasons
to face my demons
Nick Meines
their wings flap with melody
soaring above clouds flying by
with a bird and human similarity
god has made them they have praised him
thier job is to always watch over me
they fill my cup and raise me up
a unique species that are niether he or she
but some become heathens
beyond underground
anytime of season
you'll see them around
now i have reasons
to face my demons
Nick Meines
Collateral Damage
She haunts me:
a thin, scarfed silhouette searching
for a face lost in history.
Abandoning her
to an uncertain fate
a pariah among her people.
We all look the same to her.
Our uniforms blend us
into shades of tan and brown.
Yet she hopes
and still searches
thinking one of us might be him.
She walks past, unescorted,
for a quick glace
avoiding eye contact
trying to preserve the disguise
of a lost dignity, a cultural rule
that was broken
and can never be mended
She stops at a distance
to search hopefully
for one recognizable sign:
how we stand or talk;
a vain hope,
then turns the corner
a slim, scarfed shadow.
A spirit.
And like a specter
she reappears to my left
where she began.
Moving at a measured pace,
a funeral walk,
towards me, then away.
Stops, observes, turns,
And reappears.
She continues this
haunting march
hoping he will call to her,
break the spell,
but the words will never come.
He is not there,
and she is alone.
None will walk with her now.
She reappears
a timid smile
moving towards us,
towards me
gracefully silent
hopeful
holding something to her breast.
She held out a picture
battered and creased, faded,
of a small group of
young American soldiers.
They were smiling and cocky.
Her treasure.
Especially one of them.
She pointed to him,
and raised her hand
in question.
Where was he? Did I know him?
Smiling, consoling,
I shook my head.
I did not know him, how to
contact him.
He was merely memory now,
a soldier passing through
history, and long gone home.
She stared with an intensity
that belied the tears
forming in her eyes
blinking,
and lightly touched her belly.
I knew then
he had ruined her somehow,
shamed her in the eyes of her people.
He was the reason
she walked alone,
lost,
without escort or friend.
A brave smile above a quivering chin,
she turns, a hint of jasmine,
and is blown down the street
to uncertainty
the unknown.
Another product of our
great democracy.
There is truth
in our believing
We cause greater harm
in our attempts to heal.
She is proof.
The silent, scarfed shadow
that haunts my life.
-Brent Nice 01/27/2009
a thin, scarfed silhouette searching
for a face lost in history.
Abandoning her
to an uncertain fate
a pariah among her people.
We all look the same to her.
Our uniforms blend us
into shades of tan and brown.
Yet she hopes
and still searches
thinking one of us might be him.
She walks past, unescorted,
for a quick glace
avoiding eye contact
trying to preserve the disguise
of a lost dignity, a cultural rule
that was broken
and can never be mended
She stops at a distance
to search hopefully
for one recognizable sign:
how we stand or talk;
a vain hope,
then turns the corner
a slim, scarfed shadow.
A spirit.
And like a specter
she reappears to my left
where she began.
Moving at a measured pace,
a funeral walk,
towards me, then away.
Stops, observes, turns,
And reappears.
She continues this
haunting march
hoping he will call to her,
break the spell,
but the words will never come.
He is not there,
and she is alone.
None will walk with her now.
She reappears
a timid smile
moving towards us,
towards me
gracefully silent
hopeful
holding something to her breast.
She held out a picture
battered and creased, faded,
of a small group of
young American soldiers.
They were smiling and cocky.
Her treasure.
Especially one of them.
She pointed to him,
and raised her hand
in question.
Where was he? Did I know him?
Smiling, consoling,
I shook my head.
I did not know him, how to
contact him.
He was merely memory now,
a soldier passing through
history, and long gone home.
She stared with an intensity
that belied the tears
forming in her eyes
blinking,
and lightly touched her belly.
I knew then
he had ruined her somehow,
shamed her in the eyes of her people.
He was the reason
she walked alone,
lost,
without escort or friend.
A brave smile above a quivering chin,
she turns, a hint of jasmine,
and is blown down the street
to uncertainty
the unknown.
Another product of our
great democracy.
There is truth
in our believing
We cause greater harm
in our attempts to heal.
She is proof.
The silent, scarfed shadow
that haunts my life.
-Brent Nice 01/27/2009
The Carousel
From a tinny box with the usual schmaltz
Comes the bittersweet tune of Musetta's Waltz.
Around and around the Carousel turns
And carries to ears who, remembering, yearn
For the giddy laughter of a starry-eyed girl
As she sat on a horse trimmed in ribbons that curled
A marv'lous steed with expression untame
And jewels on its browband, gold tassels and reins.
Now a tear trickles down a long-wrinkled cheek
The horses lilt softly, their eyes seem to speak
As lovers tarry hours, riding hand-in-hand,
Beside babes held steady by parents who stand,
'Till Carousel slows and Music winds to a fin -
Some get on, some get off, and again it begins.
-Siri Hammond
Comes the bittersweet tune of Musetta's Waltz.
Around and around the Carousel turns
And carries to ears who, remembering, yearn
For the giddy laughter of a starry-eyed girl
As she sat on a horse trimmed in ribbons that curled
A marv'lous steed with expression untame
And jewels on its browband, gold tassels and reins.
Now a tear trickles down a long-wrinkled cheek
The horses lilt softly, their eyes seem to speak
As lovers tarry hours, riding hand-in-hand,
Beside babes held steady by parents who stand,
'Till Carousel slows and Music winds to a fin -
Some get on, some get off, and again it begins.
-Siri Hammond
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Wait
The weight of my branches, I cannot hold;
The countless nights of chill and fog
have caused my branches to look very old.
Can you help me kind sir or the kind dog?
The man will walk, never hear my thought
above the howling wind, you see. It loves
to shadow every move, yet I cannot
combat the wind, with a golden glove.
O why o why can they not hear my cry?
Do I not sell the yell and the bellow?
Am I too quiet? Do branches not sigh?
A kind dog hears and offers a hello.
At last, a someone has perceived my please,
A soul who cares about the poor old trees.
~Helen
The countless nights of chill and fog
have caused my branches to look very old.
Can you help me kind sir or the kind dog?
The man will walk, never hear my thought
above the howling wind, you see. It loves
to shadow every move, yet I cannot
combat the wind, with a golden glove.
O why o why can they not hear my cry?
Do I not sell the yell and the bellow?
Am I too quiet? Do branches not sigh?
A kind dog hears and offers a hello.
At last, a someone has perceived my please,
A soul who cares about the poor old trees.
~Helen
Tick Tock
When one is perpetually stalked,
One will eventually fall. One can
Run and evade, but we are only man
And thus mortal. The eternal "tick tock"
Cannot be undone. Unlike Cold, life's clock
Cannot be fought, for time has its own plan.
Everyone, from young to old, is damned
To succumb to the talons of the hawk.
Though a predator time bay be, it forms
Us, defines us, builds us to who we are.
The Predator destroys and teaches you.
A wise mentor and a terrible storm,
Time is a unique force. Though it may mar
Us, it is part of our life, and death, and truth
-Alex Sirotzki
One will eventually fall. One can
Run and evade, but we are only man
And thus mortal. The eternal "tick tock"
Cannot be undone. Unlike Cold, life's clock
Cannot be fought, for time has its own plan.
Everyone, from young to old, is damned
To succumb to the talons of the hawk.
Though a predator time bay be, it forms
Us, defines us, builds us to who we are.
The Predator destroys and teaches you.
A wise mentor and a terrible storm,
Time is a unique force. Though it may mar
Us, it is part of our life, and death, and truth
-Alex Sirotzki
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