| InterBoard Poetry Competition | |
Selig Lyle R. Berry STARS IN THE SEA Harvey Novack Elizabeth Cher BlackA PAGE MUST BE MISSING
(formerly entitled “Hyperventilating in Water”)
I have been a hunter for buddha
Dirtied my hands with the blood of peace
Bathed with the bloated bodies in the Ganges
Breathed the foul air from the pyres of renewal
Born to die and dying for life
Promised myself to the soul collectors
Confessing to crimes that were not mine
The childless mother of orphans
I sent dreams out into the world without actions
Strangled hope before it could breathe
Made love to virgins, resurrected the unconceived
Forgave the saint and followed the sinner
Stuffed my soul with the vacuum of words
Swam in the swampy desert of knowledge
I prospected the dry riverbeds of philosophy
Till I yelled at the deaf and chanted with the dumb
Spent my nights listening to the snores of insomniacs
Carried torches for the blind
Loved cold stones and left hearts bleeding
Stood on the dais knowing I had failed
I was only ever drowning in air
THE HERONS (3 SEDOKA)
[The sedoka is an ancient Japanese form that predates haiku. The sedoka consists of six lines, 38 syllables, in a 5-7-7-5-7-7 pattern. Often the sedoka will have "twists" after the second and the 4th line. Sedoka resemble tanka (31 syllables in 5-7-5-7-7) and haiku (5-7-5) in that they are very brief/succinct. They often portray natural images and human emotions.]
Lake rich with algae
Nature’s tableau, banquet spread
Seeking breakfast for her young
Hiding in rushes
Quiescent lest weasel hear
Green heron’s babies stirring
Bullfrogs fear her near
Rapier unsheathed
Patient as eternity
Snakes whisper warnings
Another favorite repast
Wary of her piercing eyes
Her eerie voice sounds
And breaks the misty silence
She takes to wing -- a death kite
Prey identified
Bluegill slain by coup de grace
The herons shall have sushi
Sweeping low over the winking guns of the fleets,
Torpedo to strike, pounce a trigger,
Out of the sun the Mitsubishis,
Hit, shatter, hit, shatter,
This is no Tyrone Power huge in movie gloom,
This is some college kid burning to death, plunging toward the Pacific,
A kitchen-calendar Jesus fades in and out, in and out, as the blue
becomes huge.
STREET GLAMOR
I work endlessly on a story
they all want to read my great living tragedy
I will never be a Bukowski or Ginsberg
But my friends used to tease me
about being the daughter of Cassady
Sometimes I feel everything and every breath
Some days I am cold stone steel
waiting with patience for death
Ego trance
dancing on my grandmother's grave out of disrespect
I love to put blame on her for all the family's sickness
The guilt and weirdness
Nothing unique here
Just abuse
Just sadness with a few twists
Great for daytime tv
I am writing this story
Anyone could write
It is the street glamor
that makes it so gracious...
I got a bottle of cheap wine and a hand full of pills.
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