by the individual authors/artists and are
used by permission.
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or artist, click on their name or artwork to
go to their website.
by Loneheart
If mine heart was thy canvas my love
to paint upon as it pleaseth thee,
would our love be a masterpiece
or should it be as the artist's palette
upon which but one stroke of thy brush
would destroy all my longings for thee
as when an artist blends his colors?
Be ye kind with thy brush fair maid
for only ye can add beauty unto this painting.
If thine hand be gentle with thy brush
then it shall please thy eye as well as thy soul.
When created with love it shall fullfill
all thy longings for happiness.
When caressed tenderly and with a sincere heart
it shall then and only then become thy masterpiece.
With a soft sweet whisper it shall call unto thee
saying
I am thine alone for ye have completed my soul.
© Loneheart
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by Winbow
I walk through the forest and see
Beauty of life in its splendor
Visage of a little bird – free
Feathers a shower of color
Surveying life from a high tree
Attitude, replete with valor
Melodious song of valor
Chest puffed with pride for all to see
Symphonic playhouse in the tree
Sweet surround sounds join in splendor
Blossoms harmonize in color
Leaves frolic and whisper, "Be free."
Of chain and shackle you are free
Shelter to many beasts of valor
Camouflaged by your own color
Sanctuary, enemies can't see
Protected retreat of splendor
Beholder of secrets this tree
Towering above nether tree
Reaching for heaven to be free
Rendezvous with clouds of splendor
Sharing messages of valor
Cirrus departs, now I can see
A palette of cosmic color
Accompanied blur of color
As my feathered friend leaves the tree
Poignant image, the world can see
Winged rainbow flying high and free
Displaying God's pride with true valor
Radiant with majestic splendor
Monument anchored in splendor
Absorbing sunset's bright color
Wisdom of age guides your valor
Magnificent yellow - wood tree
Striving for the sky high and free
Please, do tell me what you can see
Visions of splendor timeless tree
Spectrum of color bursting free
Altar of valor, now I see...
© Winbow
© Kevin Wilson -- a dreamer and visual artist.
I suggest you check out his website Insomnium
and take a journey to his dreamscapes.
by Echo Poetica
Cannot recall
Days before you
played that piano.
Even though the keys are slippery
(Making me sneeze, the
Electric dust!)
And the tune slips away
(Even to my not-so-perfect-pitched mind),
There you are sitting professional
And sounding like a music box
Carousel gone out to play
In nineteen-ten,
Come home with love
And spaghetti made dinners
To share a laugh over
Having no wine.
© Echo Poetica
by Michael Teal
Someday
I'll touch your face
In a time
transcending words
In a moment
and a glance
One day we'll dance
Someday
I'll see your face
In the morning
when I rise
Not in a dream
or a trance
One day we'll dance
We have
an uncommon bond
We are
more than friends
yet less than lovers
Someday
you'll dry my tears
In the night
while I die
In a moment
and a glance
One day we'll dance
Someday
anyday
forever
and
always
I will
vow to you
In a moment
and a glance
One day we'll dance
© Michael Teal
by NRC
Behold the wretchedness of our attire
where we weep for strangers while
encasing our brothers in tombs on salt.
Beguiled by moving lips, kissing bottoms,
we tread on frail ground for none, but we
have the power to mend or to destroy.
The splendors of life taken for granted
as we yearn to be above all the firsts
metropolis abuzz, shrubbery destroyed
futures compromised by greed and desire,
yet we claim and plead uncertainty upon all those
who demand answers, responses of our tired limbs.
See the poor, the frail, treated like lepers
for we deny our humble beginnings
as we strive to be grand to all.
As time goes by we never realize
that the greatest joy, the most profound
feelings of fulfillment will come to us
only the day we choose to say
"I love you" and mean it.
© NRC
by Robert JudeAce
Part 1
She downloaded from a desert of dreams
Inward bound to the mindless metropolis,
An émigré from the outskirts of the great web?
She is as radiant as a star in a sea of darkness,
As sensual as a rainbow waterfall
Cleansing her body of primal ooze?
With endearing smile and piercing eyes,
She ponders how to establish
Her secret hive of dreams and visions
In the copious, shifting scheme of things?
She looks to the horizon, scans the distance
Lured to the peculiar region of her past
To the land of bar-coded banality,
The computerized capital of all creation-
Yet, in those eyes, you could see a warrior
Someone self-propelled and stealthy
Someone cunning and spiritually wealthy?
The sky is open and deep as heaven
As she felt the breeze caress her skin
And the river wide deep and whimsical
For it was time to pursue her creative urge?
She gathers her strength, will, and knowledge,
Consecrated gems she has clutched forever?
She heads into the brewing madness
Surfacing to reprogram her last trip there
Where she was ridiculed and left hanging in the
Ether ?
Part 2
Orange cloudbursts illuminate the city
Where life is simple, stressful, and silly
As raindrops drip off perching gargoyles
A complicated array of sounds and smells
Fuse into a visual whim of maddening crowds
She was electric as she walked the avenue
Something different about her face
The wind caressed her subtle motions
Her hair was fluid as it rippled in the air
Now, it was time to resurrect her season
To pursue, stimulate and affect the reasoning
Of all the world?s subliminal data
By programming salvation through the network?s
clatter
So to an oasis on 12th street she ventured
Comforted by friends she knew long ago
For forty days she worked on program,
A supernal message encrypted subtly,
To excite an evolving species to begin to grow
(So through cathode computer circuits
She uploaded the password to the invisible
kingdom)
Then asked her friends to remember her,
As she reemerged into molecules of a new horizon
And departed a metamorphosing world
Pending the HTML of its own resurrection.
© Robert JudeAce
© Steve Quest
Models: Nina Hauptman and Kevin Hiltenbrand
Check out Steve's website: Special Effects
Montagraphy for more of his great artwork.
by Ed Clayton
Let's get married
Let's get divorced
Let's be pathetic
Let's bow to force
Let's forget our souls
Let's forget ourselves
Let's buy a microwave
take food from shelves
Let's borrow some opinions
Let's start with the Sun
Then buy the Guardian
And have our opinions undone
Let's go to the gym
Let's wriggle on a hook
Let's look how Calvin Klein
Is telling us to look
Let's watch Jerry Springer
Let's watch QVC
Let's watch every channel
There is on TV
Let's believe what they tell us
Let's take what they give
Let's buy what they sell us
Let's live how they live
Let's see all the films,
But not buy the books,
Let's only buy magazines
That are based on their looks
Let's make a packed lunch
Let's go for a walk
Let's be a real family
Forgetting to talk
Let's go for a stroll
No, let's take the car,
It's only a mile
But I can't walk that far
Let's purchase a jacket
To wear for a day
Then purchase a bin bag
To throw it away
Let's throw out our carpet
put our junk out of sight
then pay a designer
To paint the walls white
Let's purchase a puppy
And then buy a cat
Then eat duck and rabbit
Until we are fat
Let's call ourselves 'darling'
And kiss on the cheek
Let's go for a facial
At least once a week
Let's ignore all our fire
Let's ignore trees
Let's catch the 6:30
Then play with our keys
Let's buy a fast car
But not use the gears
Let's get an education
For twenty-one years
Let's eat in a restaurant
Drink wine in a bar
Let's always get drunk
To escape who we are.
© Ed Clayton
The Color of Your Fragrant Sound
by Larry Pace
Please make that lovely sound again.
It has a color all its own,
the tinctured fragrance of your love.
But how could Baudelaire have known?
Your colors sounding exquisite;
your fragrant perfumed tinted sound;
those hues so redolent and fresh,
their flavors speaking all around.
Tastes of your exotic fragrance,
your scented colors sounding bright;
I listen to your colors sing
and know that Baudelaire was right.
© Larry Pace
by Jo Janoski
Reeds of gold
in a sea of motion
ebbing and flowing,
pushing forward
then pulling back.
I look at you
and see a struggle
against the wind.
It blows like raucous music
so silently it deafens
just by implication,
like life, which whispers
in ferocious roars.
I guess it is that way
when your essence is bared
and you question
which way to go,
looking to the wind to know
whether to ebb or flow,
while the noiseless rumble
scares everything away.
© 2001 Jo Ann English Janoski
by Lori Williams
I enter the church, dip my hands in
holy water, wanting to bathe, to
drink of it, until I am bursting with
refreshed trust and my blood runs clear
of you.
Lighting candles, I pray.
Be peaceful, love.
Let me fight the war.
You were the brave one,
yet I have the courage. Pity.
A quarter each candle. I am spent,
fatigued, poor, yet light them all.
The flames flicker like fingers
reaching for me. I cringe and kneel,
feigning comfort in this pose.
I hate that you've reduced me
to this.
If only I were old and crippled,
bones breaking painful and quick,
I might not remember to grieve;
if young and moist,
beauty never questioned,
I might not remember your name.
Your funeral was lovely. I wore a black
lace dress and my pride. Neither fit
like they used to. As your spirit passed
for the last time, I longed to shed them both -
sacreligious whore!
and stand naked at the altar,
scented by incense and lust
to fall at the feet of those who could
bring you back.
But I genuflect instead, and my dress and pride
walk me down the aisle and out the door.
I do not touch the holy water.
Published in Niederngasse - Sept. 2001
© Lori Williams