The Human Sea

by Don Schaeffer


1.
so much english
dammit.

in the bus
alone bathed
in language,

soaked in
messages
for now
until my ears dim.

2. When I last
had a conversation
I received a
compliment from
someone with
a pretty name.

When I get
nice compliments
from people with
pretty names
I feel
the kiss of angels
on my cheek.

Women

by Peter Lord


Peter Lord has been publishing about the growing warps and outright fissures of everyday occurences of reality since he was 16. And, "oh yeah, he says, "I've won a number (you'd be surprised) of awards for my work." Peter is also a visual artist with a large cult following including the emperor of Japan who has 3 of his pieces hanging in the imperial palace in kyoto."No shit," Peter says .




I caught a good bud
first thing this morning
already be afternoon
of limp grey haze, clouds
without effort, low down
& dirty money needs
a wash & dry

me a riverbed
of tears shed, awash
in gravelled futility
& shorn of reality
be the norm of mad
about you twist
in the vagaries
of mind under matter
of fact be the air
we breath toxic, slow
suicides of life begone
sooner than later
be another word
for too late

nites surge thru veins
fast as site, jackquick
images flow incessant
cross my vision be sharp
as sliding down granmas
gillette bannister leads
to spotting you be lean
trim to the bone be what
I need is you send me
into convulsions of hard
to figure your effect
got me in moods of
the tastes of love
floods our mouths
simultaniously be
the operative word
round here I usually
get what I want
& definately
what I need
be you & your eyes
sparkle with diamonds
reflection of my madness

has found
a new home
be where
the heart
throbs, content
for the moment
be fleet street
of dead in the end
passages of time
well spent, now
a memory of the hunt
gonna occur again
tonite be the nite
for supple contours
of redhead playtime
eyes full of definately
& all the way after
glows of yes, take me
kinda crinkles of lust
finally finding purchase
within my scope
starts when the sun
concedes defeat
& disappears into
yet another sunrise
be my favorite time
to carress your face
be the enigma of what
women be all about
be a mystery, cloaked
in shrouds of surreal

men
do write
poetry