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Pastimes : A Poetry Corner -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: ManyMoose who wrote (1157)	11/21/2004 11:14:37 AM
From: Poet	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 1582

In January Only one cell in the frozen hive of night is lit, or so it seems to us: this Vietnamese café, with its oily light, its odors whose colorful shapes are like flowers. Laughter and talking, the tick of chopsticks. Beyond the glass, the wintry city creaks like an ancient wooden bridge. A great wind rushes under all of us. The bigger the window, the more it trembles. Ted Kooser (Poet Laureate of the United States) Yes, Dave, I so agree with you.

To: ManyMoose who wrote (1157)	11/25/2004 4:21:41 PM
From: Mac Con Ulaidh	Respond to of 1582

here is the poem I mentioned to you.... and life is okay :) happy Thanksgiving. I hope you and yours have smiles this day... location: suburban hospital plot: suicide scene: the end middle of the room cold bed alone machines blipping beeping pulsing dripping lights eerie flickering death oozing teasing air thick strangling alone surrounded in the waiting room stones sorry no tears eyes frozen the seal is locked no tears alone fading in shadows dear sister i can not feel my hand to reach goodbye jp/sf