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Rub Some Dirt On It I got a paper cut and complained behind me a man with an arthritic finger said: rub some dirt on it behind him a man with a broken arm said: rub some dirt on it behind him a man with a shattered leg said: rub some dirt on it behind him a man with a stutter said: rrrrrub s-s-s-some d-d-d-dirt on it-t behind him a man lying in a grave well, he, of course, said nothing and, incidentally, had the last word on the subject                                                                 By Bryan Corbet

Long Poem For Peace (PT3) it is all a lie it is noise and confusion inherited foolishness, well kept and passed down father to son now you will see me you will not hide from me I will hold the flame on your mind until the fire catches cant you see who I am the gray dawn sweet among the hills of Tennessee home the gray rough new uniform the new packets of powder and shot, the brass shiny caps a rainy mist, the gray lines the cavalry call the answering volley the first so it begins I am now turning around and around looking, everything moves so slowly the man in blue twists and shatters before my eyes settling like a rag across a fallen tree all scarlet and shiny I am a thunder, my ears hear a drum beat ever slower I am on fire the world is turning red and silent, I look down at the ring on my finger you will hear me now you will hear my bride weep you will smell the honeysuckle vine I fell into it takes me home outside the window I sing in the vines...

The Poets Cloak : for young poets  Disbanded mercy scattered to the rag time bars to grow old alone no tribe of forgiveness to follow behind having lost its way in the money rooms who would you serve the fire to consume the desire for revenge bending the ending until broken ask for something less than nothing then the answer will be never forget you come young poets grow past the door of any thing you know find the hollow hours secret songs listen to the glass strings of the snapping harp played by bloody fingers late in the night of oblivians mother think twice before requesting the poets cloak                          By David Wetzel

Understand Come to the time of summers long dream when I was young let me take your eyes into mine, listen with your heart to the song sweet cascading rain bringing   the thousand frogs singing in the warm sweet night hear the deep high wind, warm of off the Gulf of Mexico I am with the rain now sleeping wrapped in Navaho wool beside the river Styx the warm rain wraps it's arms around   while singing to the running river dawn is sweet realization I am free traversed over to the creature world allowed inside the mystery garden now to have new eyes   to walk just beside the world of man try to understand the asking prayer for communion with the sky in harmonic union with the living creation dancing in the sun the circle dance of the ancient ones come live beside the river deep cold water, lazy tree leaning out over sleeping there in the sun the fishing hole is never an empty dinner plate quiet river camp home at the end of a long forgott...

Life of a Con Life IN Porverty IS NO Good FOR Nobody It’s like a convict that’s getting old Life in streets is no good for nobody. Good when you are high and bad when you are down low Treat her bad and she will treat you right And treat her good she is pain Life is never simple But a labyrinth of choices and confusion Choices Choices are illusions that seem to flitter here and there Is there free will and no strings attached? Though it seems We are all playing our roles in this play And we play them too well I was once innocent like you A dreamer A lover A man of Peace Until life happened But I needed to live I needed medicine for my daughter I needed food for my stomach I needed A Way Out Was I wrong to do what I had to do? Convict Such an ugly word Derogatory Deprecating As life unfolds you will learn to see meaning Meaning in my words Meaning in my choices If I had any Because my friend I would have chosen better If there were better choices ...

Story Trees Tricks in your eyes stolen and written with autumns wish Tricks buried in a face full of mischief That summer can't wait to play with Wispering secrets to a childhood friend buried under faery wings The rascal hides inside the child....until ....childhoods end Trouble awaits its order at every corner...in her eyes And so....magic runs out from age nine, under your feet and awaits its return in some other childs pocket in memories swept under fallen leaves from the trees In which they played.                                                           by Luke Story

The Soothing Breeze of Hope Hope is believing life will improve, seeing here and there amelioration, choosing the wildest dreams to approve, holding on firm to aspiration. Finding old friends and rekindling the flame, trusting that all will turn out alright, making a speech and receiving acclaim, knowing the future will always be bright. Hope is the soothing breeze on your cheek, assuring of warmer climes on their way, the calming vista as you reach every peak, previews of the mountaintop display.                                                                     by Fiona Pimentel.