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 POETS - DOORS |
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The following are spoke word compositions. These works are fiction and bear no resemblance or likeness to anyone living or dead. All opinions and interpretations expressed here are entirely the authors. Copyrights are held by the respective authors. The authors are: Sylvie Being (not her real name), Ted Denton, Lynn Hernandez, Elizabeth Hill, Gregory Springer and Spider Watkins. |
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Inside My Mind
Lynn Hernandez © 1997  Inside my mind I want to rock I need a role I'd like to take Ecstasy And ride the roads Far away Drive at night, look for home Under amber lights alone Hear the engine Steer my heart Love your love Want and need Feel your grinding hips Inside my mind I want to drink I need to drown I'd like to eat junk And smoke cigarettes Shoot a speeding drive-by Make young girls cry Touch and be touched Hurt and be hurt Stroke your face Taste your taste Want and need Love you with my fist |
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God's Gift
Sylvie Being © 1997 “MEN” my mother said “ARE PIGS” my mother said “WE ARE GOD’S GIFT TO THEM AND LOOK HOW THEY TREAT US” my mother said “I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW WHY” my mother said “mom...” i said “I AM NOT YOUR MOM. I AM YOUR MOTHER” my mother said “yes” i said “uh, mother” i said “i think when i get older i would like a boyfriend” i said “OH NO YOU DON’T !” my mother said |
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Where has Love Gone
Elizabeth Hill © 1990 How forever seemed so far away, And Valentine's in spring brought forth, The innocence of love, Through your love, our love began. Creeping past initialed trees, In hazy glens we knelt, And prayed to thank for love as ours, No two persons ever felt. To hold you close inseperable, Was all I've ever dreamed, Our plans to find the time alone, Were childish hopeful schemes. But time goes on in reckless days, No thoughts ahead of life's pursuits, Caught up in words not understood, Our echo calls were mute. Where has love gone, It seems like only days ago, We were so young and bold, And our love would never go. Where has love gone, Flowers have turned to seed, The sun rise is a little lower now, Yellow trees loosing leaves. |
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Buttercups
Elizabeth Hill © 1989 Fields of buttercups Pour through the rain Never seems the same Without you Muddy and stuck And losing luck At cafe's alone holding tales Of memories of you Forward I run Past love not yet begun Never really needing love Till it is gone Daydreams are the only times I see what I've done While the cards and the letters Are too few So who is that in the mirror Hmm, oh yes, it is me And who is in there with you No one I can see, tsk, all alone |
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The Sorcerer's Tale
Gregory Springer © 1996 The drinks were all drunk, As the the wise man drew up in the crowd, Said "I have a fine story, But I shant have to say it to loud." And as the room did grow quiet, He began his address, 'Twas a story of witches and girls, Who road horseback undressed. He told of a moon that was full, And would grey grass and sand, Like the colour of meadows at noon, In a very dark land. Off across fields you'd see witches, Riding their mares, Without flurry of cloth Their skin was wind-swept and bare. He continued his story Without blink and completely awares, And he spun the tale true, In defiance of sin (which was rare.) They would capture these girls, And tie them to pyers of wood, And burn them for deeds which for many, Were misunderstood. In sorrow the wise man, Recited his psalm which was sad, For these riders were friends, Who were judged to be sinful and mad. In his eyes you could see him, Reliving the times of his youth, And you could tell by the tear in his eye, He had spoken the truth. They rode through the night on their steeds, And diamonds would glisten their skin, They rode through the night, eerie music would play, In the darkness songs of dark romance would begin. |
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Peaceful Pink
Gregory Springer © 1997 Yellow & orange & red Cinnamon-violet blue stain Stormy-grey, still-harvest gold Thankful misty tears and I remain Dark-white collage on ginham Sepia mem'ry behind Slim umber on sandelwood Peach frosted mahogany and pine Greenish gin-shallow rose breath Contrasting tints slowly sink Cellophane fogish vapor Purple pale enshrouded peaceful pink |
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Softly Play the Band
Elizabeth Hill © 1991 The night's so long when I think of you, I lie awake and hope for love, Wishing you would love me too. Wishing you would want me, Like tomorrow was the first time, We felt a change, Your eyes were warm, And sparkled like the rain, We met and you were mine. I toss around to find the warmth, I felt when you held me in your arms, A secret game I won't report. In secret love, but now it's gone, The empty days, Since we went wrong, Just changing cars to different towns, To wake and find the same day, Gets me down. I used to think that you'd be sad, Not having me to love, But now I've changed, I'm sorry, I've changed to know the times we had, Were ment for so much better, Not writing good-bye letters, We both should have made it work, Now you're with someone else, And it hurts. You were like a full moon, Shining down on tropic night, We'd dance so slow beneath the stars. The dance floor would be ours, You were like an ocean breeze, Floating to my heart, A kiss 'neath palms across the sand, With love, Softly play the band. |
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And then I Pause
Gregory Springer © 1997 When I look up at the morning sky I wish it were a stone wall Taking away the efforts of a life I can never believe is happening When I feel soft beneath my back I wish it were a thin mattress on a steel rack Knowing this night on which I lay Could be snatched from my sleepless bed When I hold my beloved in my arms I wish it were a photograph I was gazing upon Instead of waiting every day, hour, breath For it all to come crashing to an end I'd like to think I had power To have spirit and comfort and love And then I pause, and I think |
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Cherish the Child
Gregory Springer © 1997 The doctors had told me, Our child would be twelve all my life. After careful nutrition, And expert research by my wife. I have not a power to change, This unchangable tune, And the melody grows ever sad, As I sit in her room. I help her apply some mascara, She looks in the mirror, As she grows to a woman, I find that I love her so dear. Anything that she needs, She can count on my growing affection, And I cherish the child, Who is giving without an exception. She looks trim and neat, As I drive her to where she now works, Earning minimum wage, An efficient ice-cream store clerk. She looks forward to marriage, And a family to keep of her own, She impresses her Dad, And scoops up a peppermint cone. I smile though my heart is breaking, But smile just the same to my best girl, And I drive away resolving, To cherish the child, who is my world. |
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On Television
Ted Denton © 1997 You make me think about the television Your blue-eyed glow burns inside my head You make me think I'm a part of religion You make me die from your irradiation You make me think about good guys and bad With your black and white domination You make me think about good times not had In colored prose of sterilization You make me think about the television You speak to me as if asleep and dead You make me think I am not intellectual You make a fool of our women and men You make me hate the people I don't know From other lands or just next door You make me want the things I can't have I hope I didn't want them anyway You make me think about the television You think I've heard every word you said But I'm locked on to a visual dimension It's John and Stephen at the foot of the bed On television. (Franklin!, Franklin!) |
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.gov is a Many Splendered Thing
Spider Watkins © 2020 “.com down” she said. “this has never happened to me before” I said. But I was still .net tled. “really, this is the first time.” “hey,” she said, “I don’t have to have an .org asm every time we’re together.” I was still feeling down. She put her arm around me, “I know something that will lift your spirit.” She was right, as usual, and I sighed, “I .gov you” “What?” she said, clearing her throat, “What the hell is gov?” “I don't know”, I said. I am such a panty-waist. I sighed again.
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