POETS - WINDOW

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), Lynn Hernandez, Elizabeth Hill, and Spider Watkins.

	We Are Not Men Spyder Watkins © 2000 It began like a dove It became like a parrot It was nesting then a fly-away A rabbit and a ferret We are not men For you it's easy to see dear And if you ever think about me for a moment You could say that I'm not either

You Are Desire Sylvie Being © 1997 You are turning towards an everlasting love You will be washed within the waters of the few You can turn your head away while moving toward me You then prepare yourself to be released and new If you find that you are lost and left abandoned You can depend upon me always being near When the night is black I'll be there like a shadow Then I begin to train your passion and your fear Be correct when you describe your basic feelings Try to avoid the words that say too much Like animal lust or primal passion Do not reveal the places you want touched If you are questioned and cannot recite an answer That will simplify the shadings of your soul Let them read it in the gleaming of your eyes Let them watch you as desire now unfolds I am like a thing that crawls in love with you When the darkness of your needs come into view I am like a thing that cannot be denied I am desire and I have come for you

Touch of Sin Sylvie Being © 1997 In white she walks, Across the lawn, Her smile in the shade, Of a white lace hat. Coquettishly, She counts all her men, For each of them, She stops to chat. The fullness of her spirit, Causes heads to turn and stare, Each one of them, At her command. The movement of her prayers, Draws the breath and beats the heart, Each one yearning, yearning, burning, To play their part. She draws her hand through wheat-auburn hair, Parting lips pout with delight, Eyes so wise beneath her loving lash, She knows what will and won't be tonight. Her desire and her need, Is to serve the Lord, To be His tool, His instrument. For me and for the others Her love will be denied, You see her love, Is Heaven sent. She's a Christian with desire, To hold her hand is to feel the flames, In her eyes a touch of sin, Whisper soft and sad, "You can't win."

Mob Control Spider Watkins © 1997 People are running Out in the street People are sick From tainted meat People are watched Everywhere Can it be That no one cares Now it's time to take action Before it's too late We will find a remedy To calm this ache You can always bail-out Of a burning plane But, here on Earth It's not the same There's only one thing That we can do Go out and step on The Blue Suede Shoes I don't care for our Screaming cries If the mob control comes You know it's bye-bye

I Do It Sylvie Being © 1997 I don't know why I do it, Encouraging desperation, A subtle glance and a smile, My walking vibration, I know it hurts them down below, But I don't care. I've got a boy on the phone, But I'm not alone, In my apartment, I finish the call, Say I'd love to ball, But it's late. He goes to the door, Thinks he must be a bore, I kiss and tell him, "Next time." He flashes a smile, And I think all the while, "Damn, I'm great." Why do I do, what I do, When I don't, Want to do it? How can I expect Someone to care, When I don't care? Is my time going by, Being wasted? Sometimes, I think, "I want it," But I don't dare. Once, I dreamed a small girl, With her ribboned curls, Standing in a vestibule. Her mother grabs her hand, Saying: "You'll be damned if you do it." A bush, thorny and dead, Around a wedding bed, Calls me to rest, I move to lie down, The thorns tear at my gown, It's a dream and I don't understand it. Why do I keep control, When there's no reason to run? How am I to fall, When I've never fell? Why do I extinguish love, Are your feeling this numb? I don't know why I do it, But I do it so well.

Love Song Elizabeth Hill © 1997 Gently touch my eyes In fire-light by moon Shimmered by the clouds Surf rolls in nature's room On sand we sit And talk of times We are together Embraced by rhyme As others talk Of tomorrows' day We close our circle And silently say "I love you" Lay quietly by And watch the stars Drift in and out Don't go to far Hold me in Your strong warm arms And we'll create Our own love song "I love you"

Like A Man Lynn Hernandez © 1997 As it gets dark, I slip inside of you, Duel exhaust, And misty hue of blue. Then we go driving, Hop up and down, See us driving, In your town. When it gets dark, She gleams like diamond studs, Chrome grill teeth And chrome-plate needle lugs. Then we go cruising, Drag racing heats, Slow menacing moving, Near your street. The dash winks at me, At your corner's light, Ease off the clutch, A smooth turn into the right. Someday my family, Will understand, What it means to me, To be like a man. Then we stop driving, Your white picket gate, Our low door opens, She's here, your daughters' date.

In Love Again Sylvie Being © 1997 It looks like love Is coming my way again That steamy softness that can be so hard On a woman like me step close and see Love is my cruel master Who delights me with his ways His rough kiss placed on my tender lips He draws his life from me He holds me in protective ways Lightly brush my cheek of tears He statisfies my every want And obeys the words he hears I've saved myself for so very long Now this ending of my hunt Fulfill me now with your embrace Fulfill my hungry want I'm in love again I've come to understand This passion deep inside This longing for my man I'm in love once more I accept this heart of pain My burning love Hot as a flame

Best of Times Slyvie Being © 1998 I took a smoke And thought of the boys I've known A long inhale of life And thought of the men who came after It was a curious rememberance At some mile-markers of my life What I've done What I might now do Watching television gave me a clue Jane and Sylvia and Gloria Gave me direction But what did they really know? Life in my mother's tea cup Or my jelly jar wine glass Full to brimming with it Overflowing with it The glory of yesterday Or the vision for tomorrow A baby on my shoulder A child in my head I saw them and yearned for connection I read them and wondered at their thoughts I heard Joni on the radio She reminded me "No regrets, coyote" Joni went to a recording boss He said, "Who are you?" She quelled for an answer And then said, "I am them." She said, "I speak for others "Who have not been spoken for." Joni and me Voices for others. Her voice now chalky My voice like hers In organized parties called bars Behind bars I find my freedom Another smoke And that's three less days In the long procession Does it matter? Again I am looking to the screen I see the end of a woman Her life measured our lives She was older when I was young A lantern's flame gutters Then goes out Should we blame the lantern Or blame the wind Puff and it goes out Match and again a flame Should we credit the match Or praise the ready wick It was the best of times It was the worst of times It was a paragraph long sentence A flame, a glow, then embers But, I have this thought that it goes on forever Daughter to mother passing secrets of life A puff of smoke from embers A flame reappears near the end A line of passage? A circle of remembrance? Should we not think so far behind? Should we not think so far ahead? Winona and Hillary and Maddona Remember when she . . . But no Remember when I . . .

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