POETS - THE FOOL

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,) Elizabeth Hill, Gregory Springer, Spider Watkins.

Yes Elizabeth Hill © 2000 That day You could have said yes And then became silent As you imagined the maybe Leaving room in your heart And the ways of the lightness As it entered our room How the kettle would steam And the floor fan would hum Lights off in the bedroom Dishes wait in the sink A bush crisp with the heat A tree ladened with blossoms A bouncing bundle held close In blue, yellow or pink And later, grand ceremonies With a tassle or white veil Or tailored bow tie On the side we would stand Soon their own bouncing bundle Would be loved by our joy Until it's too soon And the setting of sun When under it's warmth We would sit in rememberance Of the days before twilight Then our last goodnight kiss But under that sun A different path taken I now sit and imagine The maybe and wonder When you could have said yes And then in your silence Began the new start Of our unbroken life Yes (I think now) You could have said Yes Grass of Stars Gregory Springer © 1998 She is like petals, Round edges, Full slim stalk, Velvet color lacing into lavender. She is like water, Moist kisses, Foam bubbles whirl, Dipped cloth darkens. She is like sun, Dappled shadows, light, Leaves firm rustle, Grass color flowing into forest. She is like weather, Unknown tides, Rise rivers, fall night, Move Earth true and beckons. My breath is out from me, Shoulders up then slowly down, Head tilt to one side, A view of night star sky. I lay in that grass of stars, Blades tickle at my cheek, Aromas wild with sense, Dewing toward morning's light. Sun beams wake my eyes, I turn to hold and find empty, Longing or another word will due, Her breath so brief remains. I rise from this grass of stars, Kneeling then standing, Then begin to walk, Of what direction shall this take? Suddenly, what? It is in the wind, Her, She calls true and beckons, Onward and soon we find together. The Glass Unicorn Elizabeth Hill © 1998 I have a glass unicorn like the girl in the story. I sit in my chair in the late afternoon light. It was won for me by a boy I once knew at a carnival we attended in the spring. The carnival worker issued a challenge and my handsome young boy shyly accepted. With luck, and what seemed like, a little bit of practice, he won for me my tiny glass horse. The unicorn breaks this afternoon's light into a prism of wonderful colors. They spread across the front of my dress and turn the glass horse into gemstones. Now the sun has moved past the sill of my high window and my gemstone horse is again only glass. I return my tiny horse to it's place on the shelf. Knowing tomorrow gives another sun and another afternoon of wonderful hope. Secret Smile Spider Watkins © 1998 Damnit! Why can't I ever get the girl. I know. It's my face. (I look up into the bathroom mirror.) My God. How could anyone ever love A face like mine. (I sigh.) Just some loser. (I make an "L" shape with the thumb and the first finger of my right hand and press the back of my hand against my forehead. The mirror makes the "L" backwards so I switch and use my left hand. Now it's an "L".) If only for a day I could be someone else. Walk with someone else's feet. Shake with someone else's hand. Smile with someone else's teeth. But I would still be looking out of my eyes. Could anyone tell? (I have to think about this one.) I could wear sunglasses! I would have a smooth even tan. My muscles would be firm. I would walk shoulders back. With my head up and a slight smile. A smile to everyone I met. I'd smile because I had a secret. I was really someone else. "Today!" (I'd say) "I am Somebody!" "People DO give a damn about me." "Today!" (I'd say) "I am Important!" "People DO respect me." Then I'd get the girl. My own girlfriend. All that day I'd have everything. (I look at my face in the mirror. At my unhealthy complexion. My slumping, weak posture. And then my pudgy, soft belly. And now I'm looking at my feet.) Damnit! Pollution Sylvie Being © 1998 There is pollution in my nose It's the stink of your thoughts Slowly dripping from your tongue Collecting on your shoes As your eyes creepy-crawl the room Your fingers through peppered hair Your hand, jaunty, on your jutting hip An icy drink getting my hand wet Or worse Your gaze falling on another Barely able to contain it's lusty affectations As if in comparison to me As if you could even judge me But why stop there When you can ask me Like so many others I presume For a contact number Some way to "Get a hold" of me For a deal I wouldn't want to miss In a room full of them Where they are so full I become the anomalous element Purety In the brackish water of their thoughts I am untainted desire Child-like curiosity Even a positive mental outlook My cleanliness is their pollution I hate literary agents The Window Gregory Springer © 1998 A picture of life Is hung on the wall In golden blue hues Of yellow and green The long lines show life And the short lines show living They all blend together To play out a scene Of a sunny warm day Or a white light lit room In the seat of your car Or in bed until noon The sun on the bricks Of a busy tall building Is cool to the eye And warm to the hand The grass is a stream Beneath spreading leafed trees By black tops with lines Where motor cars roam A distance where power lines String through the fields Past the tower of water And horizon of haze Past an ocean of green That fades into blue Out the window I look Thinking dreamily of you Raindrops Gregory Springer © 1998 Come lie by my side While raindrops fall And leaves are blown from the trees Come lie by my side Let this storm between us pass My heart with yours and yours with me Gently the Mask Spider Watkins © 1998 Why Oh why do you cry And why Why do you put me down But still put up with me Can't you see This isn't love? Tell me Is it something better For you Than being alone When your mother phone's Asking who is the flame And when is the wedding? Me A stick of wood In your fire I am here Beside other embers you hold dear And your memories Of faded romance Sad I know it's not me That you love And not them your heart feels It's the impossible ideals That you love The way you want us to be It's not me That you love But someone from a novel Or a self-help book Not me with my look Instead you gently apply the mask To the face that you kiss My 'Volv-e Sylvie Being © 1998 Relationships Involve Then dissolve In an effort To establish love We start out We meet We talk Involve Then dissolve With hope Someday Absolve With hope Someday Evolve Light Gregory Springer © 1998 Light, shadow Light, shadow Light In a blue sky growing orange It dives through into our world Spinning in mermaid's hair clouds Bathing in a floating droplet Bouncing off a passing jet Vaulting then arching Then illuminating fullness In the round fluffy tops Of softer places In these skies Light Nimble on tree tops It swims through leaves and blossoms Slipping down a branch onto a roof Racing along an eave Tumbling across a balcony rail Pressing window and blinds Reaching for you It's long journy's end To caress your skin And sparkle in your eyes. Light, shadow Light, shadow Light Settling Down Gregory Springer © 1999 Sugar is poured Into a glass Of tart ice cold Lemonade The first stir, quick Swirls and dances Slowing Gently falling Settling down To rest and remain Until the last few sips Bring sweetness again

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