2 Poems by --- Apryl Fox Apryl also has work at, "can we have our ball back?",and, "Word Riot". BECOMING MOONLIGHT If I give you a million dollars, will you turn off the lights? Your bare skin shines like a beacon in the moonlight... your bare skin moves like a ripple of water at evening tide. There are things that move us. Hay fever moves us. Tears move us. And death, it moves us in so many ways. A crow on the fence caws at the moon, and flies away to be born. THE HERMIT The hermit lives in a hut in the woods. Plucks blueberries by day, writes by candlelight at night. Some say he used to be a great poet, but the long white beard has covered his eyes and his words. Sometimes he resembles our forefathers, sometimes the logo for Kentucky Fried Chicken, with the white hair and bushy mustache. Some thought he was a great man all rolled into one: Einstein, Shakespeare, and George Washington. Some thought he was also Mozart, because he heard music in everything, in every bird, flower, and tree. Trees will talk if you listen, as he wrote one evening in a poem as the sun went down behind the clouds. Trees have a poem inside them just like poets, maybe poets are trees and trees are poets. But always he is alone, as a poet is alone, wrapped in the beauty of being alone. And, by candlelight, he plucks words like he plucks blueberries, by himself and always alone, for he is a poet more than he is a man.
2 Poems by --- J. D. Heskin J. D. Heskin lives in northern Minnesota. His poetry can be found in literary magazines and ezines such as, "Red Lamp", "Southern Ocean Review", "Snakeskin", "Pierian Springs", "Snow Monkey", "Circle Magazine", "Sidereality" and many others. SLOW WALKING OXEN It occurs at odd times: the flashbacks, the feelings I get whenever I'm doing the most prosaic of things. And so it happened today driving over the bridge between my town and their town, over the bridge to pay off an extension of an ongoing gambling debt. I got to thinking about how things are now, versus a hundred, two hundred, or a thousand years ago. As I thought about it, radio music of a Bach violin concerto enchanted my brain cells, and suddenly, I was thrust back into a time when I was riding in a wooden wagon pulled by slow walking oxen. Into a time before cars and big bridges and Bach. So, now, I thought, how do I relate to that situation? Me, sitting, in the comfort of a high powered vehicle listening to music, warm and cozy, with only a bad turn of the cards to complain about. The bridge trip, back and forth, had taken only twenty minutes; the trip with oxen would have taken all day. Was I not lucky, or what? That was something to chew on. Me, as Ox man, sitting on a plank, with nothing to do but watch the assholes of two oxen, centuries ago, thinking how it was before, when one had to walk if you wanted to get somwhere. THE SPACE OF PRAIRIES I live in the city now-- where the scenery leaves the earth's floor and soars to heights that stunt the imagination. Where the sun rises and falls within cramped views and everywhere the air is heaped and heavy. "One gets used to it", they say. Perhaps, but I remain fearful. My heart does not rest quickly for I have known the space of prairies, the ever-present faintness of sweet breeze upon my cheek beneath a sky that holds promise and entertains the soul. A magnificent sky, where one looks upward, around and beyond, and recognizes the power of each and every day we live.
2 Poems by --- J. E. June THE GOOD COMPANY OF DUST Bright madness, lured strains, stream like flocks of childhood, a zenith's height of continuous abundance, vigorous in power, the homeward motion of fleshly dress. Conscious are shame's deepest joys, struggling pangs of ambition, jocund annals of the steady stroke. Look into history's eyes, the dynamic hearth of blazing truth, and see the high speed collisions of transformed energy, the significantly reverse process of possibility. Contemplation's dance is a lengthy step, woefully crazed and lonely astride the ardent wish of birds panting song in the piping of humanity. The lustrous eyes of furious ways dull the brain of generations, embalming scheduled flies which swarm the bleeding chains of grief. INNATE The fragrance of dreams, burning visions into gray matter, a scent of helplessness, symmetry of emotion both conscious and unconscious. Fundamental thought becomes slobbering senility, gravity falls from its feet, leaving only the grasp of the ceiling. Windows awaken, yawn, horrid devices, handing the body over to endless sky. Nothing here is expected to be this way, or that way, all happens freely, while remaining perfectly acceptable reality. Yet despite the fact that anything is possible, just as in the waking world, despair outweighs joy.
3 Poems by --- Joseph Mastropiero Joseph is 17 and lives in New York. Check the "About Page" for his Bio. HOME IN ME This room, so dark, the dim fire lit Watch it play like a kitten with yarn Tumbling, paw over paw, but always daintily Landing soft, its claws sunk into the wood It reaches out and dimly lights the room Filled more with heat and sleep than light The shadows begin to jump and sway Plates dancing in the eclipse While knives and dinner rolls trot in step Unbeknownst that one is the others killer Right now all is nothing but its lover With blackened figurines figuring Who should dance away with who While I drift out of tangible space With a smile half hidden in robes and blankets Outside the dutch doors of my room The world is gripping its eyes and ears Though I hear none of their screams Or see all the sights to be seen It doubles over itself, child-like, fetal Yet I feel no tremble in my stomach Nor the slightest quaking in my knees As the world breathes its last I effortlessly turn in my sleep The outside could be engulfed by flames Or consumed in snowy white It might be swept away in the wind Or perhaps, just forgotten But this room of mine Will always be home With its cozy fire And simple, lovely feel about it It keeps the world outside out and away While I lay back and dream myself a life FALLEN Whispers So soft they make the trees lean to hear it Bare in the grey of winter Naked to the sugary wind that blows With the sifted floury hint of snow That collects heavily upon the boughs Making the boles creak and crack Like arthritic hands reaching out to god Who sends to us a flurry Whitened pale angels in the wind Twinkle in the light from the sky And reflected from others that fell before Glinting bright in their holy armor A sacrifice befitting the servants of god To be sent as the pages of compassion To catch the children who throw themselves on their backs And leave a flailing imprint on the snow A beautiful image of divinity Of angels upon the mirror floor Pointing to the heavens SNOW MAN Frozen, Features hardened to salty, icy snow No child gave you a scarf this winter Only the rags of an old life left far behind And the clanking change can in grasping hands No one has realized you are dead yet So they keep throwing their change at you Because no one ever notices the man That lies stiff and solid behind the can With an unkempt, shaggy beard with stains Which hides away your blue-grey lips Your scalp shines in the cold sunlight There will be no more warmth for you Only in the place you're now bound Will you find any warming glow Because our world keeps you cold, unknown Frozen in all the eyes of those around you A silhouette of a whitened shadow A blurry stain upon the sterile white floor With your hands fastened around that beautiful life You become the color of the ghost you once were And the ghost you have now become
3 Poems by --- Raleigh D. Meadow Raleigh claims he was a dung beetle in a former life, and adds, " ... which proves quite helpful for dealing with all the sh_t in my present life." UNINVITED Despite composed clusters of deliberate moments... the simplicity of spontaneity's structure, the very versatility of immediacy, pushes predetermination off the ledge of forethought, leaving situation to meander idiosyncratically, until bumping into unforeseen occurrence, which quickly separates a plan from the routine, where, cut off from the group, it falls easy prey. And so it is, that the person who shows up, was never on the guest list. BALANCE Tomorrow I accomplished all I had dreamed possible, which left me too pressed for time to do anything today, but I'll have plenty of time yesterday to rectify that. FUTILITY As a cloud skitters below it, the moon resembles a face, a child's face, chin rested upon a windowsill, peering out blankly, vacantly at the world, as if knowing, there shall be no future to inherit.
2 Poems by --- Charlton Metcalf Charlton is a poet/songwriter from Minneapolis, Mn. His most recent works being seen in, "3AM Magazine", "Ache Magazine", and, "Unarmed Adventurous Poetry Journal". He is a musician with the band, "Lavabloom", (www.lavabloom.com), and founder of the red dragon poetry group. 30 MINUTES OR LESS staring out the bay window, Frank Lloyd Write glorious detective agency new moon waiting on Cantonese delivery, "30 minutes or less" noticing a cricket start to chirp indoors, thick air sour note... ... ... tongue rubbing between two molars, on a bit of seaweed from a leftover California roll watching the strange neighbor with no curtains across the street, dancing, college sweatshirt manhood, goofy smile one hand on a cocktail in the air flamenco solitaire, soundtrack fanatical all the lights in the house on, Christmas lights still up thinking to blink Spectrum of theatrics, Confined to betrayed interiors HBO glow brand new white carpet Sensory idolized Conscience, touch skin conversations, with a Marxist dialect, the maneuvers of a prowler, serious side of the night, where loneliness is serendipity honed Out there... ... maybe three blocks away 24 hour establishments, neon blue compelling glovebox condoms empty parking lot, crying in the car stereotypes limiting, sensuality and attachments dwelling on agenda suicide the big sell, mortal dreams, Don Ho ukuleles shuga lips, roasted pig, big apple mouthed moments that define a lifetime just like having money, or breaking a sodomy law squinting to see the spot where the dog is buried beneath the lawn freshly sodded, in the corner of the yard here 30 minutes or less BLACK OUT do something! can't take it rescue of November mistletoe guessing, clinging to intensity, love just intuition visceral cringe, thoughts, time machine squeezed essence, midnight opaque face disappearing expressions recluse, remembering never feelings like chemicals, caustic throughout black out permutation reactions, spending the night... like coastline fires
5 Poems by --- John Sweet Check the "About Page" for, John's full Bio. John has recently appeared in, "Atomic Petals", "Muse Apprentice Guild", and several other journals. [ describing upstate new york to michael, who needs to understand ] five a.m. in the season of rust and everything defined by shades of grey somewhere a room filled with men who believe that their war is more important than any number of starving children somewhere the burning girl's parents asleep in their impermanent house all the spaces that fall between all of the people in pain all of the lies i've told to reach this day to sit at this battered desk in front of this warped pane of glass with the wind pushing leaves down the empty street with the street moving either east or west but never far enough to matter never far enough to let me start speaking in terms of escape [ poem for america/portrait of ginsberg ] your body dragged slowly through the blue air your oldest child dead and your younger ones locked in the basement and none of them found for a week what matters here is that someone be blamed is that someone be made to pay the belief in fire leads without hesitation to the need for witches look in your mirror look at your lover consider all the secrets you keep from each other [ the weight of here and now ] send me some poems he writes and all i have are my cupped hands filled with silence and when the phone rings i turn away what's left is the sound of my wife crying in another room [ in the car she is dreaming ] in the car she is dreaming she is somewhere else is dreaming she is someone else he is driving past the forgotten towns of his childhood towards the hills that never move any closer november and he's another year older and none of his scars have completely faded and when she wakes up and asks where they are he points all that can be seen is a flat expanse of nothing and all she can do is stare she has spent her entire life moving towards this place [ summer ' 95, autumn approaching ] or the day you come home and your father doesn't know you says he doesn't want to says he's tired falls to the floor and cries
5 Poems by --- Jamieson Wolf Villeneuve Jamieson lives in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. His work has been published in, "Green Man Review", Mytholog Magazine", and "Everymans Journal". SCATTER Shatter the boundaries that you have encased around yourself free the mind which begs and grovels at the feet of antiquity the flowers fading slowly while they cover the eyes of the dead hiding your true feelings and thoughts behind a mask of indifference. UNREQUITED ANGEL BOY Unrequited dreams fall sweetly From Angel Boys mouth, Lips taunt and pursed Like a raspberry, Holding in secrets cheek in tongue, Keeping in treasures of thought Like a priest in psychedelic Confessions of whores And badly dressed prostitutes; The Angel Boys secrets Rot his mouth like cheap candy, Dripping from his Taunt, pussy-like lips As he looks at his hands, Long piano-fingers Tapping put a tattoo Of a catch-as-catch-can Of rhythm, Breathing out his secrets In a tune that even he Cannot understand. PENGUIN DRAWINGS Penguin Child sits idly, Encased in a corner, Freedom on three sides Of his existence; He writes in blood On the walls in front of him, For he lacks a pen, Walls which become a foliage Of scarlet reds and pinks Made from his wet and dried Life line, Which comes from his Small, thick, fingers, Dripping from his hands Quickly becoming white, Drawings of swirls And circles and flowers, African Goddesses and Deities Suckling children With over huge breasts And long flowing hair, All drawn in the childs blood As loneliness And light-headedness Cloud his vision. PATHWAYS Leave words In your wake, To mark your path, Which youre walking on, Havent walked on, Have yet to find, Twisting, Raking its contour line-like fingers Along the souls of your feet, Creating a tickle, An itch, Forming itself to the curves and creases Of your walking limbs, Taking you somewhere, Anywhere, To find yourself And to un-find Who you are. ICE BERG SELF ESTEEM Wrap arms around self, Icebergs melt From inside of mind, Cooling heat Freezing heart, Frost makes eyes Glassy in reflection, Music with no words Plays in the background Like a foreign language, Reminding me Of the language Of the muse Which I have forgotten, Which has been put out, Snuffed, Flame to smoke ashes, Fire squelched By water, By ice, Falling in torrents Like a nasal drift Of self-esteem
5 Poems by --- Julia Zollkritt Previously unpublished, ShoeString's youngest author ( 15 ), was born in Slovenia. Julia and her family moved to the United States in 1993. She is a member of both her High School Swim team, and Cross Country team. Julia's plans for higher education revolve around architecture. And now, ShoeString Poetry is pleased to INTRODUCE ~~~ Miss Julia Zollkritt NEARLY HAIKU even in dry leaves the lynx remains as silent as the moon rising HEADLINE, 5/1/03: "WATER DILUTES IMMORTALITY" Water sitting in a container grows staler and staler, and finally disappears. Tell me again, what percentage of our body is water? VOICE hot, cold, sun, rain, tantalizing, wounded, uneventful, opportune, she'd spent every single day in the library. then, when finding herself on her deathbed, she wondered why her voice had never been heard. TODAY: today, the priceless diadem adorns tomorrow's crown a jewel of hopeful tyranny besieging future's town ME! ME! ME! " --, - --- ---- ---- ------ --- ---- --------- ---- --- ----- ---- --- ------- ---- --- ------, ----- -- ----- --- ---- -- ----- --- ------- ---- -- ----- --- ---- -- ----- ---- ------ ------ -- ------. ----- --- ------- -- ------, -- -------- ----- ------ ---- ----- -- --- -- ----- ---- --- --------- -----. ---- --- -- -------- --- ------ ---- -- - -------- ----- -- ---- ------ ---- --- ----- ------- ----, ---- --, ---- --- ------ -- ---- - ---- ----- ---- ----- --- ----- ---- -- ------- -- ----- - ----. ------ --- ---- -------- ---- --------- ----- --- ---- ----- -- ------ --- ----- --------- -- ----. " { twice as many ears as mouths, yet no one ever listens. } All material herein is Copyright protected. Use of any material without an Author's consent is prohibited by law.