LINKED
As certain as a honeybee is
linked
To a flower's nectar, I am linked to you, my flower.
Without you
There can be no honey,
And without you,
I die.
(c)
Pino
9/3/01
 

Empty Again  
The moon is full, its beams forcing me to stay awake. My thoughts are chaotic, my heart shattered. The silence of the night echoes the silence in my room. An hour earlier, I was engulfed in hot bubbled bath water. It was a futile attempt to soak my heartache away. The candles were lit, my wine glass was full. I glanced across the tub where he should be - empty again. The lights are off now but the moon insists on casting its distorted shadows through my room. I squeeze my eyes shut and snuggle further under my quilt. My legs are aching for his to wrap around me, To squirm against him, to feel his rough hands against my still hot skin. My body is throbbing with desire as I reach out to touch him - empty again. I sigh, knowing it will be another long night. My life is this, this moment, just like the moon and all its phases of light. I open my eyes and look toward the window. The moon is so bright and full - my heart empty. . . again. 
Viann
9/17/01
___________

SHADOWS OF EMPTY PROMISES She sold herself. She sold the house. / She sold her future. It is time to say goodbye to the tin-roof cabin in the woods./ Goodbye to the flowers in bloom and in-waiting. She makes one final walk through the house./ The shadows seem intimidating. They come from all corners. "Back," she says, " I still have more to do." The shadows disappear taking promises with them./ The sun streams through the skylight./ Its warmth is reassuring to a tired, weary body./ The kids run through all the rooms, one last time./ The deep voice of puberty is never heard here./ The knock on the door of a first date, is never heard. / The beckoning of an absent father is also never heard./ The dreams are dead./ The promises are empty. / The future has changed. But there, one state away is a man who wants to father;/ a man who wants to protect; a man who wants to love./ He is the man with the future, the promise, and the tomorrow. / He waits for the woman only he doesn't know it./ He lives for the woman, still he doesn't know it. / He wants it all, and finally he begins to feel it. She walks through his house./ The sun finds her through the window./ It is the same warmth, but a different day./ A different way./ It is the right way.

Viann
5/6/02

Window into Soul's abuse
Mirror, mirror on the wall Who debases one and all? /When treason is the name we call /Who tortures one/ To punish all This glass will break/ Where blame should fall/You mock me mirror on the wall/ How dare you question one and all?/ As life is short and deeds are foul/ Oh, mirror, mirror on the wall/ I spite the soul who sees it all/ Like the innocent's eye I cannot lie/ And wish the day when you would fall/ Like mirror cracking on the wall/ To your soul's witness/ Your reflection is afoul/ As your deeds reflect in every action/ Your child lost to sick compulsion/ Sees mirror, mirror on the wall/ And now that child breaks it, one and all./ Like Your abuse, it fractures all.

Intentions Change
Before I wanted nothing/ And now I want everything/ Before I only wanted your hand in friendship/ And now I want to hold it/ As in a caress on my face /Before I only merged my mind with yours/ Like friends on an old familiar street/ Passing time with memories that speak to us /From some balcony above/ But now, I seek your eyes with mine /To look into the windows and out of them /Like a sole intention for light to rush in/ Perhaps, on a park bench we would meet /Discussing yesterday's news /As it blows away in the wind /To remind us of how our lives have been/ Separated And yet, /The familiar with us becomes a new ground/ That we could grow in /But like in a forest cut /The life support is weak/ And the want endangered /So as new life replaces old extinctions I must admit,/ I intended to be right/ But I know now that I was wrong /And that my dreams /Of you have /Never left me /Especially tonight.

Life Support
Put down the bottle/ And come to me /Put down the poison /You must be freed /Your life is going to fall I see it all /The light in your eyes Is fading/ To black despair now waiting /For your sick destiny to rob you /Of the beauty that changed my face to love /The disease in your eyes /Bring death's shadow to your door /And you speak no more /Of passion fire brilliance /Of The day we met When I fell into your heart/ Into your breast /That now lies shaking on the floor /What happened to you?/ My dear sweet one/ Yesterday you were a rose with thorns /Today you are a beast unborn /To die in shameless arms/ In the smoke and mirrors /Of your suicide waiting /Your tired wasted mind /Now aching in your lunges/ Your breathless sobs /They Are nothing compared to my broken hope /As I watch you climb the walls of your prison/ Of your addiction /Of all the tragedies you speak /I now command in desperation /Let go your grasp on death /And fall into my arms/ Instead of falling into your grave.
three poems by
Anna Libet

The Wrong Part of Town
They say love follows its own invitation In this town where the wind and the cold run free But we are tired of knocking down doors In a plea to ignite the wrongs of the moment - Under layers of stone Where shall we find fire's warmth? For feet that are tired and torn Can never walk far enough Through chandeliered streets Where dismissed as immigrant beggars We are slow to find strength But quick to find weakness In neighbors who have never found a true light Even burned out ours frighten them night after night So we will find our own home Away from the prison of being polite And where we don't have to search To find right.

Inside the Glass
With glaring indifference I watch them Drifting away from the natural light They swim in their autistic lives Mindless and lost we are one for tonight They watch my swelling cheeks And writhing fingers Flustered with a tired motion Of relief crawling up in vain They seem to portrait all my features As I await my time to float under the lights So much time they have to tell me How to live like them - Where every hour promising nothing But another hour And new eyes peering into you Must I learn to be like them? With painted faces that never falter Even in a cold, forgotten state Or will probing force diseases out? Through fearful nights that turn exacting into day Cut from within and without I pray, let me out Or else, like them, I will die contained.
Three poems by
Anna Libet

 The Turning of Time 
Lucia

Look into my eyes--don't say a word/ Silence speaks, as two eyes dig deep inside,/Silence speaks and two eyes cry.

Questions form
As tears fall,/ But before speech/ Noise breaks the silence,/And brings a rain of sorrow./ Then the sunlight breaks through the room,
Filling it with the warmth of comfort.

And the noise fades,/ As it's interrupted by a gasp, full of memories--
Happiness and sorrows, strengths and achievements/ And the turning of time.

Now images form and/ Memories wander about/ This once room of light,
As it turns dim, fading into darkness/And this sun is diminished by the night.
---------
6/25/01
________

"Portrait of Imposture You said it wasn't love"
To the hollow of my back Where your hands shook to hold// To my faraway stare Where your mind fixed to gaze// To the sheltered eyes The unopened smile To the curious beauty melded behind// To the stroke that eased me To paint my life on your skin As touch searches within// To the arch of my neck Where your mouth threw back Your desires drawing in// To my insides where you gasped Relinquished in the heartbeat Where no words utter On stranger's lips you pin // To this canvas spread This core exposed It appears that you have found your quest// But to every caress To every surrender// To every image burned Under your hands Over your skin You tell me once again// This picture of a thousand words Inspires only lust For love in naked silence Is the forgery I trust.//

The Betrayal
I walk into the room Through the doorway Beneath the romance Of the lights That were ours Once It is walking through all the doorways of denial I remember Till I found the lock That sealed my dread My despair My faith smothered under our pillow Where another man laid his head Is this someone else's house For I fear that it was never my own And I walk through the door again Over and over Whispering, "Come to bed" As I always have But there is no answer For there is no bed And no romance under This glare of infraction You inflicted But what a sacred fool I was To be burned by the darkness I created Where you were alone Neglected And now I am alone Vanquished And as the threshold escapes us Truth speaks through the glass For within these walls The betrayer is betrayed
Two poems by
Anna Libet
5/20/02

At the Grave of the Catwoman's Mother
for Eartha
"My mother did what she had to do."
I heard you say this, Eartha, on a PBS special on your way to visit your mother's grave.
You paused . . . then told how your mother pleaded with the dark-skinned man to keep you after they married.
But he didn't want a yellah gal living in his house, and your mother need a huhzband . . . so she bargained you away in a package deal that included your sister so you wouldn't be alone. You paused again . . . then talked about the time the stranger walked up to you on your aunt's porch, raised your chin, validated you with a nod of his head, then left. When you told your aunt, she said that he was probably your father . . . At the grave, I heard you say: "I understand, mother, why you gave me away."
"I understand. . ."
"I understand. . ."
Your tears showed me otherwise.

Bone by Bone
We are a people. A people do not throw their geniuses away. If they do, it is our duty, as witnesses for the future, to collect them again for the sake of our children. If necessary, bone by bone.
Alice Walker
How could we forget their voices? Bessie and Billie belting the blues, Zora chatting folklore. And yet we nearly forgot Zora, buried in an unmarked grave covered with weeds… until a Witness exhumed her memory and breathed life back into her stories, back into her words… so we can always remember.
Three poems by
Deborah A. Dessaso
[poems published elsewhere; author's permission for republishing.]

The Untold Version
The phone keeps on ringing The relatives keep on calling Calling on you to care about the story They listen to your lines Vicariously composed All pre-supposed Carefully edited Shaped for ears that are ripe For self-deceit The news of the lines is pre-fabrication Polished and perverted For a personal lubricant of friendship It only pacifies relations For the sake of your appearance The expectations have asserted their grasp But the paper is still printed Officially misrepresented Forsaking any knowledge Of self It is as a publisher would mercilessly Dismiss As he downgrades your perspective As if of no importance And squanders your front-page story of the truth With a replacement version Much more appealing to the ear It is their alienation That writes your wrongs aright As you overhear his voice in theirs "Stick this one inside someplace" Forcing your story to revert itself Back to a hidden place Inside yourself, unseen.
by
Anna Libet, Poet

America, Inc.
Paid to fill a vacant lot It stands and breeds// Marking the territory where feudal contracts make a modern comeback// Where bloated useless stations creep over ground as we would their walls so high and white to camouflage a stain // Silently enforced by greed helping the crippled mind extend its seed to every lot all over the world experimenting with our tolerance for a new death of equality exploiting us down into a centrifuge of devolving thoughts// Now every child grown who could feed the world outside a dark and poisoned room into a natural light through natural pursuits is lost bred and led to decipher the machine that never sleeps obsessed with the lubricant it brings free to awaken all the deadly sins on every corner all over the world// We are living in a Cheap Hotel a home away from home some growing our identity there meant for small rooms and hearts that don't care// Science and money might keep it alive but not us staring like stones walking like tombs and pretending to dream// In a respite from imagination no sign of any dirt or pain with base amenities provided and four more walls - cloned reincarnations of the New World Order again //
This time around there's no soot , and no ash, and no blacked out tunnels yet we still force ourselves to breathe// Because it is bigger than us Because it is us The excess of us The waste of us// Welcome to the new distraction Welcome to the new revolution Welcome to America, Inc.
by
Anna Libet

From Down Below
Lucia

From down below I see how to you Call really go, I Had never imagined me letting you go. But as the days went bye. curiosity invaded my mind Letting go is hard to do, for you will soon leave me behind.

The reminiscence of you J want to preserve For it was to good to last a lifetime. I want to see you drift away into the enormous blue skies, Letting the winds carry and guide you to the morning light.

When you begin to part will be difficult to bear As a hissing sound echoes in my ears as a last message of you saying, "Good-bye... As I sit here forsaken, I see how the winds drift you away, Away from me, Away from everything that remains in this solid ground.

As the seconds go bye. you go further and further High into the midnight skies, With nothing but the moonlight to guide you through the night. From down below I ask myself) "Will I ever see you again?" But as we all know, the answer is undefined.

Keep on flying high into open air, Keep on looking forward to the next tomorrow, Many adventures and surprises still awaits for you, Never give up, Just let hope live on. Don't look back If what you see will make you sad.
-Continued-
8/6/01

Surviving the Instinct
Twenty angry wolves Roam howling through the streets Preying on the weakness of mind and flesh Yours they have chosen To roam without fear For they sense your craving For tribal engraving Marking this victim endangered Smooth grins show sharp fangs Waiting to devour Your innocence of better judgment As it creeps away Frightened by solitude The wandering emptiness Where no one belongs Resolve collapses Ravaged to the bone Hollow cheeks white eyes shaking hands Obey nerves in raw torment Grasping the box of weak comfort The twenty beasts now beyond your control You bite your own feeding your own But the ashes in your lunges settle their disease In your eyes In Your heart hungry for air Night's black hole ties rings around your throat Rings of fire Howling screaming In this ritual sworn to kill The nomad within seeks A meditative trance To revolve your mind away from death's dance But the wolves breathe fire into you When the pack lights you up It is a break in your light The fragments The sound Are the echoes of your rebellion The vibrations of every faulted emotion Now muted in the fill of its hot desert death A sound of your clan Brings shame to your lips As you hear your mother calling "Come home, come home" Clutching to the tragedy You still cling to your youth As you run up the stairs Where safety embraces Breathing in breathing out It takes all your strength To break away from the fall From the moon From the wolves As you watch them dying alone.

The Betrayal
I walk into the room Through the doorway Beneath the romance Of the lights That were ours Once It is walking through all the doorways of denial I remember Till I found the lock That sealed my dread My despair My faith smothered under our pillow Where another man laid his head Is this someone else's house For I fear that it was never my own And I walk through the door again Over and over Whispering, "Come to bed" As I always have But there is no answer For there is no bed And no romance under This glare of infraction You inflicted But what a sacred fool I was To be burned by the darkness I created Where you were alone Neglected And now I am alone Vanquished And as the threshold escapes us Truth speaks through the glass For within these walls The betrayer is betrayed
Two poems by
Anna Libet
5/13/02

"Your Place in My Heart"
Someone came over last night Someone with no name and no face Someone with no past and no meaning Someone with no feeling, no affiliation, no bond// I talked for hours to the nameless, faceless, meaningless shape Before I took him to bed wondering who is the stranger here?// That is what I have to say today Hiding, hiding, hiding Behind my walls Underneath my bed Slithering away into the night Like some guilt-ridden dream Relieved to be awake We are in the morning And all is right again// But years from now, this is what I will have to say// My married ex-lover came over last night The man with every name and every face The man of my past and the man of my meaning The man with tortured feeling, deep affiliation, bonded forever.// It will be another decade before I talk to his shape But before I put him to bed I wonder who are these friends? That forgot to say, I love you.// If we could only tell the truth without telling it That's what we pretended, that's what we said.

Another Life In another life
you would be mine. In another world, we would be happy together. In another universe, we could do it all over again. We could be the images of ourselves We could be the ideal. In heaven, we could be saved. In hell, we could be educated. On the other side of the sun We could eclipse our desire On the dark side of the moon We could wage war If time could stop We would be frozen together If time could begin again We would melt into change Perhaps with a love like ours We need another earth - the one that we created.
Anna Libet
5/27/02

The Kidnapped
It was always that way for her Waiting, waiting, waiting. By the bed and underneath it She hid Trying to disguise what blankets could not hide For the monsters always creep in the dark, they know no boundaries But her monsters were imagined, versions of fantasy Until reality bruised and battered that soft darkness Because someone pierced through the night to render death The assaulter of nothing - a violence of his void A man who cuts across the darkness To engulf the waves of innocence The timeless, boundless, continuum of youth He vindicates by destroying what he never could have been As he stares into the face of all that should redeem him But without seeing the hearts of children, there is no heart to see And his heart is dead, but still beating, looking To take another one from us. Next time he thinks of taking one pure soul He should think what he has taken from himself All the hope in the world And he should remember - That blind fools never profit from their blindness And demons are not gods by wishing It, and who are you to take them? Who is anyone?
by
Anna Libet, Poet

A Trip on a Writer's Public Display
You sit in the wings High above the fray Passively observing what takes place every day But you think you are special with your pen now in play Though inconvenience has written your substitute stay As you reflect on the lives that go Un-noticed each day You stand back in critique Predisposed in your seeking of wisdom As you belabor the obvious to all who live here Ignoring the nomads who must play In these parts for Engrained is their nature of life in that sphere Everyday each re-living his lines They hear The noise all too well But none to you they appear To you, the pulse of the city is a story worth telling Elevated to a narrative description It is attached to an all too human recognition But you missed the counterparts of your newfound reflections Never once do you acknowledge the protagonist's convictions Those bound to this play Who ride everyday In a tiredness spread Over their faces like lead Moving back and forth Not enjoying in the least The predictable haze and decay and delay But you will return to the sanctuary From which you came Where there is freedom and luxury To feel this private dismay.
Anna Libet
8/26/02

 You
The very thought of you makes me tremble inside; the very sight of you makes me passionate; you consume my dreams and you star in my fantasies, Yet when your touch leaves me, speech is no longer a natural ability. my free will is to place my arms around you, to be lost in your embrace, and slowly, softly, delicately taste your face. but my free will is weakened and I remain in my place.
Tess
9/17/01

________________

Autumn Red
The sound of geese draw her eyes toward the autumn sky.
It's a beautiful shade of blue.
The same blue that made her heart quicken when she looked into his eyes.
Are they still that color? It's been so very long.
She stands to walk toward her garden.
Her long lace dress gets snagged in the wicker chair. She is reminded of the beautiful summer day when they went blackberry picking.
The sun was so brilliant; it illuminated the red in his hair.
He smiled as he bent down to gently pull her dress out of the thorns.
She takes a visual inventory of the landscape.
Her garden is fading in color. It's lost against the splendor of the trees.
The leaves are bold splashes of yellow, orange, and red.
Her eyes are focused on that particular leaf. That color red. It's so familiar.
She pulls the leaf from the tree. Will it be missed? Will she be missed?
Has he thought of her since that last day?
The vivid colors blur as hot tears roll down her face.
The snap of a tree branch forces her to turn.
She quickly wipes the tears from her eyes. Yes, she can see the red again.
She lets the leaf drop to the ground as she reaches up to touch his beard.
He smiles at her as he bends down to pick up the leaf.
He pulls her body close to his and answers the question in her eyes.
Yes, she has been missed.
By
Viann
10/01/01

The Light of Darkness
The dark tunnel will not be remembered, nor will the light at the end. Loud forceful cries clean out her newly developed lungs. Her mother holds her tight and prays for a wonderful life for her daughter. Talking, walking, gossiping, and dancing. She is so much older now, about to begin a new chapter. It's the eve before her wedding with only a small lamp to illuminate her and her mother's face. Unspoken words fill the room. She knows her mother has concerns, but it will all work out, or so she thought. 10 years, 2 children, and a mistress later, she finds herself in a dark room with a candle to focus on. She prays for her life and for her children. She knows it will all work out, but for how long? She sits among her collection of cardinals: pictures, stained glass, and needlework. The real ones come almost daily. Her collection counts off all the years, her friends in flight count off the days. Four grandchildren, one great granddaughter, and one death later she is again trying to escape the unspoken words that hang in the air. She is surrounded by hugs, kisses, and "it will be all right." "When?" she replies. They shrug and walk away. Her daughter comes to visit. She has her grandmother's eyes. She brings her another cardinal for her collection. Is this really a year she will want to remember? She looks into her daughter's eyes, she is so beautiful. She find herself trying to reassure her daughter. "It will be alright. It's only a lump." They hug and kiss swallowing the unspoken. 3 surgeries and 50 pounds later her children are gathered in a dark room. The nurse's station and coffee machine splash light onto the somber group. How many times has the doctor said those words? Was there eye contact? A squeeze on the shoulder? What exactly is comfortable? Is it knowing what to say or not to say? What was said, what was not. It's good to be home finally she thinks. A cardinal perches on the windowsill and peeks in the window. "I'll be alright." she tells it. Her daughter squeezes her hand, trying to pass on her warmth. The warmth of her daughter's hand feels so good. As a matter of fact, she hasn't felt this good in a long time. The pain seems to be fading. She pulls her children closer to her with her words. Hugs, kisses, and tears, lots of tears. Her eyes are fading as her focus becomes clearer. She tries to make out the image but it is impossible, until He comes forward. She has never seen Him before yet she recognizes Him instantly. The tunnel was so long, but she made it to the light. "Yes," He says, "It will be alright." "I know," she replies. A great granddaughter makes tracks in the newly fallen snow. The blanket of white covers the cemetery. If it weren't for the tombstones you wouldn't be reminded of death. Life. She touches her flat stomach. An hour earlier the doctor had hugged her tightly as he told her the good news. She had given up so long ago; it seems an odd time to have such joy. There was so much darkness till now. Is she too old? Can she do this? A cardinal perches upon her great grandmother's headstone and chirps at her. It will be alright it seems to say.
by
Viann

The Untold Version
The phone keeps on ringing The relatives keep on calling Calling on you to care about the story They listen to your lines Vicariously composed All pre-supposed Carefully edited Shaped for ears that are ripe For self-deceit The news of the lines is pre-fabrication Polished and perverted For a personal lubricant of friendship It only pacifies relations For the sake of your appearance The expectations have asserted their grasp But the paper is still printed Officially misrepresented Forsaking any knowledge Of self It is as a publisher would mercilessly Dismiss As he downgrades your perspective As if of no importance And squanders your front-page story of the truth With a replacement version Much more appealing to the ear It is their alienation That writes your wrongs aright As you overhear his voice in theirs "Stick this one inside someplace" Forcing your story to revert itself Back to a hidden place Inside yourself, unseen.
by
Anna Libet

 OBSESSION
America is obsessed with OJ
Possessed with OJ
Depressed with OJ.
But in the midst of that obsession,
Confession, Depression. and possession,
I cry:
Diallo!
Diallo!
Forty-one times I cry:
Diallo! Amadou Diallo!
The murder of Diallo
Forty-one shots I cry, Diallo!
Amadou Diallo!….
For the 40 righteous men, Black men,
For those 40 more on death-row, Black men,
Waiting to die
For somebody else's wrong
Waiting to die,
For nobody's wrong
For them I cry:
Diallo, Amadou Diallo!
Again another Black man is killed
By another white cop in the line of duty
A wallet becomes a gun
Bang, bang, bang…
A gun/a wallet/a gun
It's all the same in a Black man's hand
He had no identity that bullets will respect
That police will respect
That America will respect.
While they obsess that OJ may have gotten away
Another Black man is killed on the streets 
Of America everyday.  
So I am obsessed with  brother Amadou Diallo.

Bang, Bang, Bang!
And no one is to blame
Because a wallet or a gun
For this black man
Is all the same.

Amadou Diallo!
Who will mourn you? Your mother
will mourn you;
We will mourn and moan because of you!
Amadou 
what I have to do
To save my brothers,
Brother Amadou Diallo.
F.Arthur Jones
8/13/01
_____

"Where Will I Be, When You Are Gone?"
Where will I be When you are gone When you bestow Your smile on another one? When "you and I" Are only "you", and "I"? Will I ever Dance again beneath the sky? Where will I be When "us two" seem To live only In a shadow land of dreams? When faded ghosts Recall the hours When my sweet love Fell, drowning, in your powers? What can I touch If not your hand, Your lips, your hair, And breathe the scent of you? What time will it be When I'm at the Curb, and the bus With you on it never comes? How long will I Stand waiting, for A fleeting glimpse Of your marvelous, flashing eyes? Where will I be When I am old And you remember Me no more? Will I exist- If you forget? (I was never Made to be loved Like you, like I love you. And still, I do.) So where will I be When you are gone? When your light shines on another one? A shriveled hag Standing, waiting For a bus with You, that never comes...until I disappear and Fade to empty, Blow away on The softest breeze--Goodbye! For I was never Made to stand in The light of one Like you, so I am undone. What will I do? I do not know. But my love will Follow you on the wind Wherever you may go.
(For "Papa", from "Wildflower")

Angela
5/20/02

Indecision
I always knew it was a trap A predictable path An uncompromising middle An appointment to the bench of anonymity
To be led forever into tomorrow By the hands that are not your own
A figurative curse A future I held it In my hand The best laid plans Always smelling sweeter on the wind Not underneath the ground Cultivating like an impotent courage rotting
In a hermit’s false dilemma In a traveler’s bane I awake to a familiar dream: Freedom knocks Security answers “Go away, we cannot afford you here”
So security slithers away Hiding from freedom’s path Because it blocks the way of wandering
So I renew my vows with poverty For the great enlightenment And fly across the world in a book Never witnessing a single page But something turns The every-ones have moved away And I sit in mocking triumph Because I stayed
Eluding a confidence Betraying the evidence That I know not Which path forsakes my
True wish But I demand answers of a hollow frame While I walk in obstinate commitment Yet linger to discover
Which will lead me to a dream
Of true reflection and correct possibility
Without the shackles I seek it
To be unleashed Released. From the paralysis of indecision.
Of something I call my own My life.
by
Anna Libet

World Peace
As Americans we are free, just like a butterfly. A butterfly has many colors just like you and me so let's keep the diversity. Today and every day I wish for world peace. A butterfly touches down on beautiful flowers, let us touch each others hearts and make each day matter. Oh yes! soon there will be spring, so spring forward America, ahead of you will be good and beautiful things. Like a butterfly you have wings.
by
Brianah Lowe
[a third-grader of Oakland,CA]

Take Leave of Me
No, please take the car I insist And the house and the beach And the walks I missed I implore take your dog That does all the old tricks And the placating birds Caged, repeat after me I insist Take your honors And tailored made suits That have grown While I shrank In medication well spent To soothe my age As you ignore yours For that new woman is sovereign gold To your claims And your wants to be born again So take what you are - Your lies and your debts And go mortgage her future And leave this one be I insist Take our land and our trips And all my memories split And before you forget Please, take the scars on my wrists. I insist.


Evil
In the old, inferior In the transition, against god In the present, a ploy// We know that inferiors are defined by Their Superiors And that God only defines the devil And for this reason The word is not for mortal man To use in a scheme,// Never once was it designed To inspire any respect In a stage to wage war In the name of the good Against the darkness Which we know is in our hearts// And that we, ourselves, have created the term As a ploy to protect The superior With God Against man. And now we know that evil looks the same Regardless of the face on which it stands.

Down South
If you ever want to know her Then breathe into the wind That rocks an empty chair Or fans an empty field Still wet with moss And beaten with footprints The ripe purple flowers No longer bloom at midnight As the wind whispers the sound Of what's come and gone If you ever want to remember her Then stare into the sun And then run with your eyes burned out Blinded by the powers that beat their drums In a heat that deserted even the strongest Ones, the youngest ones And if you ever want to feel her Then take a walk into the darkest Corner of your fears Into a tomb that never rises Above the shores of its lake Because it is too tired to speak Too weary to drown And too shameless to die In a flooded garden of dead relics Burned by the emptiness and the darkness Into a steam that rises Into a victim that passes Through Her voice, if only history would listen.

Shame
A mission for you I have found To have failed// To kiss the innocence Never the frown Of the frail Who is jaded and fearful Of letting you down// Now you visit her Under the ground As she wails And pales next to your morals and deeds For the public humanity needs// But her misery loomed in private A cold mountain bound to the sea Of your sound And I still anger at the sin Of her sickness and honesty Bound to your fervor burning To protect That woman You once knew and loved In your laments I once had respect// But never I could And no longer I can// Stand too close to the sun To be shadowed by you// And your staged regret Now left in neglect for that woman// Laid down by the criminal mind And so quietly silenced like an Invalid bound Fallen and helpless Your eyes now look down In shame For your mission of failure In her death it is found.//
four poems by
Anna Libet