ALBERTO MAGSUCI

       The Desert Sand

I see from a distance

the orange-glazed sand

baking under the sun

heat dances in dry air

on parched desert sand.

Wind blows, clouds of fine dust

heap into piles like sand dunes

once the sand tombs of the Dilmun

the soul of the desert at rest.

I take a handful of sand

I press down and squeeze

the sand trickles through my fingers

I open my hand, only dust is left.

My life, like the sand

I cannot keep nor hold

into dust my life ends

the wind blows, dust spread

to the ends of the Earth.

Editor's Note:

Alberto has sent me the following information:

"The Dilmun is an ancient Bahraini civilization that once flourish 2300 BCE. It is one of the most important civilization of the region and stop to flourish in 600 BCE. At present, there are still many relics of this era like the burial mounds located in Sar, Bahrain.Attach is a photo."

MARTY MESHBERG

Flowing

To keep the words flowing,
I sit with my head in my hands. 
I can feel the throbbing pulse
in my temples. Closing my eyes,
swirls of blue and purple light 
fill the darkened screen, undulating
in a rhythmic, surging sequence. 

Voiceless chatter absurdly fills
the murky void with unruly nonsense. 

I shift and try to release
the tension in my neck...stretching
from side to side.
Grinding and clicking pops
seem to come from a deep chasm
within. Suddenly, I observe
a profusion of colors, hues and shapes.

A completed canvas appears boldly
in front of my astonished eyes.

I realize I am not in a realm of
conscious, poetic thought;
but must record these colorful impressions
stemming from the 'tablet of my heart'.

Lifting my head and opening my eyes
I reach for my canvas and brush.

Martha Meshberg

© January 2013

WILMA SEVILLE

Wolf Mother

The mother wolf outside her secret lair

narrow entrance hidden behind thick bush

seven newborns within

yelping loudly, hungry for her return.

She walks,lanky, half starved, keen eyes observing

waiting for movements to betray her prey

hidden behind snow drifts, invisible

snowshoes hare, sniffs air, starts running.

Clumps of grass poke through where sun has been

snow drifts cover areas of forest

wolf mother searches for her prey

white-tailed deer, snowshoe hare or mice.

Powerful jaws, razor sharp teeth, lean body

keen eyes spot foraging band of hares

wolf mother, trotting upwind, not instantly sensed

springs forwards, jaws ready.

Suddenly she gives a snarl, her teeth bared

hind legs imprisoned by biting steel

shrill howls of anguish shatters forest stillness

crimsoned red spreads over white snow bank

Seven little pups, now orphans, howl their despair

alone in the den with no mother to care.

Poet's Note:

This poem has been performed several times in front of audiences. It was written in 2010 and the interesting thing is that in order to learn more about wolves, I went to the internet and found a wolf howl.  I kept playing and playing it, and my three cats at that time, kept looking all around for the source of the howl.  It was quite funny to see their expressions - they kept looking at me and then realized they were quite safe.  After a while, they just went back to their usual occupation - sleeping.....