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Poetry offerings from Moongate

Volume V, Issue #4 Spring 1999

"watch out you might get what you're after, oh yeah, strange, but not a stranger, there has got to be a way, burning down the house"
  - Talking Heads (1982)


Scrawny and toothless
Covered in rags
Sitting cross legged in the dirt,
Her little collection of
Nails for Sale
Arranged before her
Made in Korea, Sold in Morocco
by the old woman
with the ancient mythic eyes
showing kindness, wisdom, curiosity
Until I paid too much for nails
she knew I didn't need
my dollar my insurance
my ticket into heaven.
I waited for her grateful thanks.

Why does she laugh
softly and sadly to herself?
Why do I now see pity
in those eyes?
Why would a skinny, toothless
old woman pity an
American with teeth?
With a good job?
With a new Buick?
Does she know something
I don't know?
Does she think I have
too much to learn?

Does she suspect that my new Buick
won't take me to the Cosmos?
Does my toothpaste smile
remind her of the changeless smiles
of ancient skulls on museum shelves?
Does she see my soul and
Does it shine less brightly
than her little array of
stainless steel nails?

She doesn't need teeth
to smile with beauty
I see,
Something they hadn't
taught me in America.

I want to know what she knows.
I want to see the places my Buick
can't take me to.
I want to quit my job and
be her apprentice.
I want to be her, when I grow up.

- Daisy Sidewinder


Passenger Creek she calls to me
those boysteps wandering
her banks,
thy banks.
she calls like the ancient winds
she calls with the quietest
of voices
your voices
thy voices
Her green waters flow
in me,
my brothers,
My mother's tiny little house
beside the creek
Passenger Creek

- David Jackson


somehow these places eventually lose
identity too in these
cluttered times
passenger creek still weaves through
sugar camp hollow.
there are still legends and indians for
awhile still
for a short while
but up grant's chapel road
grant's chapel being of course long gone
there being left only a cemetery with
empty coffin
just up from the biggest oak in any parts
which is at the deserted settlement just off the trail of tears
which is now
 the oak being there in some wealthy back yard
the settlement cleaned away except in my memory
It was once to be had by slipping around the pond,
the pond being now gone
and the frogs
yet Passenger Creek still weaves it's history
through sugar camp hollow,
where it has been said Indian ghosts protect confederate gold

- David Jackson


it is springtime in the Rockies.
who gains when we who love this land
wage war among ourselves?
whoever gains would incite us
to ignore our mutual concerns
there is no other bottom line
for cowboys & ecologists...
our love will find commonalties
coyote warns of predators
who lust for land
for condominiums
for ski lifts
a killing for the Realtors
a killing of these rivers running wild

it is springtime in the Rockies
Gene Autry sang it so
and Ado Leopold with great vision
knew changes were coming
that would destroy what he most loved
we are in this mess together
we just gotta work it out
'fore two legged predators
bulldozingly rape this land, this air
bottled water everywhere
dead water breeding parasites
stagnant, fear-filled hearts
killing everything not tamable
killing by dividing
the cowboys from ecologists.

- Summer Music


Ostara, Sabbat, celebrate
honor your ancestors by weaving your voice with theirs beat the drum until the heat of your hand
releases the goat odor of the stretched skin
dance a trance romance
because if you ain't got rhythm
you're lost in the outer darkness
welcome then new life
the rebirth
the holy mother
the Astarte
honor those that came before
by seizing your future
in this most high holy day
where balance and renewal
touch all things
and we are made anew
consciously and with tender
love for all that is, was and shall be

- Ken Peters