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Poetry offerings from Moongate
Volume V, Issue #2 Valentine 1999


white light like a gift I did not expect or earn
each object singular and lambent in this glow
common objects made holy by the light
that illuminates/infuses/informs
from within
a renewal of wonder
shatters my complacency
colors run wild and warm
in what was once my dingy suite
the small rooms suddenly expanded
the cracked wall speaking eloquently
the old chair infused with sense and sentiment
let me stay like this
forgetful of every sin I have ever committed
here now with the light
- Ken Peters


And where shall we go, then
when all of the options are taken, when
all of the dreams are used up in the morning
of our discontent
And where shall we go then
when we refuse to hope
(for we have to refuse
the eternal hope) to
condemn ourselves to
the hell of
no hope.
Shall we turn then,
turn the turnstill
and get on the bus
to hell,
we shall lie down then
in the morning
of our discontent
and sleep the sleep again
which brings the new dreams
I cannot tell you
I will not tell you
of the death of hope
I will not tell you
of the birth of despair
though my hands may shrivel
and the sores may ravage me, I
will stand when I cannot stand
I will sing when I have no voice
I will laugh when there is only sorrow in front of me and
I will cry only tears of joy when all is gone
I can only hold this pen and write these words for you
I can do no more
no words can replace the song of just one
songbird in the morning of our discontent
I say to you
be that songbird

- David Michael Jackson
I saw this bird today.
It was just a brief instant
I was in a parking lot headed to
a job.
He was at the edge of the lot in a tiny bit of grass we had left him.
There was this instant that I knew
for certain,
for absolute certain,
that this bird was important.
So important that I would remember the motion of his body as he
paused for an instant to
look at me.
So important that I would remember
how he moved,
as important as a red wagon,
or a player on a stage,
he raised his wings
and made that poking motion at the ground and
he was important,
not just another bird,
noticed by just another person
because there is no such thing as
just another bird
or just another person.

There is only one bird
only one

and yet I pause in this twilight moment to ponder

was this the same bird
let loose above the streets of paris
in '45

or the same bird who called to chopin
there is only one bird,
one person

and we paused, that bird and I

we paused to
notice each other and then, like good soldiers
we continued on to

- David Michael Jackson


A new cross is born
A prism of radiant color
of existence
Hands reaching
bullets piercing
but not permeating
the red womb
life giving breasts
hopeful hands
hands that reach from the heart
The face of woman
brave and courageous enough to see
the danger
the destruction
demons and deer
eyes that see into and beyond

- Pamela Patrick


Dreams of old China,
Misty, magical mountains,
Cloudscapes as from an ancient Buddhist scroll,
Layers of reality:
Tranquility upon storm upon wonder.
Days when my body
Travels no farther than the garden or the outhouse,
Weeks when the creek beyond the first ridge
(A couple of miles, perhaps)
Is the farthest I see.
And at the same time,
The swirling turbulent seas
Of the world and events
Touch me even here.
In the front of me the evening breeze
Rustles in the lilac bush
Framing my view of the valley and the world beyond.
Behind me a chainsaw roars,
Racing the ice of an early winter
Down the mountain slopes, perhaps.
To my left the stove crackles as it heats.
And to my right:
Silence, and the memory of one ripe red raspberry.

- Uncle River


Serpentine labrnith of timelessness,
microrealm of symmetry void-enveloped,
a cosmos beyond human imagination
myriad unattainable dimensions
containing eons of light-measured
star brith / life / destruction...
chaos mingling,
exploding, recombining,
galaxies adrift in nebulous splendor
revolving in gravity's vector dance,
bound in the embrace of the Immensity

- T. H. Keyes


Visiting Songbirds

Miriam Sagan    /   Ho Chi Minh   /   Janet I. Buck

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