Daily Archives: August 30, 2008

“The Apartment” by James Schwartz

Thanksgiving Day 2000
Dawns cold and clear
The white highways
Icy shadows
Lost in the shadows.
At the apartment
Judy Garland sings
On the stereo
As glittering tiaras
Polished to perfection
Display cabaret glory
From behind glass.
A colorful family
Mills about
Shrieking, laughing
Gossiping over pumpkin pies
And cocktails.
The living room
Becomes a stage
Miss Garland
Sets the mood for the
Thanksgiving Day party
Where everyone
Celebrates themselves.

“Fresh Morning” by Jason Sturner

Talk to me in the comfort of fresh morning
when a bird's song I may enjoy
as the cold of night surrenders to the warmth of dawn
and there comes no sound from the telephone or door.

Hold me close as the sun plays with shadows
when the curtains of our room blow wide
as our hearts beat ever so quietly to the pulse of day
and seagulls scavenge across the falling tide.

Know me when the day is newly born, my love
when the spirit within this aging body is content
as I steal gentle kisses from your soft lips
and inhale the subtle fragrance of this moment.

“It Isn’t Her Fault…” by Jason Sturner

It isn't her fault
that our hearts fell from their cage
or that something like god
pulled broken the strings.

Now it's tar and tears, a new pavement
over the old road we drove:
intersections, car crashes;
dead love merging with the moonlight.

Those memories we made
now a bitter lick of blood,
falling from the edge of yesterday...


into a widening pool.

I hope it will end soon—
I prefer silence when thinking of you.

“The Empty Thrush” by Jason Sturner

The wind carries thrush notes
down from forest to field,
circling flowers, bouncing off bees,
snapping spiders off their webs.

It serenades memories
from the mind's lethargy,
calling me to an inner sanctuary;
a place a woman's heart has built.

I cut through the tangled vines of solitude
and step out into the world.
Warmth and beauty fill the landscape
in every direction. The paths are many.

I saunter and fill with hope as I go,
down a fragrant trail to a garden of stone.
Here the sky reaches only so high, and I
become an empty voice.

I see her there, beyond the stone wall,
sitting among caged birds and dying flowers.
The sunset has covered her eyes like eyelids.
She pivots inside time.

In a cage beside her is a thrush,
its song blown and scattered across the pavement.
Her lips tremble. Her eyes break like windows
with a storm blowing in, all their color floods out.

I run to her in a yell – alive, determined,
each step sinking deeper into the mud.
Her image pulls away and turns to mist.
I collapse among the cherubim.

And so it is, that an old song can wither away
and spin quietly down the drain of time –
no longer allowing one to love
the way they were once loved.

“Death Does Not Come” by Birdie D. Stringfellow

Others wait in another dimension
coaxing the soon-to-be departed
to take a step over.

Death growls wildly for the capture
of its prey.
But they are not listening. Hands are
cupped over their ears.

Clouds of fear settle over the sky. A
barrier is laid out and nothing can
break through.

But it is time. Where is the rattle?

Saturday Night With The Poet’s Haven – Episode 6

01     Intro
02     John Burroughs (Jesus Crisis) - Flow, Swill for Will, Prison Life, Holier Than Thou, John Cage Engaged and Uncaged, Rapists, Lobal Warman, Preacher Gunn
03     MUSICAL GUEST: Jammin' Joe Buck - On the Road to Nowhere
04     Newell Williams - Knock Knock, His, Words
05     Dianne Borsenik - Sacrifice and Broken Fevers, The Lost Tribe of Me, Communication Breakdown
06     Closing