Paula Sfeir

Invisible


I don´t mind waiting for him and he loves it-
At three o´clock he wakes me up, touching my arm
Near his wonderful long fingers and I can´t stop-
His size his movement,his release:

He rings my bells like a golden bird flying,
Hugging my ivory bones so I could feel him one more time-
In time our relationship will end up near ashes.
He will stop kissing me in tune and banish white-

I think he loves me in spite of his words,
He knows for sure we will stop some day-
He will leave folding his shirts becoming grotesque.
And my heart will cry creating a blue lake

Because he wouldn't desire my black cave anymore.
I realize know what will be his problem:
He will think I am invisible,
Because for him I am inferior-

I have been holding him in bed,
So he will get scared!





Jelly Beans

When you said goodbye I painted myself into black tones,
Where we, stripped silver and exact, came loud by water,
Like white rabbits and their Arab rugs as cover.
It was good for two years, our happenings- But know
As if nothing had occurred, as if
Other black peacocks got inside my puzzle in between
Our jelly beans,
Our strange beds cried your strength by me.
I had nothing to say to you with remorse or guilt
As we hung up yesterday taking one last breath.

Crying as a tot in the nightgown you bought
I visualized your caresses, step by step.
You died yesterday and got swallowed by worms.
Us ended in a split of a second-
As I woke up, woke up reddish brown-
I erased your name; I erased your organs and all.
I conserve you in a wood box;
Our past rests in a bone pot,
Near my house and our hotel.



Our love

His touch of sand-blue color
And insides blackened and glowed up
In between-near addictions and purple remedies;
There was no way of knowing if we would
Come on top or behind
Or inside out by green lace-
That lace,glued and kissed us,

Glued as bright stars: They
Have a unique view,
A green song faced down
On top of water, then after
Love´s sake we fled-near the blue sea-
King crabs,tropical fish,avian
And sea gulls,swam,their way

On top of each other to face the morning sun.







Paula Sfeir





Bio: I am from Santiago de Chile , raised in México City.Appeared or going to be on:S.M.U.T. Magazine,The International Journal of Erotica,www.muse-apprentice-guild.com.www.erotica-readers.com(Poetry Gallery), Aesthetica Magazine,Edifice WRECKED, The Literary Sybarite : Erotic Poetry and Prose Poetic Diversity , peacockblue.com, bluefood.cc , in the Anthology Desconstruction Quarterly , Zygote in my coffee and Word Riot.

Joseph Farley

Hi, I edit Axe Factory.My latest book is Suckers.
Dream Castles, a collection done with Marie Kazalia is
due out from Red Hand Press in 2006. I was named poet
of the year by Muses Review for 2004. Hope you like
this poem.

Joseph Farley


Sunny Isles Beach, Florida

The sea changes
from green to blue
the blue-black
the further out
you go from shore.

The sun remains the same
warm and friendly
as long as
you don't stay out in it
too long
and remember
your sun screen.

Boats move off shore,
shadows gray on gray
nailed to the blue line
of the horizon.
At night they twinkle
with many lights,
floating cities
that distract the eye
from the city
on land.

The sand is warm,
so is the water.
To walk along the beach
alone
is to forget
the world as it is
and to remember
yourself,
the person you left behind
so long ago
when life began
to spiral and grow
beyond what
you could measure
or control.

The condo boom
doesn't distract
from finding coral
or watching a coconut
bob in the surf
before being taken back
by the ocean
for another trip
to another landing.

Your stay isn't long,
only the length
of a conference,
not enough for you
to become disenchanted.
This is good.
You can leave
with memories
and photos,
no disappointments.

That will leave you
with something else to learn
should you ever return
to this land
of condos and hotels,
hopefully not
during hurricane season.

William P. Robertson

BRUCEHARD Y CABMAN

brucehard y cabman hedonist deluxe
what do his eyes devise
behind his shades
why is his cap pulled
down so low while making change
why is his taxi on the prowl
outside the topless bars
why does he drink his
dr. pepper
out of mason jars
how does he slip through
changing lights
like light through prism walls
why doesn't even his mother
return his calls?


I DRIVE

i drive past yr house at night
down the crowded little street
& see yr lighted hall, yr open door
& wonder how it'd be
if i'd park my limousine
proceed upstairs
to open all my dreams
of you & i & sheets wound tight

i drive past yr house at night
with lines prepared & kisses memorized
i drive & drive around yr block
but never in yr life
a life i want to touch & spark
so i may too return to life
instead of driving zombie-like
afraid of my reflection in the dark


RUMBLE BUMP TROUBLE MACHINE

mother dear
oh mother dear
i hope you can see
as well as hear
i'll try to keep
my language clean
while describing my
rumble bump trouble machine
the wipers won't wipe
& the horn doesn't work
i kick in the lights
& get lost in the murk
the shocks all squeak
& the hood goes clump
driving my *#@% rumble bump
yes the shocks all squeak
the gas tank
leaks
& leaves a trail
down the street
yes this time
i got myself up a stump
driving my *#@% rumble bump
i need all the cash
that you can send
for my brakes
go through
more +#@$ shoes
than a well-fed family
of ten
a nice passing motorist
tried giving me a jump
& the shocks went squeak
& the hood went clump
but the rumble didn't rumple
& the bump didn't bump
so please mother dear
i hate to annoy
but there's not much
to do
here
in central illinois
so send me some cash
some negotiable green
& i'll rumble bump
home
in my trouble machine


William P. Robertson is a freelance writer from Duke Center, PA in the
United States. These poems are from his latest poetry collection,
GHOSTS OF A BROKEN HEART from Infinity Publishing.

Bernard Kyle

THE HAND

In the performance of ones ministrations,
Ones hand will come to the fore,
It will wave a welcoming gesture,
As it hastens to open the door,
It will grasp the hand of a comrade
And tend him as a true friend,
It will shake on a deal to confirm it for real
And sign the deal when it's penned.


It can tweak the ball for a 'leggie,'
And reverse it for one from the 'off,'
And while It may cover the sneezing,
It can also stifle the cough,
It's able to do all those odd things,
That involve both front & behind,
But don't ask me to more specific,
Or I'll tell you to please "never mind !


It can push the tiller to starboard
And haul on the sheet to the main,
It will lift up the cup when having a sup
And dazzle with legerdemain,
It will scratch that bit where it itches,
And rub that troublesome part,
Not to mention caress, a bit more or less,
When it comes to affairs of the heart..

So give praise through the land to the right & left hand,
For these and the acts I've omitted,
You'll see how one needs to acknowledge the deeds
Of the appendage with which we are fitted,
For from tying the shoes, to playing the blues,
In all tasks, both mundane and grand,
We're needing dexterity combined with celerity
In those wonderful right and left hands,


Copyright © 2004 by Bernard V Kyle