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Drinker's Poetry
Priestly / Slattery
by Deborah M. Priestly
We slept like dogs
in the hilly dunes
of the powder dand beach
with blankets, a journal, a dog
three white candles
lit
all night
and a love for the stars
we awoke without effort
to the swooshing sound
of foaming waves
a beaming sun
whiter than lightning
high on a hill
with loose rolling sand
the sea reminded me
of green tea, its gentle way
a natural mother whose roots
call deep within me
stirring my wild soul
into a childish trust
so calm I could not speak
I listened to its language
I talked with silence.
by Deborah M. Priestly
I am married to a dream
some might call it a prison, others a passion
in either case, the sun shines its white guise
into the sea of my eyes, your eyes
unmasked, staring into our wants,
a bridge carrying all the weight of the outside
too many stones and many of them drifting
How could I have let myself b blind
to the wilderness, the chaos
kneeling in front of the canvas praying
will these colors, shapes and textures
ever explain the meaning of the world's
destruction, oh maze of silence
your corners have led to shadow
and your heavens dispel only
a thin wave of light
I am married to a star blinking
through freezing flakes of temporary bliss,
they fly and only enjoy the moment
this I know and have learned
as I have that there is only reflection
and I breathe witness to this strength,
we are here dancing in the clouds
and our only river is faith.
by Deborah M. Priestly
I know I could lay in your lap all day
feasting on your thighs
all the love you hold inside
my body curled inside your warm chest
I know I could lay in your lap all day
like a sleek, black cat knowing nothing else
but loving you and watching your every blink
I could live like that, I am sure.
I know I could lay in your lab all day
licking the salt from your skin
purring so loud that you would get distracted
or maybe you too would fall asleep on top of me
I know I could lay in your lap all day
forgetting all the things on my scribble list,
starving , cold, dumb or frenzied but so happy
a warm, fluffy kitten admiring your wonderful lap.
some might call it a prison, others a passion
in either case, the sun shines its white guise
into the sea of my eyes, your eyes
__________________________________________________
by Robert Slattery
The Horizon.
shimmering,
shimmering, shimmering
and beyond,
out of sight,
the factories ,
sitting idle-
quiet-
silent.
They came from beyond the
horizon, beyond the shimmering;
numberless men out of the
vast land. Brickmakers,
bricklayers, builders, laborers,
and factory men.
They created the factories
and filled them with lights,
sounds, and the residue of
a million toils.
Only the buildings remain-
forlorn-
empty-
desolate-
-- crumbling stacks
-- rotten beams
-- cracked foundations
Once busy rooms
-- long silent.
The men who toiled
-- long dead.
The families
-- long gone.
Only the buildings remain;
standing in testament to
an agotime of pride and
importance - but now idle.
And the everwind
pushes and flows
gently
gently
gently
through the empty rooms
out the broken windows
pushing and flowing
gently
gently
towards the shimmering horizon.
December-1997
Note:
The above poem was inspired by
(what I thought was) a rather vivid
image in the last paragraph
of Chapter 12 of Desolation
Angels by Jack Kerouac
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The Marcia Reed Virtual Gallery The paintings of Marcia Reed
Drinker's Poetry Deborah M. Priestly and Robert Slattery
Fiction "The Woman" by La Vonne Schoneman
TRUE new non-fiction by J. Blake Gordon
Film in ReviewAnna Luciano reviews a current release; Fritz Voigt ponders a current DVD rental, and David Sirois gives us a great movie that won't be checked out
