Back to Issue 4

Erasing Borders by Michael J. Sloan

A dirty rusted train, makes dirty insane shapes in the yard.
While we onlookers imagine lush fields and fertile gardens
Careening down, broken spokes, bastard blokes and all the like
Left off guard we sit and make smoke colored shapes.
I heard some colors talking in the yard.
I witnessed gallant remedies in the heads of fallen charities.
They made the sense, strictly as the lines of boredom.
We angels, with halos broken.

Tears dance silent enchantments.
Forest leave, leaf blossom, bloom
Wake up and speak to me of how the hours loom.
While we have forgotten our hearing, left docile and fearing.
Closed doors turn to open windows.
Filled isles focus on empty feelings.
They there with all the work forgot the lies to line their bellies.
Having tread fearlessly into the womb.
Open, standing, vulnerability.
The page renders me helpless.
Empowering the pen to keep on flowing.
Rust scrapes sounds into the basement,
as flowers cross borders without the neighbors hearing.
If only our lives could reflect the miracles of our birthing.
Reflecting the miracle of breathing.
I sound useless until we gather our friends to repair this yard,
and begin creating our children's garden. . .

Silent Planet by Michael J. Sloan

What grasp you, silent planet?
I thought there was silence here?
Ricocheting off of telephone polls
Ringing back and forth
To pick this right up where there was nothing
Or perhaps an empty expectation?
What you thought you may have seen
Or what you are, or are starting to notice
Back when there was music here,
Before the static took over
Looking sleepily into a distant dream
I myself begin to notice
How hazy this world has become
How more and more can hardly grasp
What this is that we are doing
Hardly a shape that we can't make
With these lines coming into focus
Back one way and into another

Whatever happened to ONE tribe?
What in this world are we pursuing?
With all these buffers between us
And what we are experiencing
Have we forsaken the touch that has brought us here in the first place?
The intimacy in the truly sensual experience
What, am I too blind to see?

The movement of particles that sends spine tingles.
The elasticity of energy.
Where we put ourselves, and where we decide to be.
Feeling this intense vibration and how it relates you to me.
A passing of hands to the swiftest of beats.
Knowledge of what it is we truly seek,
to become fruitful in Life's garden or move and fade like shadows in  
space.           Learning to speak once more, to accept what they teach.
How they allow us to manipulate, with the bills and laws we are left  
to debate.   How well off are we, left here to insolate?
Which direction should we go now?
What meaning should we give this?
Who do we look for sense of guidance?
Why do we look?
And how will we ever know for sure???

I am sure we will get a feeling
I am sure there will be a tone
A sense of peace and understanding
A sense of never being left alone

This echo, reverberating
Back to us from our truest home
Melodic mayhem mingling mind with body
And gently sprinkling over the essence of spirit
Entrancing all with the breath of escape
The movement of our energies embraced
To expand into the emotion that we create
BEING.

Bio:   MichaeL SLoaN was born in Orlando, FL and has been creating new perspectives with words for as far as he can recollect.   He now lives with his wife, dogs and cats in Corvallis, OR.