Nineteen hundred and eip,hty-two

The ·~08PJC is a nroduct o'f the Eonors Pro1SI'&Dl of the Collep.e o~ t~e P..rts and Sciences et the Ohio Rt ate trni vers i ty.

~~se.icist: 1.- a. J'lla.ker or desit'Iler of T'·ose.ics · 2. A. dealer in T!'losaics (The ~andon. Rouse Dictionary of the Tll~lish

LancuaP'e , t.m~brid!!ed , ( 1068} )

CO-F;DITO~.S : I.eAnn ... re?TlB.Il and l'atricia J. Saluga FR0-1T COVEB ILLUSTRATIO! : ~~a.r1 : Bajorel:.

Ste hanie Acton ~ 1ark B j ore!: Diene 'P.ernis Ro ~m Carter

Ann De..:pore Joe Eevd Carrie ":obinson Susan Veleznick

Betsy von Koschenbahr

The riOSAIC' staf":f would like to recognize !:S.re?y n. Gerrard. as founder 'Uld Dr. S~rdney Pressey as initial beneficiary of the i'-'OFAIC.

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Jfyeli-G

Together we sat, neither sure of the other, Our minds reaching out to ••• where?

She turned toward me ; across the table I beheld Her eyes , binding my stare.

By mind went Blue •••

Her eyes were deep , deep Blue as an ocean Welling up from the bosom of the World,

To fill the universe with the soothing blue light My mind floated upon. The wind curled

The 1'7aves of Her thought : the currents of Time Were lit by the moon of Her Star-strewn spirit,

The sun of Her heart, whose rising glow Spilled into the Wells, with fire in it.

~heart went Red •••

And ·UP the Wells of Her mind ca.me the ·warmth Of the suns and the stars inside of Her mind;

Shone forth Gold, Silver and deep, deep Blue. And the glow of Her heart warmed the kind,

The gentle wa;ys of Her smile ; and the love She bore, the·. Wells of Her eyes · did turn

To radiant , glowing pools of 1'7arm.th: Spirl t, heart blazing in passion that burned.

The love reached out and stood before my eyes .•• ••• in Her eyes •..

I .. felt the glorious glow like a crackling hearth : I put out my hands to warm them •••

••• in Hers.

Meal H. Hicks

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EVl!iRY DAGGER OF PADT HAS A GLil'JT OF HOPE

The blade has pierced deeply now ; oh, so deeply. I can feel the good times and high emotions now Through the cracked walls which used to be so well defended. Their warmth is that of death.

Lord! I don 1 t want to die here in the darkness Of uncaring stares and callous voices With no one ~o hold me softly And remind me of the life that was once mine.

Where are the heroes? Where are the s~\--!crs?

Where are all the things The movies said would be here?

All feelings are gone now And the Final Void is coming. I see my last sight as wr eyes come to rest On the hilt of the deadly instrument.

It glows , as though reflecting the smile or a very dear person. And perhaps, although I never knew it, That was all I ever had and ever needed.

Cynthia Legg

Computer Age Fisfit

.••• numbers run in a · rapid and endless succession from le.ft to right across the blackboard of my mind. , • disappearing as instantly as they arise ••••

While words strike the surface of my imagination and sink indelibly in --·becoming part of me •

• • • • formulas and symbols monotonously fly in ridicu-· lously compl.icated formations across the crowded sky of my conscience .•• as · ::.~attainable as they are unin­telligible ••••

While music gently takes hold of my perception and upli:f'ts it - - affording me vantage to more than I'd thought possible.

- --1 What are you going to major in ..• Accounting, Business, Enefneering? '"

··-Beats me.

___ :!Well, what do you want to be? 1

--All that I can.

Joe Heyd

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Low Cravlin ' Blues

After so JllailY' yea.rs of you bein' the on~v one That anyone Wanted to go out with I mean, The Mister Slim and Tall Oh, yeah Buddy, your high l:ii;eppin 1 shoes got you low crawlin 1 blues now 'cause someone turned you do'Wll

And when I walked into that ~arty You was lookin ' bad as can be but Man, Was your eyes cold; That stare wa.s mean ) but I had to be the one I guess I should'a wore my socks.

Susan Hommer

Tread Lightly

Tread lightly where iey heart ' s concerned, as light as feet ~ tall..

Remove the rough-hewn shoes ot tear that echoed in my ha.11,

And 18\Y' them at the stone beside which blcclted the door so long.

Tread lightly where :y heart's concerned for it ~ s not veey strong.

Speak softly when you call my name, like feather's whis~ered flight ,

And shoo &'tray the roaring silence ushereQ in by night.

Sing faintest songs that play your soul and t~-ry long in mine.

Speak softly when you call my name, your voice so full and fine.

Reach gently wiien you take my hand, as that first night we touched,

And never lose the flowering love we both des:: :·e so much.

Let naught detain your hand :f'rom mine nor keep you far aw~y.

Reach gently when you te.ke my hand, m:r heart will never stray.

Susan Hommer

Passion

Leaning over the gold- inlaid , white marble sink , he washed his hands of the last one. The mother- of-·pearl handles sparkled in the white, i1hitati0n light that flooded the room from the elegant ceiling, ex­cept for a few specks of dried blood in the crevices. Muttering, he cursed the maid for her incompetence switching off the light and pro--· ceeded into the adjoining room to write uµ a new file. lqing on his back, face towards the ceiling, he drew out another long, non-~existant drawer to flip through the air·-manilla envelopes for a likely subject. The last one had been messy. He almost got involverd.

His delicate ta2te had finally forsaken him in choosing a date. So many he had taken, molded to his tiny heart ' s only useful form, and lef't mangled on the inside ~ but still so lovely to the naked eye. And though their tears poured incessantly from the midi;t of t heir deepest desires and fears , still the hurt could not be cleansed from their souls.

And still his wandering eye which seemed so fixed on one , roamed to meet another's , 'til their eyes would not allow a gaze to f'all across his face, knowing of his deeds.

' What sha.11 I do 1 was never the thought in his solid mind. Such a lawyer's brain foi.md loopholes in other ' s lives, which he loved to chip and widen till only he could find the gap and then pluck himself from the void like a cork from a bottle of champagne, the only fizz to follow being tears.

Now there was no one. No one he could use for a companion( phys ­ically, of course). Ho one's w.ind to manipulate or emotions to kneed to the form he wished , mechanically and without feeling. No, no one to infa.ntize to complete dependence, then cut the cord to 1eave them gasping for breath.

Now the prom approached. They sent him an· invitation, yet he had no one to ask. The calm, stately facade shattered, and,rampantly, he r ·an through the ones he'd left behind. No. Everywhere he turned they laughed or maybe just quietly refused on the grounds that they had found solidity. Breaking into a des!>arate gallop, bl:i:ned by the sweat pouring into his eyes ~ running only on the last of a dying desire to continue, he hit the corner of his statue, and died. The inscrip-· tion read: ;il!ere Lies. · i

An old movie. That 's whc'.:. it seems like , you and I

Susan Hommer

and I watch the black and white frames of our past flickering , reel to reel. AJ.l the scene s are there : silent slapstick, piano playing, the love story, the misty airfields of a Bogart goodbye. AJ.l movies and ••.

but ••. could it be that it was only intermission .•.

Joy Katz

Eyedimmed

I sat with Her by a River of Dreams , Mist rising to veil the moon of Her Spirit.

Y\Y' doubts kept me rooted to the ground A questioning flower in the valley, to hear it:

The voice of Her Heart : •=r am as I a.m.. :

Quoth I : '' I bask and grow in your light But bright never grows the Fire of Your Passion.

I grow stl.mted, and fi '!; fully reach for Your love . But i t nev~r shows its · face·. how is one

To f'ind the stranger on whom one' n ~~a..-Wt Depends ror Light , and yes, ror Life

And growth~ roots and blossoming futures When the stranger of Your love hides in strife? ''

Quoth She: ~ - I am as I am as I was •.• ·

Quoth I: !:Is it I who closed You so to the World? I a.m fixed to the spot, and connot move ;

I have studied the gre.ce o:f y our forin, in its 'Wa:fS

or freedom &ld flight ' for indeed it does prove Your suppleness to chB.!lge, even as ~ou fly.

Frolicking, rejoicing in the bright sunshine, You set an example, You pique my mind

To !:.:.'nd a medium, to make You mine. i;

Quoth She: i:I am as I was, 1:u3 I will be '. Hy wir:gs may shine , but they are of glass.

I fc!lr to bend , lest I break o:;:- be broken ; I am sure your immovable sorrow will pass. ::

And with that She did float to the Ra:1s of Morning Tiiidng th!"O'.lgh the Mist of my Tears,

Not knowing of the pai.·'l. innocent ly caused. We would meet again, and again , for years •

As the dawn :..-: :::~ :J over my flower- filled valley, The gJ.ow cli d. Her com:fort, and took Her avay:

J~t out of reacn, within sight of my Heart, With.i.u l.lcc:1..d!lg ul the satisfied things She did eq.

The dawn vas so brillia'J.t , I turned back in pa.in Still sta;.1ding beside my River of Dreams.

I laid myself do;m by its :fester ing pools Lonely, withering, _lost , it would seem •••

She floated awa:y and left me here crying, Dor.na.nt and l a.!i<e with nowhere to go.

The Fire of Her Pacsio~ burned down to ashes Which cover ed me up, like

cold i

Heal M. Hicks

heavy snow •••

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SCRAPPER

Rusty puddles reflect Ref'rige::."ators with do: ·rs 1-n-enched off :. Protection for the boys who bring Pop ·can offerings to old Nalo.

He waits within a clapboard shack In the foothills of a range of autobodies. Workshoes idle atoy liis scarred desk ne trades co~pers for aluminum.

Slow times. !1~alo swats flies , rolls R.'leunw eyes across walls papered with Calendars of years past salvage. ' 65, his favorite, features A blonde wearing steel- belted radials : Venus of Akron.

Curled before the Coke :machine~ Ike. his blind .boxer , wags A stub in answer to the door. He welcomes weekend junkers Who ' ve come to beg For this , for that · about so big.

fKalo tips his dingy derby bai::k , Rasping directions to the heap they want, Rings it UP. on a battered brass register , Ji'inds himself abandoned in A wilderness of wire wheels.

SEEDBED

Old farmers winter with their wives , But ever-y April leave them

R. Mark Lawerence

To pry apart the furrow ' s reluctant thighs , Spend their seed, lTait. She rarely disappoints her men. Their mistress steams beneath A sweating late sr,>rinp S\ID 9

Gives her long , Slow , Sweet shudders of green.

R. J"iark Lawerence

A Coffin for my Father

I came to choose The coffin once-removed from mine. Rows and rows rested atop Platforms in the long low room. The mortician ~ointed ont a copper one , Suggested other alloys in different colors , Even lavender. I asked to be alone. Ile said he understood, Leaving me to touch fluted fruitwodd tri?Jl, The slickness of lids. Walnilt., cherry , oak I recognized ~ reading Their grain the way he taught me·.

I could see him in our woodlot, Bending over the saw. Dust on his mouth , eyelashes, boots. Breath, saw- smoke mingling in the ra,·1 November light. ,.Ball-bat wood, :· he grins, straightening to see the ash Sweep to the grotmd as if It were already chasing sinkers do'm and awa:y. The crash sends birds screaming like low Lines dives across the pond. I kneel, stretching my hand toward The water rs sort stm- lacquered surface , My :fingers trailing along cool finish of l-iaple dressed the uay he alwa:ys liked. This one. ----The papers signed, I le:rt. The well-·oiled door slid shut behind As · I stepped into the shade of The undertaker's trees.

R. Mark Lawerence

This Old Man

The old man steps up to the platform. He caref'ully draws the bow acrsss the worn strings of his oldest violin, the first he'd ever ovmed. It seems to be almost as ancient as he is and the strokes begin to quicken. His white, wirey hair end mustache twist from his skull as if' per.forming their O':m :frenzic dance to the music pouring :from the body of' the instrument. Follow his .tails down. They sway, toudling the -~ ·:. " floor like a whisper behind his black, baggy pants. On the music whirls in swirls about his body and dances up to the lights to laugh cruelly down upon the audience. Only his eyes are yotmg ~ as they see what only he can see~-ce.ught in a trance of some other age. Wildly the notes fly. He rocks in his chair upon the porch, and, l.ooking down at the fiddl~ in his lap, tries to remember what he was thinking.

Stephanie Acton

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Echo

A tiny lad on a sandy shore Bubbled a laugh in a mirthful tongue ~

Spotted a stone at the edge of the waves And tossed in a ripple, in the joy of those young.

* The swimmers of Sunnner , an ancho=age of boats ,

The armada of fishers and huge seaweed floats, The yachts and the trawlers from the port rol.md the bend,

The freighters through breakwalls, and still water ts end, The seagulls and sea salt and a stiff tacking breeze,

The dolphins cavor!::-ing, escorting with ease A cruise ship of passengers, ~rith fun in their hearts ;

The crew working , the staff still playing their parts, Schools of fish gliding and hungry terns searching ,

A fine training vessel, tall ship reaching; Then cnly the ocean, and those it keeps hidden

From all except those who enter unbidden ; The rains, which spark light in the cloud- covered dim~

The clouds which roll ever from the horizon's far rim, The gusts which grow stronger though the cold be cut mildly,

Gi~ the wave--crests with lace and a spray that nies wildly ; Motm.tains of water which pile toward the sky ,

The clouds become darkened , the storm gathers nigh The jagged fork-lightning to split the foul night

With wind-ravaged· ·rains, with a bitter-cold blight : The elements paused i:'ury, a calming of sorts,

A grumbled satisfaction, the dark clouds' retorts; Asha:f't of dawn's light, then another, yet a third;

A shining, washed morning and migrating birds; Cal.Juness and light, not a breath, only heat ;

Worse than the blaze of a dry city street, An ill-fated paddle, a fr~gment of board

Alone in blue void ~here no buzzard soared , Then ripples, a telli-pting suggestion of wind,

Flocks of seabirds the breeze cha.need to send, A ship headed o~>t in the wrong direction ,

The cycle of life, in abstract reflection Reversed its polarity a.nd u.ppeared once again ••.

Through ships and people and waves, once again.

* An aged man en a sandy shore

Saw a wavelet hit the bench, reflecting da~m 's gold, Which rolled in a shell which before had lain hidden ·

He picked it up slowly, ~rith the care of those old. The song that he heard as he held it to his ear

Brought a smile to his face, made him feel yo~g; A ripple did form as he tossed it back in,

It bubbled a la'..1.gh ••• in a. mirthful tongue.

Neal M. Hicks

Death By Hanging

The :four walls about me are hazy in the dinmess. One StJ'IAll barred window allows a small amount of the grevish light o:f a cloudy dawn to enter nzy- cell. ' ';y 1::-"."d is hard and cold and I have not slept all night. I am so tired now , though ~ that rest is undeniable. I fall into a fit:ful sleen.

The sound o:f keys jangling arouses me from a dreamless slumber. The person at the door tries several kevs before he finds the one that frees me. He is rescuing me, The door opens. My h opes are dashed when I Ree the guard. His expressionless face disgusts me. He enters , jerks me to my feet and throws me toward the open door.

The sotmd of ~ chains grates on rrry mind as I trudge toward the courtroom. My heart is black with the anticipation of my sentence. The guard fo11-. ... ws, occasionally pushing me roughly. The hint of a smile en his lips shows his amusement at my sit ­uation. Af'ter seeming hours of agony, my pathe~:i,c form enters the courtroom.

I stand supported by the guard before the judge, to hear his sentence. My family and friends are sickened, but JJ1Y eX1?ect·­atio~s a.re for ncthing less . Preparation allows my mind to wander during the words. death by hanging.

I find myself un~er an a~nle tree that I spent much time under in my youth. The s oft , s0ot hing breeze whispers by, and the trees rustle in ha.ppy h a r n-,.;)ny . I lean against the trunk and feel its texture against my bs ck. J?njoyi ng the late summer environment, I bite into an ~~ple and gar.e at the few white clouds leisurely remolding to form new sculptures. 'i'he blue sky is be:-.uti:ful. The whole scene is !)er·· :feet~ but is purely r n."1.tany.

I asc~bd the stn.i rs t0 t i.1e !)latform, where I refuse to pay the executioner. '.fLe g~llow;:; is quite :finn, certain death. I stare blankly at the aw£d ting era ·d as the executioner slips the noose around rrry neck and se~ure3 the rope so tha·c it is short. I will die slowly.

The floor uud'.)r me gives out and leaves me suspended. I hope to see the onlooker;; sicken at my slow, painful death, but my neck's pain quickly becomes ~ only thought. The pain causes me to thrash and con-­vulse violently. i:·zy- ge.sp s for breath are harsh and labored, each giving my lungs less thrui the one bef 0re. !'Iy neck is raw and blood oozes from the places where the :cough he~n has torn my skin. lf.iy lungs nearly burst my chest with the pain from ·· :~ :· : . ·G to (l:-·.::.w in enough air to prolong nr:r miserable life. Still, I st1-uggle •

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·Something inside me ruptures. I feel the blood flow inside my throat. Iey- gasps become gurgles. I spit blood with each exhalation. The blood trickles dol-m toward my lungs and tickles my insides in an odd way. Hy sight blurs and blackens a s my life force leaves me.

I awaken in my cell with the cold sweat of fear upon my body. My stripes are damp and sticky , but I am alive. The cold , gre walls are actually a comfort to me. I lie back do1m and again £all asleep.

The sound of keys jingling arouses me from my slumber. The person at the door tries several keys before he finds the one that frees me. He is rescuing me. The door opens. Hy hopes are dashed when I see the guard. . ••

A Scene

I want to wrap myself in the rain .

Ifose to pane , I watch

hmon~.'Y"l.ous .. ,._.1

dro-ps melding into Pools in a slate gray world .

Shutting my eyes , I see Nothing but watery sameness.

Listening, I hear nothing But steady sound---

Louder, then softer , Then louder , the rain ••.

I have become the rain ••• Inside and out . I hear, I

see , I feel , Softly captured.

Joy Katz

His sandpaper face looking awkwardly at my impatient eyes. The familiar cologne. His too-hard pats on my back . The firm handshake. :·Good Luck. ··

Her time- worn frame pressed ~ossessively against my hurried warmth. The sad-sweet eyes .• Her gentle clutch of my moving hand. The obligatory kiss. 'Be good. ::

- ··Leaving Home. Joe Hey d

A1one, he sits at night Dreaming his dreams Pretending he ' s a player Acting out his life like he wants it to be. Being the hero, or the wanderer , Searching for things he ' s never known. He dreams that the people love him, That he is important to their lives. A worldly hero ; respected and admired, IJot his real life tha.t is so mechanical, so simplistic, With everyday , the same as the preceding, No better, no worse. He sits alone at night , Living all of li~es adventures , again and again, Hever tiring o:f' them. Developing fantasies of kingdoms, riches, Love, and glory. Al1 of these dreams he acts out. Wishing that he was someone to be noticed, Wanting to be someone spectacular, sensational, With a real res.son to be. Knowing that she would then talte notice and truly care. But she doesn ' t. She never read the script of the li:f'e that He acts when he sits at night, all alone.

Sandra Johanson

Untitled as of now

In darkest hours before slee"? , m1en spirit ebbs from lowest ti a.e, Hy heart in sadness feels the sweep Of all the drea.m.s I ' ve le:t't beside The broken ::::>lans , the fallen b o'9eS Which time has force d t he mind to lea~e. Though head forgets , the heart still gropes To clutch each sharpene d :riece and grieve.

Sgt . Beaver Statueback

Perhaps

Perhaps the day must ahrays be, if not the sun within the sky then some unfortunate like me who founc:i the uell of sleep quite dry.

Perhaps the sun may never set but burn within some restless soul that when the moon reigns there is yet a place where day is bright and full.

Perhaps the mind which fears to sleep is full of wonder at the stars and faithful watching vigils keep it quite aware of realms afar.

Perhaps the poet's restless pen can glean from nights when sleep is sought a song to soothe the hearts of men quite dearly purchased~ finely wrought.

Perhaps sleep creeps up unawares to gently c " < m its tired prey

-only when they co.lm their fears and bid farewell to endless day.

Sgt. Beaver Statueback

The S~nzation of Reaiization

Imagine there are no possessions in the vc.;;-ld o'f man

The cU E!:.ppearence of greed and hate I hope to a~hieve all of tr.is.that we can The peace and solitude in cooperation Is a strong hope I have I feel a sense 0£· possibilities

in the animal and :-tan relation The belief that God is here, too Some believe in worshipping objects And others believe he is not true The realization of the dream Is one of.' discipline and tru:t:h Which resembles a glittering stream.

Fred Osthoff

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Formica

The swirls of gold The etched, the intricate .design The flour that r s spilled Snowed upon the surface

by the briskl.y, happily, absently stirred bowl.

Friends laugh. The table i:: ~:-1shed clean

in determined, exact, parallel strokes.

The yeasty dough Warm against the heel

of a hand. Pushed and patted

upon the cool the powdered table.

Kneading, Kneading, Needing you.

I dreamt you left A knife descending

upotl a loaf of bread, my life.

Sawing through to remove the center slice.

You. I pu.ohed the ends together·­

to fill the gap. The halves no longer match.

(If only the . loaf was not so well baked .And soft., warm centers could bi.n ·~ together, could malrn me whole! )

I woke to find tears on my pillow,

And cr-·mbs on the counter.

.Anne Stewart

Level

Set up on the stage, displayed before all , he stood erect and proud pronouncing his piece. All stared in awe as the words shot forth and fell upon their ears, as caught as their riveted eyes. On and on he went 1.rith the conviction of self that states loudly , without ever being spoken ~ that this is one. And this one knm-rs the value of one among many. And this one holds within his clenched fist and heavy breath the truth of his being, the pride of this being, the joy of his being. This is one above many.

And through the thunde.coUB i::ru0tioa of appealing thoughts, all calling him to con­tinue, he finishes and walks boldly to his place though a thousand invisible hands holding him back, a thousand wishes, thick, from wea.".t and longing minds that they could merely observe this phenomenon of self for but a moment longer. And they, the poor who forget and scorn and disbelieve , they will plod their way and ever f'ear turn-· ing around to face his confidence . They wi 11 not seek. They wi 11 not ask. And he will continue on, steppine lighty but strongly through the debris of cluttered, lost minds and souls, keeping inside of him the only light he needs.

And, ah, this light! How it shines from his eyes and glows in his hand.s! They who will not lock, they who will not ask , they are the ones I pity for their fear. They do not fen~ him, they fear themsleves. The pc~er lies dormant within each. He is merely the embodiment of this poi.rer released. And one will lay aside this fear for the wink of s star and call his name and he will turn.

New he sits. Still poised in silence, still full in voice he listens, he speaks, he molds a moiot and ready clay and holds it up to the light. .ft.nd his eyes shine their g!'een and his h.::.,"'lds glow through the p iece, and he lays it, carefully, upon the mind cf one who is fascinated. One breathes out • relieved, and walks on, tasting eveey remembered phrase and tru·ch, watching .:---: ce-.reral fall effortlessly into place and fill tte pressure•'l holes.

He can liit above the grovelling incompetence and void of thought and dash the clocks against foam walls to be swallowed. Now one can see. And one chooses among the ideas and memories s cti.t tered on the floor and piled high in the corners and keeps this and that ?nd, wait, this too. And soon one gathers every thought and tries in vain to carry the:.n all, bu'.:; as night falls , invariably a few will roll away : undetected in the darkness. Ho ~ : :-:--~y. One will return in hopes that he is still there, unfettered, and open.

!.nJ. he is.

Stephanie Acton

m:iat candle burns that binds this pain? Does it flame strongly a gainst the dra:t'ts? An eternal wax) cast with gentile care of hea.r!;s begetting warmth and light?

Or would the mold melt way to shapeless form? Its self-consuming flame diminished to a flicker that makes each life ' s breeze a storm until darkness descends on sight?

In a cold, dark world~ l.:·i.; uot the candle seduce, lest another's flame you feed till your own heart fade. For only in a mold of your making, and made for . your use, can love 's true warmth shine forth p::.f~ · a."td bright.

Chris Brantly

Metaphor

Like a still, silent river on a gentle Spring day You make my mind dance with things that I want to say Then something softly tells me that I shouldn ' t se:y a word Lest something in the nilence should somehow go unheard

Like a flame in a ce.mpfire, watching :i;>eo!)le looking in Dancing random mcvemeats betray the warmth that lies within Burning, glowing , soft and gently hissing With the power to J.ash out but the desire mostl,y missing

Like a meJ.ody heard ju:;t once and remeMbered long thereafter Running through rcy head when I'm sad or lost in laughter Soruetimes high, so;ne:th.~es low, sometimes hard to sing Still, I lmre the cha11en-.;e and the madness that you bring

Like the wild night sky and its infinity of space You stir up thc.uglrts ins.ide me, thoughts slow to erase Stars and clouds and w.l.i'i..:L:5 dar k and light Lost inside yo·.ir eyes as t.hey are lost inside the night

Like a poem filled with ima.ges of my most favorite things You are o. sou.~ce of happiness a.."'l d the goodness that it brings Full with cont.racli':".tio::::s, you 1 11 ~urely make me crazy But I'm dra-~m to you, like a child, to the petals of a daisy

Judy Wertheimer

- -~- : .

Rainy afternoon , spiced tea, memories of friends ·· old and new.

Urap!)ed in a comforter flames leaping from sparking logs • Music 101·1 in the corners.

Life continues in this muted state. But I can hold the world still, take time to arrange all the facets of my being.

As I gaze out my 1·Tindow, some folks hurry by and others stop and gaze- ­as do I.

My heart begins to weave music into my life connecting me with the world again. I reach out and take hold. Ready and able to grasp onto all I've- dreamt.

LeAnn ll!yerma.n

Good Night

Distance cheats of voice and sight While time detaches each syllable Breaking real touch in shrouded night

:Ollow your true thoughts to mine Fall from trite misuse and cast off :fears Tell me what you will 9 I will reply

Greet my eyes with friendly words Ever farther, days drai;,.• you from me Sentencing existence too absurd

Someone's face is pasted near Yours it cannot be for there ' s no depth Just a ghost, it serves till you are here

Hold my f'ai th and know it fights Always warm and strong against your back Keeping off the loss of this ' good night'

Stephanie Acton

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