. Page 8 Planet of the Arts POETRY ) I was an Exotic woman with long, long hair and eyes in the back of my head. you tookme climbing. you liked.to be seen with me; I was colourful and young as the Himalayas. T always let you climb ahead. I concentrated on where we had been. T could speak in duplicate although had only one tongue: I spoke a game of ‘T love you,’ ‘I love you-not’ we never played this game with our voices together. I always let you look ahead I concentrated on what had been said so why did you fall so far behind? was I too heavy to carry? I carried on 1 could watch you down there without turning as you sat, both my voices beside you. Be = Sandra Lockwood: A Very Stupid Thing To Do I gave Sisyphus acrystal ball so he could see his future. “Hold this,” he said, handing me his rock “I want to take a closer look.” Sandra Lockwood The poetry of my mouth tastes vou mutilates your aroma with words and insatiably bites traces of the weekend It tells nothing Segregates secrets for itself Where your anxiety mixed with my saliva toys with perfumed breath My mouth is a rebellion in your domain; it opens to love and it closes to you There is no time, nor movement The heat enters like a phantom and thus, silently as it arrived it dissolves on discovering the indecency in which my mind reveals you So, with this your mouth I perceive the glimmerings of God and the hell of man Hush...1 am loving you again Adriana Ramirez Mendoza The Season of Trees these trees are patient beings: they endure all forms of sacrifice, shelter us from the sun in summer, feed us in the fall: birds come to them speaking of compromise, the thinness of air, and the trees know this language like they know the language _ of children, climbing. branch by branch away from small bones and toward memory: and as we grow the trees stay with us, the energy of leaves in the perpetual season of trees, the resolute silence in winter as trees bend into themselves and wait for birds to populate their branches with cries of rustling children. Robert Gore JO 40d Forget the How Forget the How Lying shirtless on the beach While particles of sand on his chest Emit sounds that only Horton can decifer For we have lost that ability Yet cannot forget the how The stillness comes The same as always With all the knowing But no understanding Jerry Stochansky Lament Lament The solid days of stone While the lion sat And the subjects obeyed each whim Are over Now we have plastic Jerry Stochansky Trace yesterday I saw a shadow fall out of itself into the sky there was a quiver in the air and someone almost spoke the words and then the moment when lips touched mouth to mouth the air between them gone in the time it took to remember the shadows leaning on themselves like dolls, like memory Robert Gore a0 Haqoed Page Planet the Aas POETRY saan ae] Tas an Exotie woman with long, omg hair ‘and eyesin the back of my head. vou took me climbing sou liked 10 be seen with me: Twas colourful dand young as the Himalayas. always let you climb ahead. Teoncentnated on where we had been Lcould speak in duplicate although had only one tongue Tspoke a game of ‘Hove you," ‘Hove you nor wwe never played this game with our voices together. always let you look ahead Teoncentrated on what had been said so why did You fall so far behind? was 100 heawyt0 curry? Learried on Deould watch you down there without turning both my voices beside you. Sandra Lockwovd A Very Stupid Thing To Do I gave Sisyphus aerystal ball s0 he could see his future “Hold this.” he sad, handing me his rock ‘Lwant 0 take a closer Look Sandra Lockwood The poetry of my mouth tastes vou ‘munitates your aroma with words ‘anid insariably bites Intells {ays with pecfumed breath My mouth isa rebellion in your domain: iopens o love ‘and it closes to you There is no time, nor movement The heat enters like a phantom ‘and thus, sitenly-as it arrived it dissolves on discovering the indecency in which my mind reveals you So, with this your mouth Iperceive the glimmerings of God ‘and the hell of man ‘Hush... am loving you again ‘Adriana Ramirez Mendoza ‘The Season of Trees these trees are patient beings: they endure all forms of sacrifice, shelter us from the sun in summer, feed us inthe fall: birds come to them speaking of compromise, the thinness of air, ‘and the trees know this language like they know the language of children, climbing branch by branch ‘away from small bones ‘and toward memory ‘and as we grow the trees stay with us, the energy of leaves in the perpetual season of trees, the resolute silence in winter ‘as trees bend into themselves ‘and wait for birds ‘0 populate their branches with cries of rustling children. Robert Gore Forget the How Forget the How Lying shirtless on the beach While particles of sand on his chest Emit sounds that only Horton can decifer For we have lost that ability Yer cannot forget the how The stillness comes The same as always With all the knowing Bur no understanding Jerry Stochansky Lament Lament The solid days of stone While the lion saa And the subjects obeyed each whim Are over Now we have plastic Jerry Stochansky Trace yesterday I saw a shado fall out of tse into the sky there was a quiver inthe air ‘and someone almost spoke the words ‘and then the moment when lips touched mouth to mouth the air between them gone in the time it 100k toremember the shadows Teaning on themselves like dolls, lke memory Robert Gore