x p.< PLANET OF THE ARTS VOL 5 ISSUE 4 Seek out the sacred island \ climb the steep stone to the summit sun, and strong wind. \\\ White ashes delicate &» frail flakes of bone A like lacy cream coral . the changing flames Your bones White ash and Js fragile fragments scatter in spring grass under the beach pines madronas you loved. The white dust clings — to my fingers. f \) A seagull slides downwind the wild ripples lap along the cliff... Never mind. Custom of my people. Who’ ll scatter me? Carol Halstead Brian Morgan Once upon a time over the hill and thru the valley somewhere AL ICAR closer to near than far away, where the ocean meets the land, there was a small cove. The moon was fond of this cove and every night on ' : her journey across the sky and thru the stars she looked down on the Call me Icarus! yet not so wise as he cove and winked. Sand caressed the cove like hands forming a clay who sank appropriately beneath the sea vessel. And on the sand there sat a group of stones smoothed round Each year I fly again from the wear of water. The cove changed and yet remained the same. with feathers brilliant and fresh fledged Some momings a family of laughing dolphins would play in to melt in some new momentary sun the turquoise calm. Some afternoons lovers would picnic on their my love new-pledged. sailboats and swim naked in the clear blue. And some evenings a 2 : : whale would hum thru painting swirls of phosphorescence and sing There still are times I try to make some sense of it her ancient song. And the waves continued to rock up and down, back but there’s no end to it. : and forth, in and out. though still I feel the joy seems worth the pain. Some momings the fog horns call would cut thru the layer of : grey. Some afternoons the wind would cry cold into the cobalt roaring The trouble is, I never really die bursts of white. And some evenings a deafening collision of water, as he so fittingly and wisely did— wind, and earth would rage long into darkness making the stars and I swim instead moon difficult to find. And the waves continued to rock up and down, " back and forth, in and out. Weighed down by soggy feathers as I head One day a small rounded stone moved, yes she moved, to a out of each falling, to the beach again new place on the sand. And the waves continued to rock up and to start collecting plumes and wax down, back and forth, in and out. The cove changed and yet remained and then... the same. JILL FRASER Carol J. G. Halstead Look ovt to space nee, wheretare Rewer spaces between planets than there used to be the void f 5 5 clogged of eternity de bris the @arth has been cetused too . Same faces jst ano ther town Cverywheve we go there we are Look Look. -o9l 7. KX et get yet pers qnen ohny poet get) Seek out the sacred island climb the steep stone to the summit sun, and strong wind. PLANET OF THE ARTS VOL 6 ISSUE 4 White ashes delicate frail flakes of bone the changing flames Your bones White ash and fragile fragments scatter in spring grass under the beach pines madronas you loved. The white dust clings to my fingers. A seagull slides downwind the wild ripples lap along the cliff. Never mind. Custom of my people. Who'll scatter me? Carol Halstead Brian Morgan ‘Once upon a time over the hill and thr the valley somewhere closer to near than far away, where the ocean meets the land, there was a small cove. The moon was fond ofthis cove and everynight on her journey across the sky and thru the stars she looked down on the cove and winked, Sand earested the cove ike hands forming a clay ‘Yesel. Andon the sand there sata group of stones smoothed ound from the wear of water. The cove changed and yet remained the stme. ‘Some momings family of laughing dolphins would play in the rurquoise calm, Some afternoons lovers would pinic on their Call me Icarus! yet not so wise as he who sank appropriately beneath the sea Each year I fly again with feathers brilliant and fresh fledged to melt in some new momentary sun my love new-pledged. ‘sailboats and swim naked in the clear blue. And some evenings a ‘inal would hum thru painting switls of phosphorescence and sing her ancient song. And the waves continued to rock up and down, Back and forth in and out. ‘Some mornings the fog horns call would cut thru the layer of ‘grey. Some afternoons the wind would cry cold into the cobalt roaring burns of white. And some evenings a deafening collision of water, wind, and earth would rage long into darkness making the stars and. ‘moon difficult to find, And the waves continued to rock up and down, back and forth n and out One day a small rounded stone moved, yes she moved, oa new place on the sand. And the waves continued to rock up and down, back and forth in and out. The cove changed and yet remained the same. SILL FRASER m-ham el ‘There still are times I try to make some sense of it but there’s no end to it. though still I feel the joy seems worth the pain. ‘The trouble is, I never really die as he so fittingly and wisely did— swim instead ‘Weighed down by soggy feathers as I head out of each falling, to the beach again to start collecting plumes and wax and then... Carol J. G. Halstead Look ovt to space whererare Rewer spaces between planets than there used tebe the void of is eae eae 7 debris the garth Aas been cefosed © game Paces JSF another town Cuerywhere Wwe go there we are Look Look ot...