Page 8
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Planet of the Arts

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There was. . .

There was a crooked man

Who walked a crooked mile,

He had a crooked heart

And he wore a crooked smile.
He had a crooked heart
Because he had a crooked head,
And he lay with me a while

In his straight and narrow bed.

Tsouris
(troubles)

Blind from too much looking,
Deaf with too much listening,
Nose in the air, like Gollum
Seeking after it’s precious,
I finger my way thru the perspectives
Which lie all about me:
To find myself

A resting place

For the night.

There to sleep, to dream - I hope -
That I can see and hear again.

There’ s a joy to rub up against.

Haiku?

A tree has fallen
In the garden of Eden
And no one hears me.

Old Tom Bombadil and the Fruitman. . .

Old Tom Bombadil and the Fruitman met at
my street corner.

And began to converse
About: Egg shells and violets
and Goldberry the riverdaughter
and Potatoes and pickles
and Bread and roses
and Gathering waterlilies.

I became so intrigued I put down my kalaidescope
And started to share
About: Mumbles

and Nudges

and Shrugs

and Bed-raggled baby boycotting brother

and Holding hands with honeybear

and Shedding tears

All between
Delicate moments of silence
Balanced on Time.

Then, when it was done
Each took my hand and. . .
“Ready”. . . we jumped toward the life to come.

Fish

Fingers firm away from the gills.
Push, twist and the barb is free.
Flip — over the side —
See him slip

Into the cool brown water,
Flash twice. . . and disappear.

Jin-me Yoon

Marion

(1912 — 1982)

There is a place beyond nothing

Your life has seemed to be

This past borrowed year, dear my mother mine.

Where you and I together went:

For me think the great thoughts of humankind

And, with you, to listen to the music of the
spheres.

To watch you taste the sweet sharp flesh of an
apple

To reach out gently to touch your face

And, as your lips caress my hand,

To touch the face of time.

All poetry on this page is by Margot Smith

Margét Smith is a communication expert currently
assisting the Foundation Program at ECCAD.

There was. . .

There was a crooked man

Who walked a crooked mile,
He had a crooked heart

And he wore a crooked smile.
He had a crooked heart
Because he had a crooked head,
And he lay with me a while

In his straight and narrow bed.

DOEDHT

Haiku?

A tree has fallen
Inthe garden of Eden
And no one hears me.

Fish

Fingers firm away from the gills.
Push, twist and the barb is free.
Flip — over the side —

See him slip
Into the cool brown water,
Flash twice... and disappear.

Tsouris
(troubles)

Blind from too much looking,
Deaf with too much listening,
Nose in the air, like Gollum
Seeking after it's precious,
finger my way thru the perspectives
Which lie all about me:
Tofind myself
A resting place

For the night.
There to sleep, to dream - I hope -
That I can see and hear again:

There's a joy to rub up against.

Old Tom Bombadil and the Fruitman.

Old Tom Bombadil and the Fruitman met at
‘my street corner

And began to converse
About: Egg shells and violets
‘and Goldberry the riverdaughter
and Potatoes and pickles
and Bread and roses
‘and Gathering waterlilies.

T became so intrigued I put down my kalaidescope
And started to share
About: Mumbles

and Nudges

and Shrugs

‘and Bed-raggled baby boycotting brother

‘and Holding hands with honeybear

and Shedding tears

All between
Delicate moments of silence
Balanced on Time.

Then, when it was done
Each took my hand and...
“Ready”... we jumped toward the life to come.

Marion
(1912 — 1982)

There is a place beyond nothing

Your life has seemed to be

This past borrowed year, dear my mother mine.

Where you and I together went:

For me think the great thoughts of humankind

And, with you, to listen to the music of the
spheres.

To watch you taste the sweet sharp flesh of an
apple

To reach out gently to touch your face

‘And, as your lips caress my hand,

To touch the face of time.

All poetry on this page is by Margot Smith,

‘Margot Smith is a communication expert currently
‘assisting the Foundation Program at ECCAD.