PAGE TEN PLANET--OF THE ARTS APRIL, 4%

sun _

Linoa
: Nakashima

SALES etd

NoW HE Lives In A HOTEL on GRAMViLLE

BENJAMIN STRUMS
MOST OAS ON PROY oF THE
ORPHEUM..,. .

SOMETIMES HE LEANS OUT H)S WINDOW

To SEE THE MOUNTAINS AT THE Foot

OF GRANVILLE
Monitor of the Seashore
At daybreak... .

there is alone sentry
surveying the water
below his height.

In determined stillness
he waits;

poised on elegant sticks.

Before you can remark
in respectful tone

he moves sudden

like a faint memory

emerging his head,

consuming what’ s due
for his being,

Monitor of the Seashore.

C.B.’86

When I could not speak,

I spoke with form.

When there were no words,
I wrote with colour.

When my soul was trapped,
I set it free with line.
When my heart was empty,
I filled it with shape.

With my eyes and my hands,

I created myself.
And in creation of image,

I finally understood myself.

Crystal Greaves 03/86

Poetry

For Food

To the fish

Who stashed

His last dream

In a pelican’s cheek:
We are also dissolving
Ina saliva solution
Who is left

To greet

The boomerang’ s empty return

But the hunger
Lodged in our throats.

silence and the ion wind

blood shadows:

this evening

so deep

that the moon

rustles in the leaves
and millions of women
shift in their sleep,
symbiotic,

the surface of the earth
full of men

and their dreams

of the invisible breeze of ions

as it moves
across the water
like a silent prayer.

Robert Gore

so hot tonight —

people drive in cars
with windows wide open
and Still there is

no coolness, no change,

the last thing he knows

the same air passes them
again and again

as the lethargic weather
of mid-summer

pools in the sweaty brow
of a policeman

leaning on his car

like it’s the last thing

We are mindful

Of what we swallow, however,
We lack the skill

To cook a dish

Tastier than ourselves.

he knows, like everything can wait
for the first cool breeze

from the ocean, the first

tender silence of air

across this city —

A. L. MURKLE

P. WESTHAVER

Sandra Lockwood Robert Gore

PAGE TEN PLANET OF THE ARTS _ApeuL, Hf

$ HE LEANS OUT WIS WINDOW
ieee je eU TAINS AT THE Foot
AL

GRANVI
Monitor of the Seashore

At daybreak

there isa lone sentry
surveying the water
below his height
Indetermined stillness
he waits;

oised on elegant sticks
Before you can remark
in respectful tone

‘he moves sudden

Tike a faint memory
emerging his head,
‘consuming what's due
for his being,

Monitor ofthe Seashore

CB.'86

When I could not speak,
spoke with form.

When there were no words,
Lovrote with colour.

When my soul was trapped,
ser it free with line
When my heart was empty,
[filled it with shape.

With my eyes and my hands
Lereated myself

And in creation of image
finally understood myself

Crystal Greaves: 03/86

Poetry

For Food

To the fish
Who stashed

His last dream

Ina pelican's cheek:

We are also dissolving

Ina saliva solution

Who is left

To greet

The boomerang's empty return
But the hunger

Lodged in our throats

We are mindful

Of what we swallow, however
We lack the skill

To cook adish

Tastier than ourselves

Sandra Lockwood

AMIN STRUMS
FRONT OF THE

silence and the ton wind

blood shadows:
this evening

s0 deep

that the moon

rustles in he leaves
«and millions of women
shift in their sleep,
symbiotic

the surface of the earth
full of men

‘and their dreams

lof the invisible breeze of ions

‘across the water
like a silent prayer

Robert Gore

s0 hot tonight
people drive in cars
with windows wide open
‘and still there is

no coolness, no change

the last thing he knows

the same air passes them
‘again and again

as the lethargic weather

of mid-summer

pools inthe sweaty brow

‘ofa policeman

leaning on his car

like it's the last thing

he knows, lke everything can wait
for the first cool breeze

‘from the ocean, the first

tender silence of air

across this city

Robert Gore

AND PINES AT TEDDY'S CAFE