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Letter Box On Line (LBOL) Files #15

  • Section A: July 15, 2002
  • Section B: August 15, 2002
  • Section C: September 15, 2002
  • Section D: October 15, 2002
  • Section E: November 15, 2002
  • Section F: .................................................................. December 15, 2002
    Wuppertal,Germany

    This drawing conveys my kindest regards for a Merry Christmas!

    [drawing]

    A child was born, now looking curiously into the world.
    There is so much waiting: learning, pleasure, sometimes pain.
    Shadow and light seen in the little face.

    I wish you and all of us a full life, and trust into the force
    that makes us live the love in souls around and inside our heart.

    Hilly Mueller
    Hiltrud.Mueller@t-online.de

    Del Rey Oaks, CA

      SILVER ARROW

      the silver arrow
      flew
      through the mountain
      across the valley
      under the river
      striking a tree
      it passed through
      into the other side
      lodging just beneath
      a core
      freeing for this time
      the opalescent glow

      LILIES

      As the lilies of time flow across our souls

      we stand where we have before
      in a different age and altered place
      we herald the change that comes
      our lives are held in the flower space
      to strengthen and to grow
      crystal clear and pyrite bound
      we stand at the wall of grace

      As the lilies of time flow across our souls

    Steve Brown
    SteveArtis@aol.com

    Monterey, CA

    (A reprint from NL#37 Letter Box with corrected author!)

      FLOW

      Aging is my favorite time
      Though I'm no longer in my prime.
      My eyes have lost their perfect sight
      And yet each day brings in more light.
      I see what I still need to earn
      The insights that I need to learn.
      My guard no longer keeps me blind
      To all the flaws I need to find.
      I see the growth that still remains
      The need for heart instead of brains.
      I feel the gift of second chance
      Each day brings in a sweeter dance.

    Duffie Bart
    Doro10000@aol.com

    Carmel Valley, CA

      RETROSPECTIVE

      Viewing my art
      hung on bare walls
      as strong lights
      embrace these eighteen
      elongated squares,
      I imagine a quilt,
      a comforter of colors,
      varied textures
      to enhance dream time,
      hold warmth within
      and cold without,
      display of stories
      wide enough
      to cover a lifetime,
      soft enough
      to gently enfold
      ultimate departure.

    Illia Thompson
    Illia99@aol.com

    Carmel Valley, CA

    I am so very sorry to learn you are thinking of discontinuing mail distribution of "The Edge" Newsletter. (See NL#37) Of particular interest to me have been the "A'musings" and everything by Laura Bayless—she is a wonder! Her "Journal Entries" in the most recent issue (NL#37) reflect much of my own inner life, but she puts it into words that only a poet could speak.

    I look forward to whatever "News" issues are forthcoming and always wish your endeavors Godspeed. Yours is a worthwhile life's work.

    PS: We haven't met because I am largely house bound and don't get to do a lot of things I'd like to do.

    PPS: And, I don't own or know a computer. I'm still friendly with my electric typewriter, tho' even it is showing its age as I am!

    Ethhel J. Costagliola

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    Section E: .................................................................. November 15, 2002
    Wuppertal,Germany

    I so much enjoy the artistic pieces on this site, which show many different aspects of human nature in dialogue with life. It is a wonder, to feel deeply connected with so many strangers, but the creative force lives in all of us and makes us transgressing boundaries both in creating and later on in the reception of works, it seems. I would not have dared to write this poem on the beauty of daring to share pain or painful moments without being inspired by your courage of sharing your own creative expressions, thank you.

      THAT CHIVALRY, MYSTERY OF COMPASSION

      You found my hidden wound,
      understood at once and took over.
      A sudden silent play in play,
      my role:
      to bear that heavenly gift,
      not flee but let you share,
      sootheing my pains,
      and seeing you suffer instead.
      The mystery burnt our souls
      together
      awestruck
      in a moment of utmost beauty.

    Hilly Mueller
    Hiltrud.Mueller@t-online.de

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    Section D: .................................................................. October 15, 2002
    Crestview, FL

    I am going through a lot of feelings right now... I just started to feel depressed... (So,) I cried a little and came to the computer and typed this poem.

      I AM

      I am
      As deep as the depths of an ocean
      As far away as a plane in the sky
      As black as the night's canvas
      I have no where to go

      My fiery mind twists and turns
      Not letting any time to breathe
      My eyes dried to the desert's drought
      Yet overflowing with watery cries

      Cries for help
      Cries for sorrow
      Cries for hope
      Hope that the next day will be different
      The next day will be lovely

      How much longer can this go on
      I am drowning in the pains of all pains
      I am nothing
      I am a failure

      As strong as an Ox' leg
      As overpowering as a fathers yell
      As truthful as rain on a beautiful sunny day
      I am a success
      I am everything
      I am OK

    Lynn Marie Sweet
    gbootygirl@hotmail.com

    Wuppertal,Germany

      FOR ALL THOSE WHO DIE LONELY

      (1)

      Friends, friends, friends, friends,
      are there any friends left?
      ((Peter died in hospital in 1999)
      --------(belongs to the poem))

      I myself lost a dear family member,
      father of two small, recently.
      It was when I took time to put the dark unsorted
      feelings into words, that they seemed to carry
      the burden and I felt lighter:

      (2)

      Suddenly I felt so sad,
      t'was, as if the air was sticking,
      you had gone and gone nowhere.
      Left alone the bumblebee
      and the little marigold.
      There, where once winds had blown softly,
      grew now morose stony walls.
      Are we left,
      and where are we?

      After having swum in the dark stream and being
      able to go ashore on dry land again, I tried a
      happy feeling also (this is for the return of a dear
      friend).
      It is amazing, almost the same words express
      quite the other extreme of feeling, rather a change
      in heart, and whenever I read those two, I can
      easily feel again as I did in the moments when I
      created
      them:

      (3)

      Suddenly I felt so glad,
      t'was, as if the air was singing,
      you had come and come to me.
      Brought along a bumblebee
      on a little marigold.
      There, where once winds had blown frosty,
      grew now coloured flower walls.
      We are happy,
      aren't we?

    Hilly Mueller
    Hiltrud.Mueller@t-online.de

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    Section C: .................................................................. September 15, 2002

    Wuppertal,Germany

    I am not sure if this poem plus drawing suites these times, hopefully our prayers for peace will soothe down plans for aggressions on all sides. Well, it is peace we wish for our inner wars, too, don't we.

    This knight is originally Hamlet, but praying for inner peace and whether it is necessary to take revenge to get justice and peace back (and by that way creating even more innocent victims like Polonius or Ophelia)

    [drawing]

      OLD AND NEW WARS

      Bowed in front of innocent victims,
      hands open
      praying for peace,
      a crying soul for a crying world.

    (I started drawing just last year—didn't know I could do it, but was encouraged by the free-style of contemporary pieces of art...)

    Hilly Mueller
    Hiltrud.Mueller@t-online.de

    Fair Oaks, CA

    I thought I would pass on a couple of poems that I wrote in the last week as I experienced major shifts in my life. I am dealing with personal growth issues surrounding relationships. These two poems both exemplify this kind of work. One is about what happened when working with a physical healer, and the other is about healing in intimate relationships.

      HEALING HANDS
      (For Harry)

      A gift came through
      your hands today.

      Hidden doorway
      to unknown forces,
      your light touch
      small moves
      passionate belief
      allowed me the chance to heal.

      In a sweep of white,
      soothing light of Spirit
      accepts your offered gateway,
      spreads through open palms,
      pries apart tight defenses
      and floods my heart with joy.

      Open, I weep.

      Open, I wonder.

      Overwhelmed, I can only accept
      this life-changing love
      as wondrous benefaction—
      a heaven-sent gift brought forth
      by
      healing hands.

      RICHARD

      Heat rising from
      sleep washed skin,
      his eyes slowly open
      blue portals
      overflowing with love.

      Pooled sunshine
      strokes our limbs,
      reminder of passing time,
      but we remain
      entwined
      secure
      together.

      Gentle touch
      soft kiss
      warm breath,
      these are gifts
      from one who
      danced into my heart
      and taught me to play.

      Gazing, now, into shining blue,
      thankfulness rises, swells,
      moves me to
      nestle closer,
      closer,
      catching the rhythm
      of pounding heart
      and steadfast devotion.

      In his arms,
      there is no pain
      there is no sorrow.
      In his heart,
      there is only comfort
      there is only love
      we remain
      entwined
      secure
      together.

    Carol Lynn Mathew-Rogers
    carripie@lanset.com

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    Section B: .................................................................. August 15, 2002
    Wuppertal,Germany

    Thank you so much for that wonderful pages you and your artistic fellowmen created, I have such a pleasure contemplating over the thoughts and messages of all of you, it really enriches my life. Unfortunately my English is not perfect nevertheless I send you a little story, no dream this one. I hope you and all are further on sharing so much, it is always like coming home getting to your homepage after a hard day of work and stress.

      I PUSHED IT ASIDE!

      When I was a child, we visited my relatives who lived in a city far away. Joining my cousin in his room I wanted to sit down on a chair and pushed aside an old black stick, which made my cousin cry out, "no, be careful, this is my clarinet."

      Still I did not really know what to think of it, coming from a family of complete non-musicians. I understood that the dark round wood seemed to be precious to my cousin, however, whom I had started to like during games in the afternoon.

      It was not till I heard the Mozart concerto A-major for clarinet and orchestra in the evening that I understood what a wonderful instrument this old piece of wood meant to be. Melodies that made me dream and listen endlessly derived from it.

      This is a story I could never forget. Things that look ugly, meaningless, unimportant might have a wonderful purpose when the creative force starts to make use of them, and we all might enjoy that beauty and are overwhelmed with a feeling of understanding.

      Yes, this is the answer, so it was meant.

    Hilly Mueller
    Hiltrud.Mueller@t-online.de

    Big Sur, CA

      UNTITLED

      humbled again.
      humbled by the wind
      that thrashes my door.
      humbled by loneliness,
      by selfish destructiveness—
      wondering what is more,
      what is less: safe comfort
      or naked homelessness.

      humbled again.
      burned like a fire by desire,
      by the liars that within me lived...
      wishing i could give one more song
      to lovers who have gone.

      humbled by change,
      by pain that erects walls.
      humbled by cold rain that falls.

      humbled by death, by life, by beauty
      that cuts like a knife.
      humbled by the dregs of the wine
      that at first tasted so sweet.
      —by strangers that i meet.
      —by women who pass me by
      oblivious that i for them would die.

      humbled by delicate flowers.
      humbled by the mind's delusional tower.
      humbled by memories, humbled by mountains—
      by nature's views.
      humbled by the six o'clock news.

      humbled by grace, and all that i've been given.
      humbled by trees and humbled when you pack
      your bags to leave.

      humbled by what is, humbled by what never was,
      or ever will be.
      humbled by dreams, and by this poem's fragile
      soft scream...

    © 2002

    David Dunn
    ddunn3@earthlink.net

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    Section A: .................................................................. July 15, 2002
    Big Sur, CA

      THE DRAGON SINGS; THE DRAGON DIES

      Last evening,
      with the black trees towering
      and the stars falling behind you,
      you sang the nomad's lament
      into the moonless night

      Spanish gypsy music rode the tides
      And lost, vanishing worlds echoed you

      Today you reappear,
      but the stars are gone
      from your shoulders
      The heavens have sunk
      into your pain-soaked earth;
      you've become the murky smoke
      of a suffering reptile

      I leave with unseeing eyes,
      a numb senselessness,
      a questioning soul

      The dragon sings; the dragon dies—
      in One breath, I muse

      OF THE LIZARD'S BREATH

      We bathe in a shower
      of golden beams

      Garlands of flaming roses,
      scarlet as your passion,
      cascade upon my shoulders

      Flaxen tresses
      adorn the voluptuous hills
      We imbibe summer's
      warming breath,
      renewed in God's heat

      And in this
      approaching summer,
      we grow hair of gold,
      green and red,
      our wildflowers
      again lost to seed

      We know not
      what will burgeon
      in this scorch of sun,
      in the dryness
      of the lizard's breath

    Carolyn Mary Kleefeld
    info@carolynmarykleefeld.com

    Thank you for your creative offerings!

    I invite readers to share their own creative works (poems, stories, images, comment, etc.) in Letter Box On Line (LBOL). I look for work and comments I feel support understanding and encouragement of the creative process, and hence, the process of life.

    The Editor

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