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Section B: .................................................................. August 15, 2008

Pacific Grove, CA

TWO WORLDS

Flapping their wings strongly
to attain the air together,
a set of shore birds,
gulls or terns,
something white and gray,
flies into the sky
low over a calm sea.
Not an organized glide
like large, brown pelicans.
Or the frantic flutter of geese
heavy until aloft and sharing
the drag of friction in a V.
These birds race in circles
aloft, their twins a reflection
on the water below.
Two worlds, one urgent,
the other an echo.
Each as real in its own realm.
One a ghost or memory
of the ability to fly
lying reluctantly
on a mirror surface,
broken by distance
and a rising tide.

Sharon Davies
sharondavies@sbcglobal.net

Colorado Springs, CO

THE VOID

I lay in waiting
for what I do not know
is it for prey or for purpose.
The heart quickens in this
unknown space waiting
as the thistle waits for
the bud of a rose
that seeks life
from the thorn.

Waiting
as the night
waits for light
to burst upon
the horizon.
I surrender
to this waiting
as life surrenders
to death knowing that
death and dying are
a part of living.

This day has died
and a part of me
has died with it
who will I be
tomorrow
the thistle, the
thorn, or the rose

Patricia Ann Doneson
padoneson@earthlink.net

Carmel Valley, CA

DUNES DISCOVERY

On the cliff trail at Montana de Oro
sand shifts beneath my feet,
burns calf muscles to quivering cords.

At the waterline
vertical granite ledges align,
stacked together, stone envelopes
waiting to be mailed.

Lavender beach geranium
amass on every hillock
and are along the path.

Mists caress my face,
cloak nearby mountain
in gauzy vapors.

Patches of blue emerge
and disappear,
sea and sky in a Virginia reel
parallel union
at a coastal junction.

I am between alliances,
content to explore,
ripe with gratitude
for what materializes
and departs.

Laura Bayless
ctblaura@redshift.com

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Section A: .................................................................. July 15, 2008

Colorado Springs, CO

POETRY

Where do you go
for these words?

Into dark places
you would not care to enter,

Nor, would you care to see.

In this space—
souls have been lost, and
are screaming to be free.

I sit, as others have
before me, looking into
hidden parts of self.

Steal, as a thief
would steal,
     all the pain of the past,
     all the hope of the future.

When I have gathered,
without judgment, all
that I can hold.

Then,
and only then,
am I released

To set my pen to paper.

Patricia Ann Doneson
padoneson@earthlink.net

Tucson, AZ

From last night:

WHAT MOVES?
(haiku)

The mesquite branches
Move slowly through the moonlight
On this warm June night

The moonlight appears
Through the earthbound turning leaves
Of mesquite in June

Tucson streets line up
North to South by the Dipper
Thus so this June night

The Little Dipper
Faded by the city lights and
Desert Moon in June

The Phoenix Lander
Talking to the U of A
Desert night in June

I cannot see Mars
But the Phoenix Lander can
Red Desert Planet

Poems from El Lay:

SPIDER WEB

There on the San Pedro Headland
Live a row of bushes
And some years before my date and I
Spied a spider weaving a web among them

The light was fine
The air fresh as the thought of
The Sea of Japan
The afternoon was made for love and youth

I wonder how those bushes fared with the years?
The spider replaced by other spiders
But the bushes—
Replaced by asphalt and concrete?
Protected by the City Fathers
Ever intent on preserving tourist dollars?
I will be replaced by other writers
But the ideas—
Will they be replaced by concrete and asphalt?

SETTING UP HOUSE

Setting it up in an apartment
In West El Lay
On a hill near the 10 Freeway
Where it snakes past the San Diego

A baby came into our lives
Hers and mine
No more running around
No more sport rutting

Get a new sofa and a queen size bed
A new frig
All new stuff
Had to when we left our furnished place

Our new place was furnished with a baby
And two parents who did what they mostly all do
Wondered in awe and fear
At this little life given to them

When she grew and could walk
We took her to the park on Santa Monica Boulevard
Where we saw the heron on the island
In the pond

There we tore bread slices
And tossed them to the seagulls
Until our little one
Went and picked up a piece for herself

Our laughter came
It could not be held back
Or held on to
The time passed into memory as it always does

Christopher Lovette
cwlovette@cox.net

WHETHER OR NOT

I am in the beginning of knowing
something I do not want to know,
an annoying mosquito of a lie
I have told myself.

I tolerate its presence on my hand,
permit it to sting,
but kill it with one swift slap
before it can draw blood.

I am considering
whether or not
to tear down the stronghold
that keeps the half truth confined.

Up until now
surrender has not been an option,
trumpet call for troops not sounded,
witnesses silenced.


Subliminal bulletins surface.
I torch them
with pyrotechnic tantrums.
The subtext remains nebulous.

A humble diligence disturbs
the crypt where
I believe I have concealed
my deceit.

Perhaps I will have an epiphany,
perhaps not.

Laura Bayless
ctblaura@redshift.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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