From: amcginley@desire.wright.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: <None>
Date: 14 Oct 92 16:34:52 EST
Organization:  Wright State University 

It has been quite a while since I last posted anything.  My poetry has moved
into another direction during the last six months or so.  I have moved from
using words to paint landscapes to using them to paint abstracts.

There are certain cultures which believe the purpose of life is to dream, and
the purpose of the awake time is to keep the body and spirit alive to make the
dreams more meaningful.

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                           DREAM TIME

Madame Bovary
wants to hold me--
     I don't believe a word she says;
     everything seems so new.
In the half-light I tumble into sleep.

She
asks me to leave her alone;
     I am turning to gold
     and everything seems new,
     so the lies don't matter.

I quit when you discover
that the world could be ending.
     Crazy ladies dressed in leather
     look like statues
     and pretend not to recognize me.
I am completely lost.
     The blue lake is as cool as your eyes.

As the polar icecap begins to melt,
dreams of summer
sound like distant thunder.
     Drift into my dream
     and you'll be lost.

A blue-eyed lady
says she believes in me;
She tells me her love is unnatural.
     You have forever to think about this.
I pretend that I have been reborn.

This faceless woman
has been to the moon.
     There's no point in fighting;
     you have forever to think about this.
I tremble with desire.

Annabelle Lee
follows me without permission.
She says I am wonderful by moonlight
and nothing needs to be changed.
     The only gift I can offer is my pain.

The widow
says she loves me---
I think about her too much.
     This night is so lovely I don't need another.
And the darkness sings to us.
     Everything seems so new
     the lies don't matter now.

Your own true love
asks you to follow her.
Just watching her is enough.
     Then again, none of this may be true.

You sit and think about
the schizophrenics of another era,
and even though you are only a dream
they wink at you behind each other's backs.
     None of them use their real names;
     even the maid keeps giving you orders.
And you discover
that no one remembers your name.

The bachelors
practice smiling in the mirror
while it's still dark.
They drink whiskey all afternoon
and give up thinking.
     This is only a game.
     The explanation is
     that you needed this.

The whores wearing sequins
ask you to join them;
they have given up completely
just to get a feel for it--
     and you'd give anything for a cup of coffee.

Old nuns
have invited us in;
they are willing to listen
despite the mask of death you wear.
     The face in the mirror is gone,
     and you're relieved to find
     that you don't believe in anything.

The sisters who claim to know you
never sleep,
even though they have no place to go.
     I ask for another drink,
     and a telegram arrives saying
     that free will is never complete.

They convince us
that your moment is gone forever.
They think that you are one of them
and live in small rooms above the loud caf.
     But now is no time to forget your training.

We do it forever
to the rhythm of a tango.
     We never needed each other,
     and your flesh crumbles at my touch.

We are hated by
the beauty contest winners--
     they like to watch.
Despite the ringing telephone
the music rises through the floor,
and it dawns on you
that you could have changed the world.

A sinister priest
promises to let me kill him;
     you don't bother listening to him.
I know this is the end,
and I can't remember why I came here.

While you slowly smile into the sun,
the spirits of health appear on the horizon.
     Take me in your arms.
     Do it tomorrow
     as the world stops;
          although there is no reason to stay--
          the world is only the dream.

Fiercely,
fear and loathing
replace my first sensations.
     Put out the fire.
     Do it for your heart
     and the pain will fade away.
Is the world still standing?
          --or standing still?
I have already become dust.

Let me take you from this place, someone said.
Silently, silently--
     let the little children come close.
While you gently brush away my tears,
viruses
make me sick.
     and yet, we don't need our names;
     our hearts catch the rain.

Feel free to lay the blame on me
as a way of getting free--
     but only if you need to.
Here in hell
distant sirens and the laughter of birds
replace my first sensations.
     Do you still love me?
I know; I know now why you wanted to die.

Just for a moment, pretend you still love me,
with all your strength,
while the darkness closes in.
     Unidentified voices were sent to me this morning.
     Is this really the end?
     Can't we go on forever?

Tell me that you love me.
Do it suddenly,
the way you did last summer:
in the midst of death's passion.
     Echoes of our own voices
     make me laugh.
     We will do this forever
     whenever nothing else matters.

As we realize how much we want each other,
words I've written
seem extremely important.
     Keep on dancing
     beneath the canopy of clouds--
          without further obligation,
          of course.
Simon says clap your hands
because we have done this forever.

As you notice the fear in my eyes,
bloody feathers
are laid on a stone tablet.
     Tell me again why you're here, darling--
     out of gratitude?
As the earth begins to tremble,
this door is closed forever.
     At last the wind dies down.

Promise to love, honor, and cherish, my darling.
Do it just because I ask you to
under the golden waterfall.
While I look over my shoulder,
your silk breath
brushes against my ears.
     We have been blinded by the sun,
     and we want nothing.

Finally you understand
that death tastes better all the time.
     The would-be lovers who can't stop twitching
     keep repeating themselves
     despite the weather,
     so a mockingbird squawks overhead.

Speak to me of love and death and honor, she said,
without thinking first.
While the city burns,
while I hold my breath,
fear and loathing
tumble through my dreams.
     If we have been here before,
     this beauty is more than I can bear.

While you gently bursh away my tears,
the priests of doom
vanish in the night.
     Look into the sky and tell the time.
As the world stops,
only this moment exists.
     So I cannot take you with me.

     Fall in love with me again--
     forever, my love,
     while the sun still shines,
     while the croud cheers.
The priests of doom
make me close my eyes.
Is there any truth?
     Truly we have done this forever.

I have stopped caring about
the distant sunlit mounts.
I'd like to sing songs about this battle,
sleep with the lights on,
or repeat myself without raising my voice.
     Therefore, strangers tell you that
     they have been here with you before.

While you realize how much I want you,
all the promises you've made
haunt me in my sleep.
     Remember that you're alone
     without letting anyone know.
After the lights are out
we crumble in the wind--
and, so, we are the wind.

Instead of leaving,
Pain and suffering
are obviously shrinking.
Sit with me and hold my hand--
     until I change my mind
     without getting drunk first.

     And we are perfect.
Ride with me to the end of the Earth

It is possible to bear to hear a happy song,
care enough to send the very best,
and file the appropriate papers.
     Does anyone believe in
     a way to escape?

     A stranger tells you that
     this is your finest moment.

Just before the final judgment
chocolate kisses
spin past my eyes.
     Do it to me one more time, please
     do it without eyes.
Just for the moment,
there is no reason to stop.
     Now, now I know why you wanted to die.

Amazing things happen to
things that go bump in the night.
They teach you to walk on fire
and drink all afternoon in sidewalk cafes.

	You're out of matches,
	and there's a good chance
	that every dream means something.

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Comments and criticisms are always welcome.  Discussions about the surreality
of images and language are encouraged.

Ash. 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems