From Conner

This next work came from Conner McGowan who's other work can be seen here.

~ Just a pretty Face ~

I’m more than just pretty face,  I hope you know!
There’s quite a lot to me in fact! Why don’t you go
and take your cheesy pick-up lines, and you know what
to do with them! That’s right! Go shove them up your butt!
I’m sorry. I’m not sure what happened there. I owe

you a sincere apology, I guess. It’s just, although
I’m trying to be nice to men, I tend to blow
it but it’s hard when all they see is nothing but
just a pretty face.

But... you seem nice. I’m sorry for before. I grow
so used to men as beasts, I usually forgo
their company. But that’s a very lonely rut
to walk. Would you mind joining me at Coffee Hut?
I’d like to talk a bit and show you what’s, below
just a pretty face.

From Yasmine

This next piece was submitted by Yasmine, an artist who's other works can be seen HERE. When she suggested the following work, I couldn't help but think back to a poem I had written years ago. I think they work well together.

~ The Clouded Life ~

The way of clouds is come and go
and life is much the same.
The wind will never cease to flow
and gently blow
or harshly throw
that blanket bearing rain or snow
across old Sol’s bright flame.

It’s funny, I would have you know -
for life’s a tragic game,
my love for Sol was ever low
for to and fro
his burning glow
would daily smite me here below
from his unclouded frame.

But now I miss his cheery eye
although it burning be.
For life without the sun will die
and tears won’t dry
when poets cry
and dripping on the page will lie
for you who read to see.

From an Artist

This post comes from an Artist I have done some other collaborations with. They are quite talented. I present you to to works and two poems of vastly differing themes and tones. Enjoy!

~ Fighting Again ~

My mommy and my dad are fighting again
I think it's my fault that they’re fighting again
I want to run away from everything.
It’s more than I can bear -  fighting again
and again against the words that they say
to me - I’m stuck in their fighting again.
I hide outside the door - the apartment
walls keep noise from the stair. Fighting again
when will they stop? Why can’t we be quiet?
But no, their tempers flair - fighting again.
Here on these steps, my head bent on my knees
I sit and hear them swear, fighting again.

~ Morning Imagined ~

The morning rays come seeping through
the window’s paneled glass.
And here I sit (I often do)
to see the new
and gentle hue
of pastel-painted morning blue
and dew upon the grass.

I close my eyes - but I still see
imagination’s lands.
And then, so very suddenly
I am a tree
or bumble bee
or flitting, flying chickadee
with wings instead of hands.

My favorite fancied, rising thought?
I’m in a snug cocoon.
My bedclothes have me tightly caught
but out I faught.
And out I’ve brought
the nightgown wings that magic wrought
beneath the nighttime moon.

From Shipwreck

These sketches are from a contributor who goes by the pseudonym "Shipwreck." I have some more of their work but may not be posting it for a while yet.



~ An Unlikely Couple ~

He’s perfect in every way,
his hair always stays in its place.
Even scruff seems to belong.
But he’s wrong inside his brain-space.

His legal firm’s doing well
and, he’s well on his way to wealth.
But eyes are sad and empty
and there we can see his true health.

She’s different, not quite right.
but her light shines brighter than his.
As life goes whizzing by her,
something stirs within who she is.

Her cheeks may be a bit low
and below, her mouth is wide
but her too-high eyes are bright
and tonight they show cheer inside.

Lonely-Tide bar is the place
for these two faces to appear
on-stage. The night was chilly
and so he offered coat and beer.

With a smile, she accepted.
Something that was dead in him died.
His sad mouth turned up in a
smile. They got up and went inside.

From a Photographer

These photos were taken by another Artist friend of mine. We might very well see more of this artist in the future. I definitely hope so.

~ The Fountain ~

The fountain has gone dry
and soon the shrubs and trees will follow suit.
The water will not listen to our pleas.
The fountain has been dry
for months and it’s been months since we’ve seen fruit
from any of the trees.
The fountain will be dry
forever now and flowers will not bloom. No shoot
or bud or sign of bees.
The fountain has gone dry
but hope keeps planting seeds to take their root
before the winter’s coming freeze.

The fountain has gone dry.
The fountain has been dry.
The fountain will be dry.
But I will not stop planting here.
If deserts bloom then so can I.

               ~ Lovers' Arch ~

The lovers’ meeting place is very old
and lovers meeting there can be alone
and leave the world behind. An arch of stone
protects and gives them leave to be as bold
as ever they might dare. Their elders scold
but think on back to times when they had known
that lover’s meeting place. It’s very old
and lovers meeting there can be alone
as long as they would wish. A roof of gold
could not compare. These stones have known
the rise and loss of loves and could have shown
the stories of them all, could they be told.
The lovers’ meeting place is very old
and lovers meeting there can be alone.

From an Artist

Here you will be able to see a poetical response to other forms of art. For the sake of privacy, in some cases, we will not be giving out the name of the artist and will simply refer to them as "The Artist" or "an Artist."


These two sketches and one water-color were made an Artist who I met in an online chat room. He graciously allowed me to view his work and then publish our combined work here.

~The Skull and Bench~

Abandoned finery is scattered all
around the mansion. Dust had gathered on
the cloths spread over everything, short, tall,
and wide. I walk as if my feet are drawn
to that misshapen lump. I tear aside
the sheet and see the skull of some wild beast
(I wonder how the mighty beast had died)
it sat beside a rough-hewn bench. Increased, by leaps and bounds, my curiosity
began to work imagination’s cogs.

What was the story of the the father tree
and living beast that now are skull and logs?
But with I sigh, I hear my shouted name
and mental fingers snuff my curious flame.

~ New Made Man ~
The first time that the maker breathed,
he breathed and out came life from dust
We are that dust
but when the maker breathes
his spirit comes out from himself
and into us.
The dust is form and physical
the spirit is the inner-core
and man was formed
with both.
So build your dust as best you can
and more so, build your spirit, man.

- Green Waves -

Rolling, capping, crashing
green waves roaring on an outbound tide.

The tide is full and here I calmly stand
with both feet buried in the sodden sand
while seaweed catches on my ankles and
I watch the sea make war against the land.

Rolling, capping, crashing
green waves roaring on an outbound tide.

The land no longer holds my sympathy.
So now, amid this sweet cacophony
of rough and raging water, I can see
a peaceful end beneath it all for me.

Rolling, capping, crashing
green waves roaring on an outbound tide.