- Janus · Jan 1, 11:02pm
 
The night before New Year
you went on ahead,
but when I crossed over
you went back instead...
Namesake waited for the new year
to get lucky
while Signal pulsed
as the ball came down
oh yes oh god this Is
the coming year
Riverbob would not wait and after
watched contentedly as in
came the new year flowing.
Prayerful wanted a second coming,
Flavia wanted a second helping,
Mysterical wanted it all
the time, repeatedly sated,
never enough but
damn that felt good
lasting as long as
a resolution.
Romanticide pined for Mysterite
alone in a roomful of minutes,
too glum to realize that
had the right one shown
it would have felt all wrong:
new years would arrive
no matter what, and life would go on
no matter how badly she wanted to start over
And Jackthezipper took himself in hand
and after he exploded, told the new year
that he had it coming
And a couple of once upon a could be friends
clinked drinks at midnight, wondering
but wary of the new year
And 13 blackbirds singing in the dead
sang to life perched fretfully
on a Fender bumping into
auld or new acquaintance come to grind
And a solitary scribe,
marking time, gamed by rules,
tried to write what he meant,
plucked a memory,
dreamt a friend,
rested easy as
the old year passed
into the new,
the new slipped
into the old
and the fog of their fantasies
resolved
into now.
Poem copyrighted © 2009, Steve Wax. All rights reserved.
- Crossing Christmas · Dec 25, 2008 10:36am
At the crack
of Christmas
dawn was
all it was
cracked up
to be: joy to the
very next thought lined up
at stores for
better bargains or
returns of merchandise
that did not fit or work or play or
just plain did not please . . .
Trudging down Mt.Christmas, crossing
timberline of stunted cedars, crunching
across a carpet of discarded ornaments
I tripped
over this present:
No before no after
all I know
and all I've ever known is
snow coming down
you log blazing
candles in
your eyes . . .
And yet not yet
in my fingers
the pure song of Christmas;
instead the squads
of chestnuts roasting on
and on and on an
open fire,
executed by lying eyes
willing to see
anything
but what's there, Christ,
just feeling I am
too damn full to eat another
Neither did I bring my leftover round
to the missions of the second-hand gospel,
belated greetings from the conscience of the unavoidable:
I hadn't given
enough to feel
well received, and hadn't
received enough to give
a left-handed prayer to
whatever or whoever follows
Xmas, which I
for one
for all
and for good
will keep
on following until
it leaves
a perfect present
called nothing more
or less than
our lives
"The Timberline - Mt. Hood Forest" by Jim Gola
Poem copyrighted © 2008, Steve Wax. All rights reserved.
- Dec 29, 2007 6:44am
- Problems With The Story · Dec 11, 2006 7:58pm
"Doors Within Doors" by Hubert J. Steed
Problems with the Story
The story was too long.
Before you told it, you forgot it.
Before the snake unwound
his infinite body
from around the tree,
the head forgot where he was going.
The story had too many beginnings.
If you stepped through a door
twelve others might open.
Did anyone have time?
The story knotted in the throat of a finch.
Sometimes the story felt cold after you told it.
The story might make his mother nervous.
This was only a translation of the story I heard
through a small crack while sleeping.
This was not the best story.
Angels and bells did not follow this story
but still, I had to tell it.
It was the only chance I had
to find you.
"Le Philosophe" by Andre Martins de Barros (Thanks, hekata!)
- The Great Merlini on Flickr - Photo Sharing!
 Dec 10, 2006 9:12am  (1 review) http://www.flickr.com/photos/zollo/30794...
"33" by Nathan Berry
The Look You Tried To Get
Watch what you say
but it never sticks around
for long enough to get a good look
or if you happened to get one
it fades into her
response which no matter
how close you watch fades
into the look you tried to get
at what you said
or what you can't believe
she said but maybe
they meant watch
what you're about to say
which you'd never say
while watching it,
probably the point
if I could only see it.
"The Great Merlini" by P.S. Zollo
Poem copyrighted © 2006, Steve Wax. All rights reserved.
- Andrew Smith Gallery - Annie Leibovitz - American Music
- Nov 25, 2006 8:15am
 (37 reviews) photography, music, poetry http://www.andrewsmithgallery.com/exhibi... - The Song
At first, he sang for love
Of singing and for one
Who laughed and wept and listened.
He sang to water falling
On sand and the steep woods
And streaming against stone.
He sang in the cold
For the lives and deaths of birds
And forests and elders.
And then he sang to be
Believed, waiting alone
Under a shut window.
On the shore, at the feet of trees,
By a creek, by a silent house,
He changed to what he sang
And became for a time nothing
But a voice in the distance
Touching the ears of others.
And now he sings again
For love in a way no stranger
Or lover will ever hear
Without remembering her
In his arms, no matter where
Or how that singing ends.
- Annual Photography Contests Page 2
- Nov 21, 2006 7:33am (5 reviews) http://www.nationalphotoawards.com/photo...
"Native American Veteran" by Alexander Bellotti
Thanks Again
thanks for coming
after me
when I was lost in all alone
for not forgetting
why I went
and why I stayed
for not making up stories about me
to get yourself elected
thanks for putting country above politics
family over media
thanks for the window and something to see
thanks for the sight
of your eyes
smiling into me
thanks for not giving up
on me
for not for
getting
I'm still here
and still there
for you
hey wait up
"A Quiet Talk" by Eric Masefield
Poem copyrighted © 2006, Steve Wax. All rights reserved.
- Nov 21, 2006 6:26am
"Alabama Family 2006" by Tim Heinse
- Nov 7, 2006 7:08am
Cleaning Up The Political Landscape . . .
- Oct 26, 2006 10:12am
Just To Say
For longer, far longer, than I expected or knew
I had no home.
When what this new one was came over me,
my old computer could not overcome
what it is, what it can never be
again. Soon another will come
but connection remains elusive
as time.
The lake is still
here . . .
you are away . . .
to send the best of what I find
here there
is a way to say
Poem copyrighted © 2006, Steve Wax. All rights reserved.
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