Generation Gap
Time's Mirror
by dyvan
You look the same
as me I think
staring into the mirror
your eyes are older
appear less strong
if more experienced
and there are more lines
around your brow
a frown sits there
an awkward storm
for one so young to carry
and yet I know you
I conjure names
with which to fix you
and it is with dumb relief
I realise you are my father
staring back
across all these years
looking as you did
when I was younger
and now I'm older
find you again
in every line
in every fold
in every smile
in words spoken
hear your voice
see mannerisms afresh
for in the son
the father made flesh.
The Difference
by BethAnne Yoxsimer Paulsrud
You say that
when they fought
frying pans flew
out the window.
You had to
duck.
Glass and promises,
loyalties shattered.
You kept playing
in the yard--
although some
nights your father
would wake you
and Johnny
and together you
would drive and drive
far away, sometimes.
You never asked
where or why.
Now--my boys
shudder
at our slightly
raised voices.
In Truth
by Emaline Delapaix
the liar awakes
with knuckles between
her legs,
her mind dwelling
on superheroes...
men
with truth
strapped to their groins
cause it's been so long
since she came up for air
and in the moment of
real knowing
in sleep she cannot pretend...
tears swell and combust,
skin reddens, lips calm
after the final explosion
she loves as much as pain
and she knows she cannot stop it
Poem For Australia
by Emaline Delapaix
your tasty beams
salty, sweat framed faces
bleeding into me
collapsing under my weight
delighting in the silky dust
dry bones rub lustfully under my feet
I dream of you, I long for you
how could I have lost you?
I grew in another's customs
but I didn't forget you
will you let me come home again?
I have so much to show you
you will remind me again
of the beauty
torn edges
rusty colours
and that dry wit
no comparisons can be made
we are all so Australian
the waves lap at my memories
but my love for you is strong
like the banksia brush
that will s c r a t c h
my soft forgetful skin in December
leave me for now
my antipodean dreaming
as I try to make friends
in this concrete jungle of forgotten kindness
seeds for growing
and the fast food life.
Remembered Fantasy
by Melissa King
The pond, green with slime, renews itself each year.
Rains fill it to overflow a small clay cliff,
Cascading muddily past untamed branches
Grasping at the opposite bank--
Where I enter below the waterfall.
Old oaks dip their roots down in harmless ivy beds
Inside the shaded gully--
A fallen tree beckons.
I can sit there, and see my imaginary world
Beyond the bramble arch of wild raspberry.
It's still, and in the quiet I hear the possibility--
My own yearning for adventure--
For change.
It's true!
Thorny vines pluck my skin inside the arc.
I crawl on toes and fingertips, trying to avoid their futile attempts
--They shall not bar me! Finding the path needs be hard like this.
Light blazes in from the other side.
Muted colors emerge as I do, scrapes stinging, light blue shorts
ripped-hole.
Pieces of me left inside the arc as pieces of it cling in my hair.
Perhaps! Where will it be?
The sun, away from the shade of the hollow
gleams across the water
--is hot on my skin
--hurts my eyes
--shows simple reality.
Years of growth held only the secret sting of needles for my childish fancy.
No world met me there. I was surprised.
I turn, following a new angle of the pond
Back into the shaded canopy.
A fish splashes, catching an iridescent dragonfly.
Geese honk as I near their nest, around the ledge path
back to where I began, now atop the waterfall, looking down.
Clumps of scum slide past and down into foam, emerging through small rapids
to cling to tame branches that lick the stream,
as they languidly reach across to touch the opposite bank.
I hear my mother call. Time to go home.
The pond, filled with rain and reverie, renews itself
while I age, and my childhood fades--
Becoming the imaginary world I seek.
Where is the Girl?
by Deidre Abrahamsson
That climbed
like a monkey,
who smoked
cigarettes secretly,
with abandon,
that gave her
first kiss,
and more
at fourteen,
that dreamed
of being an
ice princess,
that sculpted
Greek statues
out of snow
and stored them
in the freezer,
that crept
through cemeteries
rubbing headstones,
captivated by
names and dates,
that sat amidst
the stacks at the library
poring through
Hollywood history
and stories of the occult,
who dreamed of
reading tarot cards
and starring in plays,
that fantasized
about getting angry
and exploding
in your face,
that fell down
the steps
and tore ligaments
in the sand,
that passed out
in a room of fire
someone else
putting out
the smoke,
that ran and hid
from the bad man
and feared
he would come back,
that lay in
the street
with silver
rollerskates
strapped to her
sneakers
to see what would
happen if a car
passed over her,
that cheated
on her current events
homework,
who dreamed
of reading
every book
in the library
and barely made
a dent,
that pleaded with
you to love
her and
then finally
you did.
Where is that girl?
I'm still here.