My Son
by Alma Johnson
He knew too much
He felt too deep
The pain of humanity.
He could not live
With the agony
Knowing the cause of it.
He understood too much
too young.
Continue reading → My Son
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From A Dream
by Steve Gaines
1984… 1995
once…a very long time ago…
in a world more cynical and simple…
where I never fed off the big questions
I met a fellow creature of my world almost every morning…
…a street person
patched together like a rag doll with too many pieces missing
sad looking and unwashed… once a blonde…
once… from a time beyond wishing it back…
a member of the species woman
but the street had used her up
and put an emptiness in her eyes…
shinning through even the early morning darkness
we shared meeting in the street lights…
Nebraska
by Steve Gaines
this far flat space
land of long-distance sunsets
and storms that approach forever
along a darkened horizon
this Nebraska
wheat field flat
and home of the longest straight stretch
of highway anywhere
fifty-five miles without a bend
Mark
by Alma Johnson
Mark –
I see the sunrise through
your eyes –
the birds singing your song.
The trees whispering –
your name – in my heart.
The wind howling your pain,
and now mine.
Continue reading → Mark
The Dying Roommate
by Steve Gaines
post-bypass…
written February 21, 1995
across my room in the other bed
behind the drawn curtain
lies an old man dying without his beard
clinging noisily to one more night of life
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