The Sforza Horse

Taller than brash, boldest brave this great horse,
That beauty's wings unfolds, to man reveals,
Such perfect poise, though clay, our breath still steals,
And in our dreams, trots to gallop its course.
We dare not blink for fear its massive hooves,
Will clatter off the podium and stamp,
Restless with courage, whilst gnashing teeth clamp,
To leap clear of the earth and over rooves.
I hope immortality is assured,
For our estate commend and to gods' praise,
Our poor health in its perfection cured,
Will grant us vitality all our days.
Yet all us fashioned of clay, by youth lured,
We look to its vision of life secured.

Marc Sherland
December 2003

The Fit   It's not too easy to trim The pileated woodpecker to a poem Because the long beak and the name Won't fit a convenient frame But the beak shims under the bark Where the cold-stunned beetles lurk And the long bill rings in its work In the sap-vacated dark With a stiff and a scarlet crest And a white splash on its breast It circles the tree trunks lest You prove a catching pest Two thirds the size of a crow Wary of watchers below It sounds like an axman's blow In the darkening woods and the snow      Pavel Chichikov    January 31, 2004

Oyster World.

Young Will would travel in his mind
Go off to Xanadu,
Some scented treasure he would  find;
Perhaps in London Zoo?

Perhaps he'd go to Brighton Beach
And buy an ice-cream there,
There was no place outside his reach
If he only had the fare.

One day he'd fly off to the moon
With a billy-can and tea,
Pick fresh wild roses right on noon
While swimming in the sea.

He found the spots where he would go
From books that he had read,
His mum agreed that it was so
As she tucked him up in bed!

Bill Cunningham
Copyright
 

Synchronous Anchorage How can you ask me if I love you true ? Truth is the frisson that fuels my soul, That in its furnace heart, stokes darkest coal, And bursts to flame only when near to you. When to the stars their bright I cast my eyes, And see their pin pricks in the firmament, Yet know how vast up close their blaze is spent, Does not compare to love; there's no surprise. In cauldron pools of magma melted earth, That hubble - bubbles with sheer alchemy, Heaves out its lust as if to spring to birth, No comparison to our syngamy. So now ask not (not ever), what love's worth, It is such force as ever, finds its berth.   Marc Sherland January 2004

The March

A sheer deep wall, cascade of ice
That falls and freezes leaning west -
Eroded roots of trees encased

It sweats and overbuilds a caul
Of sunwhite luminance, a dazzle
Shining out a signal

Then a patch of snuffcloud trims
The flame of sunlight, limbs
Trees into fluorescent columns

The forest is a bluelit tomb
The chamber of a buried sun,
The sky a muffled drum

Tombward and a march
Bluewhite and slow, the sun yellow match
Above a rolling ivory catafalque

Slowmarching waters guide the horses,
Winter's thickened forces -
Rivers freezing slowly in their sluggish courses

Who's escorted, mourned and buried?
Whose body is it being carried
To the graveyard February

Cover Lent in shrouds of oaks and ashes,
Do him honor as he passes -
Death itself is snowflakes on his lashes
 

Abracadabra from nowhere, with lightning and thunder, you entered life, you stepped on life's giant stage.

Hocus Pocus, a simple gesture and, like a wonder, red roses fell out of your hat in a cascade.

Hey, Presto, you asked me to examine your hat and all those wonderful things. You performed forward, but at the same time, as I stretched forward my hand I fell in trance and heard dream-like how you whispered my name.

Abracadabra, and so, at once, the time stood still and all life brightened up and I became warm. 

Hocus Pocus, I was like wax in your hands and all enchanted I fell for your soft charm.

Allekazu, a magic circle around my heart. A ring of pretty cloths in a golden tone, I was enchanted by your art and, surprised, I was in love and, like a child, I believed in an illusion. 

Voila, bewildered and hypnotized I had fallen for your magic and tricks.

Shazam, your high hat was prepared. I saw through your magic all at once.

Hocus Pocus, gilded words and paper flowers laid sprinkled around.

About us without sympathy... And all your gloss was gone. Left stood only a simple jester who lived highly on people's faith and fantasy.

Without explanation, you were gone like a fate's irony.

Yet, here in my window is your hat with roses inside, my tears dropping over them.

Was it a dream, was it a magic spell or was it more than that?

                                  -Sorana Salomeia