(1212) Mon 18 Mar 91 3:10a By: Songbird To: All Re: Poetry for Psappho St: Ok... So it's p

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(1212) Mon 18 Mar 91 3:10a By: Songbird To: All Re: Poetry for Psappho St: ------------------------------------------------------------ Ok... So it's poetry time in the garden. Now, I'm going to be gone for a week or so, so please indulge me... I'm going to post a few poems here... If you want to respond... just remember I'll not be here for a week or so. I will talk about 'em, but it'll take a while before I do. See the next few messages.... ------------------------------------------------------------ (1213) Mon 18 Mar 91 3:12a By: Songbird To: Songbird Re: Re: Poetry for Psappho St: ------------------------------------------------------------ A.C. Gulls . Flocks of white all far away across the small pond Untouchable . Toss out my tempter's snare slowly they venture closer choose to close the gap Between us . Suddenly a mass of white squawks of joyous discovery devour the wind-borne Crumbs . And then go on ever in freedom to fly the winds . . . Not I 5/19/90 Songbird ------------------------------------------------------------ (1214) Mon 18 Mar 91 3:14a By: Songbird To: Songbird Re: Re: Poetry for Psappho St: ------------------------------------------------------------ this one is a couple years older yet, but I was reminded of it when I found out that the place I'm going to had about 8 inches of snow a few days ago... OLD SNOW . Tell me why do I miss the snow so? I've only been in Baton Rouge a month or two. A year ago I traveled to Miercurea Ciuc Bucharesti, Brasov, Sibiu--Rumania: not quite Siberia-- . But close enough. Mercury showed twenty below While folks at home had fifties, Fahrenheit. What we saw here was walking furs and motionless mounds of white. And children in carnival rides, just to defy the frigid sky. . To see the valleys as we climbed the mountain slopes The thirty-eight of us huddled in the bus and scraped, with little hope of clearing all the ice from inside windowpanes, with concert bell set bars and credit cards. . The snow I know now is on stamps of envelopes Or in old photographs, but never in the air (There never is nor will be snow in Baton Rouge). And since I plan to stay for years on years, I might never see white. . ------------------------------------------------------------ (1215) Mon 18 Mar 91 3:16a By: Songbird To: Songbird Re: Re: Poetry for Psappho St: ------------------------------------------------------------ I promise... this is the last one for a bit. Enjoy. First encounters . Tentative reaching; anonymous touch. "Take a deep breath and let's have some fun." . Becoming involved in a new exploration. What is it I seek? I don't know. . meandering touches, typing off-handed. what sharing is this? Faceless, formless fantasy. . "You like this excitement. Let me move along... tell me how you want it" Dammit, I don't know! . "Think of the time when you'll hear my voice whispering: God you're so beautiful." Yesss. . Your body responds to my fingers, you tell me. Will I ever be able to love living flesh? . Trembling encounters with new-found emotions. God how I need you! But do you exist? . .

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