Enter Home Planet News Poetry of Issue #6                        Page 24
                                   
Table of
Contents



SOMETIMES IT'S IMPOSSIBLE TO FIND A SILVER LINING

Sometimes it’s impossible to find a silver lining.
Everything’s a disaster and the moon hangs
in the sky like the shell of a giant old tortoise.
We try to lift a boulder against this tide but
we’re liable only to land in trouble. That’s the
way I’ve felt about things since Mabel died
and the kids moved to West Virginia. Most
of the sense I make nowadays has to do with
the proper measure that it takes to get through
another week without too much dirt getting
under my fingernails. When I was a kid I’d
swing on the branches with such gusto you’d
think I was indestructible. And the moon would
be so big in the sky like a giant ice cream cone
on the hottest day of summer. We’d go for
hayrides down by Honeywell Circle. And there
would be a scent in the air like lilies on Easter
Sunday that would fill our imaginations with
romance. Those memories creek through the
synapses of my brain like rusty hinges. Counting
up the weight of regrets like a geiger counter
striking uranium. But I aint going nowhere. I’m
sticking around in hopes of getting a better view.
And when that day comes I’m gonna scream
hallelujah and welcome every silver lining into
my life like Christmas.

  Bruce Weber __

THE NOTE ON THE DOOR

the note on the door said "let's meet at the docks at 3 a.m." it was written by shirley mckinley when she was living by the skin of her teeth on 10th avenue selling peanuts out of an old cart. i remember shirley from her days as a radio city tap dancer; she’d dance up a storm that would fell a dozen oaks and leave a square block of families homeless. when shirley smiled everyone stood back from the radiation. knowing you had only a few seconds before you’d be left mumbling to yourself with only half of what you brought to the party. when shirley left that note she was a shadow of her rambunctious self. a broken reflection in a beat up mirror out in the junk yard. a trembling leaf on an almost bare tree in late november. sammy told me shirley's working at the mental asylym in hastings. she straps the crazy's down when they act up and turns on the switch that shakes them around like an unruly child. maybe i'll go up and visit her some sunday. it'll be good to see old shirley with her broken teeth & raucous laugh. maybe i’ll return that note to her with all its memories of that night when we made love and shirley jumped into infinity.


  Bruce Weber__

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THE BIRDS


The birds.
The beautiful birds.
The beautiful birds are.
The beautiful birds are flying.
The beautiful birds are flying in.
The beautiful birds are flying in formation.
The beautiful birds are flying in formation to.
The beautiful birds are flying in formation to the.
The beautiful birds are flying in formation to the stars.


I hear them.
I hear them cawing.
I hear them cawing and.
I hear them cawng azd I’m.
I hear them cawing and I’m afraid.

Will they come.
Will they come and.
Will they come and steal
Will they come and steal my
Will they come and steal my baby?

I’ll hide her.
I’ll hide her in.
I’ll hide her in a.
I’ll hide her in a little.
I’ll hide her in a little box.

I’m not.
I’m not scared.
I’m not scared anymore.

The birds.
The birds won’t.
The birds won’t find.
The birds won’t find her.

What if
What if she
What if she can’t
What if she can’t breath
What if she can’t breath in
What if she can’t breath in the
What if she can’t breath in the little
What if she can’t breath in the little box?

The birds are coming.
The birds are coming.
The birds are coming.


  Bruce Weber__
WHEN SHE LOOKED WEST


When she looked west
The church bell struck midnight
The priest bowed to the holy spirit
Day turned to night in the canyons of the imagination.

When she looked west
I buckled my shoe
I apologized for being stupid
I stared off toward the horizon.

When she looked west
The strawberries ripened
The gyroscope swiveled
The umbilical chord tightened.

When she looked west
I was happy as a returning sailor
I was lifted into the air by a helicopter
I was thrilled to be among the birds and bees and barracudas.

When she looked west
The brown dog howled
The black horse whinnied
The color blue drowned
In the last rays of sunlight.

When she looked west
It was independence day
It was a big hullabaloo
It was enticing as a summer romance.

When she looked west
I slept like the baby Jesus.
I prayed for her salvation.
I demanded the sea part
And let her pass
Without any explanation.


  Bruce Weber__