Enter Home Planet News Poetry of Issue # 66                        Page 3

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       For Janine Pommy Vega

        She was leaving
the planet, she, our shaman
    warrior & we cld not
        go w. her, we
          cld. not go.

    earrings were left here
& her dresses, she had left
    them, quite some time
       before she left us,

    bones, her breasts, her
ear lobes even, cld. not sup-
   port the prior style—but

       she was on a fast
train, a fast train befitting
her, she climbed a moun-
    tain higher than Ever
       est & left us all

       shed more light on
the darkest moment than a
firefly at midnight, she
       had IT, the courage

keep it going, to remain
present, when the odds were a-
gainst her, I wld. think just

       relax, but she was
a warrior & she knew the
star route & rode it out one
morning, & as befitting
       a shaman, she was

not alone
she was held,

when she left


                               Louise Landes Levi


He has been cruel to women
How I know
Is by the looks of his hands

Like naked fish
Hairless and large
With odd angles
And penile nails

Something about the
Oversized military watch,
And the long, muscled fingers
Smooth and cunning

A strong grip, no doubt
Lips that smile
And later, for the woman,
Painful bruises,
The outline of his fingers.

                      Nina Jecker Byrne


Time runs itself out
As I sit in big white
cement room
Pondering 11 abstracted
pieces of art
painted muses

Gallery sitting
Spider watching
Outside noise will
bring the biggest of the
Quickly spinning webs
so words have a place
to fall
& poems
are caught short,
of falling.
                      Teresa Marta Costa



She screamed just before she died,
dreams of flower petals floating before her eyes.
Her newborn daughter cried.
One life springs from the womb
while another drifts to the Underworld.
Mother watches
as the goddess in the green jade skirt
disappears into the mythic haze.
The new mother's life fades away,
her beautiful bronze body turning gray,
dreams awash in a flower petal rain,
while the newborn baby girl sighs.

Mictlantecuhtli, the skeleton king
beckons with a bony finger
telling the dead mother's soul not to linger.
Like a feathered soldier whose heart
bleeds upon the altar,
deceased childbirth warriors
are welcomed into heaven.
Mothers give birth to daughters
new souls captured as soldiers
for the armies of the rain goddess.
Her jade skirt floats
atop rivers, lakes, seas, and streams;
waters filled with beautiful imperfect reflections
of grandmothers, mothers, and daughters,
recurring echoes of the dream of Eve.
The goddess in the jade skirt
sweeps the clouds clean
as the newborn orphan screams
and a gentle rain starts to fall,
showers of falling flower petals -
the scent of flower blossoms wafting on the breeze.

                      Gary Every


                      My one regret:
                      I never owen
                      a nightclub

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