A
CONSPICUOUS
MEDIUM
poems
By David Sloma
Copyright © David Sloma 1996-2011. All rights reserved.
Second Edition.
Published by Web of Life Solutions to Smashwords in July 2011.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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DEDICATION
For the English teachers who believed in me.
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
This is this second edition, expanded for 2011. The first edition was published by The Necropolis Press in 1996, by A.D. Westman, editor. Thanks to Don for seeing the early promise in my work and offering to help get my writing out there.
~~~~~
The Labyrinth Of Self
Through the labyrinth of self she goes
Into the confusion of a young soul
Body changing before her gaze
Into a form unknown
By night she stands guardian to herself
Lest by the morning she will be a thing new
Each horrific growth of hormone
Puts her farther from who she was
Propelled into the changes of life
Never asked to be so shattered
Unknown form rising from the body
Image changing daily
The mirror of self reflection
Now become deception
When will this empty head fill
Who will save this shallow soul
Always the same in the morning light
What was once familiar now unknown.
They’re Dropping The Bombs Again
Trying, trying so hard
And dying with each day
I’ve got bones in my mind
And above the jets fly
They’re dropping the bombs again
Where do we go?
Where can we be safe?
Is there anywhere we can run?
The leaders play their games
But it all remains the same
Round the round the madness goes
Tell me your sickness
You master of pain
Scrubbing out scratches in the copper mine
Playing with us
And playing with time
Circling around the carrion of our minds
Giant birds in flight
Streetscene
A man and a woman approach each other.
It’s windy and cool.
The first day of autumn.
Her clothes are form fitting.
I watch as she passes by the café window.
She reminds me of an old love,
that curly blond hair catching the sun.
I am watching her float in her dream
and she doesn’t even see him coming.
He’s big. With a baseball cap.
I watch them pass from a Middle-Eastern café.
All styles fuse in this global culture.
They pass.
I don’t see a glance.
I think I feel a feeling.
She to him.
He to her.