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SEARCHING...

 

searching for myself ,
searching here and there
in the eyes of others,
everywhere feeling of selfishness
just want to eat me,
I'm afraid, I came back,
then I found my self,
hidden in the fourth corner of my heart



Shukla Snehsaurabh 
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THE INTREPID SEMINARIANS SEVEN 



On an off day, 
clear and cold, 
the seminarians 
intrepid seven 
donned their skates 
and headed north 
toward Grand Lake 
across the frozen 
creeks and streams 
of Mercer County. 

Cheerful comradery 
filled the air 
as the group 
pressed their blades 
on Carthagina Creek 
at the far east edge 
of the seminary. 

Tall, stalwart, 
and 
well seasoned, 
Ranly of Ohio 
and 
Lizza of New York State 
led the troupe. 

From one creek or stream 
into another 
and another, 
seven pairs of skates, 
back and forth 
back and forth, 
their blades, 
in sunlight gleaming. 
Cutting and carving, 
cutting and carving, 
their sound, 
in creek banks replicating. 

On and on 
mile after mile 
they trekked, 
as brambles and thickets 
and 
trees of every size 
glided by, 
their tempo only broken 
by a greenhorn skater's 
intermittent plunge 
upon the parted ice. 


At length, the skaters reached 
a stream of greater sweep, 
the beautiful St. Marie. 

With quickening pace, 
they followed straight 
along its race, 
until it interfaced 
with huge Grand Lake. 

At the sight 
of a mirror of ice, 
that seemed a vault of sky 
the skaters, euphoric, 
soared like birds 
in continental flight. 

Small dots, 
in such immensity, 
what notions did they ken 
of His Great Majesty? 



                                                          Virgil Gelormino
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SIBERIAN WINTER




Siberian winter shows its right:
40 degrees everything white!
Cold air is sparkling in transparent sky
Beautiful pictures make happy ones eye!

The nature is sleeping covered by snow -
Only smoke from chimneys slowly goes.
All branches of trees in the frame of hoarfrost
Adults & children enjoy this time most.

Whimsical window patterns designed
By a Nature Artist whose taste is divine!
Each piece is unique & never remade  
Youll always its brilliance appreciate!

The cold makes people move fast in the street -
No one wants to be bitten by it!
Warm coats, fur hats, woolen mittens & shoes,
Thousands sweaters & socks people use!

Frozen noses its normal for us,
Red cheeks & smiles warm Siberian hearts!
Our winter is a queen of the time!
God blessed Siberia! It is really fine!

 

                                                Olga Ryazantseva WB01345_.gif (616 byte)RETURN

 

 

 

 

 

TO THE PAINTER



IF I COULD PAINT, the colors would know no bounds
I will color the skies as I shall color the grounds
And the deft of silence with all its whisking sounds

I will paint the emerald fields and the chocolate ways
I will paint the atmosphere and the wind that sways
And the young and prudent springs of all the passing Mays

I THEN, in a secret stroke, shall paint the rising smoke
That dwindles from the chimneys of some forgotten folk
And the naked night inside the evening cloak

I will paint the gust and the cold I must
And I see no reason-- why I wont paint the dust
Offcourse the spongy soil and orange fungal crust

A distant field of flowers which looks a purple ridge
And the weak and dwindling wine that twins around the bridge
I will be precise enough to paint its every stitch

My striking lady friend, her cold and pesky trend
I will paint her eyes and looks that never end
That fragrance of long hair and time we had to spend

I will make her nimble hands, caressing on my face
I will make her curly, spindling, shining glittering grace
And the dance of dried-up leaves inside my violin case 

Look these wishful dreams -- fly away like birds
And never do they settle but move-on to onwards
I will paint these lines and the dim and dribbling words

I will paint the mountain peaks and their pallid snow
I will paint the jazzing trees in faster winds and slow
Then my ever spurting wishes so they may not grow

BUT, I cannot paint.



                                                                          Sarim Baig
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OLD AGE



I never really thought
that Id grow old
but here I am --
my footsteps slow.
What happened to the joyful winds
that swirled beneath my skin and bones?
What happened to the beating of my heart
that pulsed lifes passions
through my soul?

I never thought
my supple limbs
would freeze,
and dry like winter twigs
Nor melodies which once poured forth
would change to harsh and crackling tones
I search my image in the mirror
for traces of
myself before.

Although I never thought
there could be joy
in those whose heads
were bowed and gray.
when one no longer danced or sang,
or was caressed by youthful love,
I find that joys once found without
are found abundantly
within. 



                                                     Terry Silver
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FOGGY TREASURES

Slings an arrows unphysically
to touch a coolish soul
to strain a foggy treasure
avoid me facing destiny
mine - not mine - yours
and yet believe in life.

                                    Enrico Castelli WB01345_.gif (616 byte)RETURN