OPEN MIC ARCHIVES January

HAPPY WHATEVER GEOFF WEILERT ‘Twas the night before something But alas to my dismay In these politically correct times What it is, I can’t really say. Whatever I utter, These days someone gets offended, Even though I’m just talking And no offense was intended. I should stick to national holidays But it would probably be my fate again To wish someone a Happy 4th of July An end up offending some Canadian. So I’ve decided to just talk And speak my mind out much bolder So stop being so sensitive And get that chip off your shoulder. Though differences there are In custom, language, and name, When you take everything off We’re all pretty much the same. So the generic holiday character These days now loudly exclaims, As he whistles and calls out The politically correct names Now Tyrone, now Herschel, Now Tatyana, now Juan, On Melissa, on Devesh, On Mohammed and Kwan. If I have written anything That has caused you some strife, I say a Happy Holiday to all, And just get a life. -0-

They say that plant life as we know it will have vanished by the end of the 21st century I myself am fairly uncertain about most things Especially plant life And what does a birch tree in winter really look like underneath that pale shimmering skin and musically inclined leaf Broadleaves Conifers Deciduous Evergreen Aromatic Foliage Neither opalescent sea, nor dauntless sky remains a constant blue For I have seen at least one thousand shades of every hue - and still more arising out of nature's blind imagination Perhaps one day the hand will evolve into an array of perfectly formed touch-tone buttons And seeing itself metramorphosized Will whisper a song of regret to its past life.

I would like to have wings Like a bird and fly. To look to all the countries with a bird's eye. I would like to bring peace to Humanity, Joining their hands with felicity. To the children of the world, I would like to bring, The happiness to live in harmony. The happiness to live without anguish and hate And a world without hostility for them to create. Around the countries of the world I would like to fly, Spreading rain of peace from the blue sky. Then people in earth together would enjoy, Singing hymns of peace love and joy.

I don’t know whether I am bored, But I certainly am sleepy. I’m on a sea of tiredness My eyelids and head gently bobbing on its currents And before I know it, my mind goes blank. Not peace, but silence.

The World Is Big Daniella The world seems so big to a a person As small as me My goals in life seem impossible to reach Too many things still left to be learned Not knowing which direction to turn At times, I believe that dreams Are only meant for sleeping And why bother weeping Its tough to choose which path to take The path that which leads me to the Life-changing gates And if I choose to mess up in life, It's no ones fault but mine The world seems so big to a person As small as me

Can I trust that self anymore? When it's abandoned the squares Of my mind to despair in its homelessness, To dry off like a drunk tramp Embracing the chill corners Numbly, and skin my hollow hopelessness.

Trust it? when it's used to have That monish face of a moody Cloud; melt suddenly with Scottish music And stretched its angry sorrow Under the sun, Over an Irish meadow, Bursting into tears; thick and harmonic.

Wake it? when it's used to be A Gothic arch with demons, in the top, Painting dark portraits of weeping willows Shaded Sapphic women sticking tongues Out, full of themselves, of things expressive, Of action that lives and cast its shadows.

Save it? When it's used to fight Till the last breath as a dying old star with Hopes colonized but one; a magician Squeezes it into a supernova, then bombs itself To be a shameful hole in the face of Time that Stoops with his skies to the dead mortician.

Can I trust that self anymore? When my body shrinks over it And finds no place to hide its nothingness From the creaking bones whom it scorns For being motivated, inspired and boisterous, As it dries off and regain consciousness.

Crystal was the Night

by Ruth Walters

The evening air was crisp and clear.

we walked the streets,

we had no fear.

We were so small and full of cheer

and Christmas soon was coming.

With laughter and with glee we walked,

glancing at the holly.

Looking at the pretty lights,

feeling oh so jolly.

We knocked on every door we could

singing carols sweet as wine.

Merry Xmas, Silent Night,

collecting money all the time.

Money jangled in our pockets,

we skipped along the streets.

We didn’t notice the cold air,

we’d wings upon our feet.

The stars were out,

they twinkled softly.

The moon looked kind of proud

to see us feeling happy.

No sign of any clouds.

Until the last house in the street.

We ran up to the door

A man came out and shouted,

get lost or I’ll call the law!

Bloody beggars, he called to us.

We wondered why he’d made a fuss.

We thought we’d earned our money

bringing folks such happiness.

I looked into the sky.

I’d never seen the stars looking so bright,

I was sure God would forgive us,

he couldn’t possibly be cross,

for our hearts were true and crystal was the night.

OPEN MIC ARCHIVES January, 2007