POETS - YELLOW by Stephen Mead © 2005

The following are spoke word compositions. These works are fiction and bear no resemblance or likeness to anyone living or dead. All opinions and interpretations expressed here are entirely the authors. Copyrights are held by the respective authors.

Yellow Stephen Mead © 2005 A light to wake to, The eyes not open yet Though there is That particular cove Against the lids & Maybe a voice, husky Warm butterscotch Which is the sun Of whom, what The day may love The Clutch Stephen Mead © 2005 Heads enclosed By the necks, a pulse Along the edge of felt Collarbones, shoulders Molding to ears & two Backs perfectly heart Shaped. Whose is whose if this Shape defines neither me Or you but an Us thrumming Quite intricately circular? I find your hands as though I Misplaced & rediscovered My own, find your sighs Syn-chronic to the breath Only these few moments Could stretch over time, Time holding how we’re Held & knowing more We’ve Seen Stephen Mead © 2005 The walls, the holes from explosions Big enough for a soldier to walk through With an infant. This is the city. These are its arches, Hungry old stones. One Could be a woman with an 8 a.m. beer. A few more could be a cause. Another is The cost of medicine. Sick, sick. Open Your mouth. Pour this down. Maybe it’s Empty. Maybe that’s imagined. Pry Eyes. Stand you up, & keep standing… Standing by, withstanding----- How long? O Good stones, we’ll light a candle, set A plate, have a cemetery picnic Tender as a hyacinth In some soldier’s hand Liebestod Stephen Mead © 2005 Was it Just his breath Lips to sip from Pouring storms but Calm, See friends Do you not see Resounding , ringing round Tender Perfume sweat The blessed echoes The melody which wafts Pierces clean to refresh Bliss Its lament These breezes Listen Are they not the plunge To take The surge to head for & expire, sink unconscious the obsession staid Now Voyager Stephen Mead © 2005 This is no joke. This is us on crystal girders Above a meltdown. Voyager, now fired by the adventure, Wire yourself to touch. The space between us, the Space between our astronaut zoot Suits, our life support cables, our Precarious perch, swings into zing & the zing sings of serenity. Here’s an abundant focus. Here’s a zone composed only of gazing Intention, of pulses steady & Watch how close, how the moment Approaching will launch this crystal Girder & throw us straight off towards The others hands. Watch the catch occur, The parachutes furl open & our arms Be of sheer knowing that time is of The voyage & that this voyage is Now

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