IM

Poem of the Night

At the silent time,

in the middle of the night My mind grows wings and takes flight

It flutters about

like a decrepit bat Scurrying over

This and that

Picking old scabs Uncovering old fears That had laid dormant all these years

I don’t know why

Night gives it this power To make my soul

Shiver and cower

But I know when J sit And I tap at these keys It puts my mind

A little at ease.

By Mike Bertrand

Night Noises

the see-saw siren of the drive is like the breath of some waiting creature as | sit and tap out my dreams

_ The whine of the refrigerator’s contradictory radiator

mixes with this whine

in an eerie harmony

the steady hiss of the house’s watery blood adds its subtle voice to the night’s mysteries as an alien undertone

and underneath it all, the murmur ofa television forsaken for the easier comfort of slumber makes the noises...human

By Mike Bertrand

Pseudopsalms

As I lay me down to sleep,

I pray that God is not a creep.

If I should die before I wake, Then is it for hell, or heaven’s sake?

The Lord is my shepard, I shall not think He maketh me to profess His will on green Atheists

A drop of blood, Burning-bush red Dripped from little Susie’s head From where her Daddy’s crucifix Had given Susie seven licks

Too many, for by the third one Little Susie’s life was gone

For little Susie, she had dared

To offer in her tiny prayers

A prayer for those who had no faith Thus causing God much disgrace So it was God, not dad, who commanded That he should be so heavy-handed If you find all this shocking, well

I guess you’ll have to go to Hell.

By Mike Bertrand

The Fairweather Friend

I fell in that trap again,

into that old cliche where they say,

‘‘if you trust, you’ll be deceived’’...

Because the fairweather friend has many faces.

And like a game of Russian Roulette,

you can only guess when the next face will pop up

and the one you’ve trusted will turn on you and use your trust to hurt and deceive.

Anonymous

Make Lava, Not War

Fiery ideas boil to the surface of my mind and melt onto paper.

Phrases forged in flame

flow onto the page.

Like Pompeii’s poor plebeians engulfed in the eruption,

The ideas settle like ashes into gray lines of type

And the statues of my feelings Stand petrified for the generations.

SFM

Gaea's Slumber

The sun’s final fingers scratch the yawning Earth

Parades of snow-white floats clouding sky Wondering eyes plumb upper depths Questing the glow gone by

Shuffling feet disturb mass graves Leafy corpses rustling mutely Mourning maples claw cold air Seeking their children lost

Yellowing cornstalks cast long shadows Crow-curbing counterfeits still stand by Straw arms spread like a martyr’s limbs Obscuring the sun’s closing eye

And winter’s goblins lurk in the giantess’s shadow Honing their blades of frost

SFM 15