ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÞ Northwest Poet E-Magazine ÝÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ßÛÛÛÛÛÛßßÛÛÛÛÛÛßßßß ßßßßÛÛÛÛÛÛßßÛÛÛÛÛÛß °±²Û °±²Û 1 Hands Û²±° Û²±° °±²Û °±²Û 2 Gadriel Û²±° Û²±° °±²Û °±²Û 3 Sleep Û²±° Û²±° °±²Û °±²Û 4 Ferociously Rampant Û²±° Û²±° °±²Û °±²Û 5 To Wait Û²±° Û²±° °±²Û °±²Û 6 Scandinavian Blues Û²±° Û²±° °±²Û °±²Û 7 Cassandra Û²±° Û²±° °±²Û °±²Û 8 Transformation Û²±° Û²±° °±²Û °±²Û 9 3-29-85 Û²±° Û²±° °±²Û °±²Û 10 Gray Sleeves Û²±° Û²±° °±²Û °±²Û Û²±° Û²±° °±²Û °±²Û This issue features the poetry of Û²±° Û²±° °±²Û °±²Û Zuriel (1951-1985), Poet & Artist. Û²±° Û²±° ÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÜÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ ÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÜÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ °°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°° ±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±± ²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²² HANDS If ever there was a hand to touch Yours would be the one reaching Out for me. And if ever there was the need To wrap myself in the arms of love Those arms would belong to you. GADRIEL O' sweet Gadriel, Angle of Chimera, Soft as midnight rain. Was it another dream Or a vision of warning on a flight of fantasy ending with the approach of morning? I know not but the dream Of my sweet Gadriel And the love I chase. SLEEP Sleep Blissful sleep Pulls firmly on my heart Like the moon upon The ocean waters The tide of slumber Washes away all my pain All my worries All my troubles What a healing balm Is this thing called sleep For pain and sorrow Are slowly taken away With each nights visit Of Doctor Nocturnal And Physician Sleep Come Come to my bed And let me drink Of your healing ways. FEROCIOUSLY RAMPANT Alone I reach out In the darkest Night No one Is there To take Hold When I'm in need Dreams Run rampant Fever Burns ferociously Body is damp As consciousness Returns With the light of day And here I'll face Another Journey Lost in emotion TO WAIT The evening approaches And there he is waiting For the one he loves The one he desires so Night falls after twilight And there she is driving Headed for the arms Of the one she truly loves There he is drinking Sliding into silent depression Amidst the laughter of A smoked filled bar Trying to hide the tears That begin to show His head rests upon the table And his heart cries in vain Dark are his thoughts of pain When suddenly he looks above And there she stands with a look Of relief for a journey's end Morning light breaks the dawn Dreams of passion spent with A gentle embrace, a loving kiss And all is right for now SCANDINAVIAN BLUES I walked out into a Scandinavian sunset And my heart screamed and wailed with pain, But the pain was not as loud as the tracks Of your nails burning across my bloodied back. The wheels in my brain cut very deeply Through my muddied dreams, the night Is getting longer and the champaign; Pretty pink and pretty stale. Meanwhile, the surf comes crashing All around me as I stagger through the sand Toward the waters edge and your words Breathe into my ears jasmine and myrrh. But, the rabbit did not die and Saskia waxes Rhapsodic with trappings of youthful wealth And the pillow you lay your head on Is to small for my head anyway, and All I hear is Scandinavian Blues. Now on a motorbike in Madrid, I spied the bitch in furs and nets. Her kiss was bourbon and coke Her breath jasmine and myrrh. She says "Come to my room and I'll Lick your wounds and you can lay By my fire where it is warm." "Now, you know very well," I said "It is hard to refuse when you Look the way I feel, and the infection You gave me is only three weeks gone." She says, "bring a bottle of champagne along And a raincoat if you must." Says I "Ah, well, Yeah, I think it might rain some" So she dusts me off with a wink of her eye And says "You know very well there ain't No cure for Scandinavian blues." CASSANDRA Goddess of earthly delights I summon thee this very night With simple prose and simple rhyme I call thee forth from time to time With slender hand the lines are filled Your wit and wisdom is soon sealed TRANSFORMATION Behold not an old sun setting But a new sun on an endless journey Ever rising onto distant lands Ever bringing a new dawn Treasure up not That which has passed Unlike the sands of the hour-glass Time cannot be turned back 3-29-85 What kind of a creature am I, Stuck in a dwindling vortex. Struggling to survive Through intense abdominal pain. At times so bad I can't stand erect, Never ceasing constipation, Relieved only by endless diarehha. Rare visions split reality in two, One I know is real Just one, A mocking yellow apparition. Both are placed neatly, The yellow one above and to the right. Distorted hearing, Reminiscent of a mono AM radio I had as a child, Fades in and out. Close your eyes. Breath. Relax. Recognize. Be here. Now. Touch the desk or the arm of the chair. Hold the pen Feel its smoothness How easily it fits in your grasp, How warm does it feel? GRAY SLEEVES There once was a girl from eden She had golden hair so very fair Eyes of far away manganese lakes Love as strong as iron and steel One day he who came not far away To capture the heart he wanted so From the girl with manganese eyes He dreamed long and came to steal But evil did covet the slender lass He demanded her attention and ass He never gave up nor would it pass Till he who came not far away alas Upon the tower did they battle hard Tonight they played their last card By morning the loser would be barred From the young girl in the backyard Upon one thrust in vain attempt Triumph did evil over rival love Succumb did prince on rival sword Manganese eyes visioned contempt True love vanquished in disgrace Her heart cried out silent rage Legs dangled above tumbled stool She hung silently in god's grace SPECIAL INVITATION The bulk of financial support comes from readers like yourself who have have contributed to the continued success of this electronic publication. The editors encourage you to continue showing your support of the poetic arts by buying a new poetry book or a greeting card for someone special, and sending a contribution. Send a check today made out to Sauvie Island Press. Our address is: Sauvie Island Press PO BOX 751 Beaverton OR 97075 Opinions expressed here are those of the contributors and do not necessarily reflect editorial policies. All rights reserved. No part of this magazine may be reproduced without written permission from the publisher. Copyright 1993 Sauvie Island Press.