Doc Mike Michaud 

says the spider to the fly

spring has arrived
at long last,
bring with it
the usual things:
running streams, birds flying overhead once more,
the melting of snow, and slow awakening
of the insect's from their winter's nest
mark the season.

the fly is free now to flitter where she may,
throwing away any sense which was born in her;
she shows a boldness which is hard to comprehend.

she will learn.

that the spider waits for her.
he has not slept, but has kept himself alive
in a warm nook--out of sight.
the long winter has,
if anything,
given him more will to trap his prey.

he will trap the fly.
he has no consideration for other flies.
he is only governed by his insatiable hunger.
he has no pity, but will get what he wants.

she will learn.

lower education
 
he always wanted to explain things,
but no one cared
so he drew
sometimes he would draw
and it wasn't anything
 
he wanted to carve it n stone--
or write it in the sky
and it would only be him and the sky
and the things inside him that needed saying
 
it was after that he drew the picture
it was a beautiful picture
he kept it under his pillow
and would let no one see it
 
he would look at it every night
and think about it
when it was dark and his eyes were closed
he could still see it
 
when he started school
he brought it with him;
not to show anyone;
just to have along like a friend
 
it was funny about school
he sat at a square brown desk
like all the other square brown desks
he thought it should be red
 
and his room was a square, brown room
like all the other rooms
it was tight and close and stiff
he hated to hold the pencil and chalk
his arms stiff, his feet flat on the floor, stiff
 
the teacher, watching and watching
the teacher came and spoke to him
she told him to wear a tie
like all the other boys
 
he said he didn't like them
she said it didn't matter!
after that, they drew
he drew all yellow
 
it was the way he felt about morning
and it was beautiful
the teacher came and smiled at him
"what's this'" she said, "why don't you
draw something like ken's drawing?
isn't that beautiful?"
 
after that, his mother bought him a tie,
and he always drew airplanes and rocketships
like everyone else
and he threw the old picture away.
 
and when he lay alone looking at the sky,
it was big and blue and all of everything
but he wasn't anymore
he was square inside and brown
 
and his hands were stiff
he was like everyone else
the things inside that needed saying
didn't need it anymore
 
it had stopped pushing
it was crushed,
stiff--
like everything else 

to Robin Linn

I.
faith is the robin that feels
the light and sings
while the dawn is still dark.
II.
a face in the mirror--
a soul laid bare
exposure is being exposed
 
life's hurts settle in
to fill a void--
a love not yet heard
 
to trite a cause
to signal fate
at insurmountable odds
 
the light of day
will mark the poet's journey
to find first life within
 
but a curse of life
leaves an indelible spot
of red ink on white paper