Jan Sand in New York JAN SAND, poet and illustrator from New York (now residing in Helsinki), is a regular contributor to Poetry Life & Times and the newsgroup alt.arts.poetry.comments. A great deal of his work is about animals, or science fiction. Recently Jan was published by Kedco Studios Artist Profile Press, on their latest CD ROM e-book, "A Way With Words (Poetry Real and Surreal), which also includes complete books by Dale Houstman, Sara L. Russell and Keith Gabriel Hendricks. Jan's illustrated book on the CD is called "Wild Figments And Odd Conjectures", which is also sold separately, in a limited-edition "single" CD. To see an illustrated article about Jan's poems, visit the November '98 issue of Poetry Life & Times, and scroll down past the Editor's Letter. He also has his own poetry pages on Charlotte's Web at Artvilla.

TOMATOES © Jan Sand My window sill proudly displays A grove of tomato plants That welcome Winter’s sunlight rays With eagerness, green elegance. These seedlings sprouted from a fruit Purchased at the grocery. Each seed launched in pursuit Of root and stem, leaf tracery. March light sees stems weak and thin, The tender leaves are tentative, Conforming to growth’s discipline. Fragile, representative. Still much snow sits out there Bleeding slowly into Spring, Icing up in night’s cold air. My plants await what time will bring. They dream of June with sultry days Where green displaces Winter’s white When skies glow blue, away from grays, And hungry leaves gobble light. The stems by then, knobbed and thick Will bear the still green rounded fruit, Orange tinged, too young to pick, Intense in skills to transmute. Transmute the message from the sun, Whisper it in water’s ear Command the soil it’s will be done, Speak to air, loud and clear. At last, at Fall, the pregnant globes Now package ingenuity Of evolution in red robes - Tomato perpetuity. EVANESCENT DREAM © Jan Sand Sing a sing of whimsey Baked in a sigh Smiling slightly to itself Mumbling ”Oh my!” Thoughts like powdered butterflies Sail through mild depression Avoiding flakes of nervous shakes Which promulgate confession. If I hum or gently strum The strings of light psychosis, Subconscious things with hairy wings Can initiate a stressful itch Leading to thrombosis. So never praise those thoughtless days When sex and spiced salami Fulfilled all yeas and doubtful nays Through fate and fascination To dreams of honey, pots of money And excess of origami. AT END © Jan Sand When, finally, death arrives, Long after the first mild apprehension In the doctor’s office, It has been endlessly considered. The path has not been chosen. How should the time be spent? Fear, sitting in the corner, combing its hair, Studying its fingernails, waiting patiently, Should be ignored. It ticks quietly like a clock and frequently, Slips out its tongue through needle teeth To wet its lips. A thoughtful, wistful smile Floats across its face like a cloud against the sun. I hope for no pain. My mother died in pain which developed her naked skull Like a photo in the developing bath. It took six months. Her eyes glowed like crystal balls radiating insanity. My father rested in a chrome grove blooming bottles, Plastic bags of blood and chemicals whose vinyl snakes Bit deep into his veins. They tied his hands to the bed To keep him from ripping out the tubes. He died alone, early one morning. My phone told me. My son had a body twisted, broken, vital organs Exhausted and gradually functionless. He slid in and out of coma Never sure when he was not dreaming. “Save me”, he asked at end. “Save me” Most people, famous and otherwise, are dead at my age. Marilyn Monroe is long gone, but there is still Fidel Castro, Jerry Lewis, And the queen of England. I am waiting, scared, curious, hoping, Like the Heinlein character, to take a few steps On the Lunar surface. But, at end, Will I care?