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JIM DUNLAP (Rhyme Master) Jim is in the Marquis, Who's Who In America and will be in the Marquis Who's Who In The World in it's next edition as well. He is also in the Directory of American Poets and Fiction Writers. His list of publications include "Candelabrum", "Plainsongs" and the "Paris/ Atlantic"; and he is now (or has been) online at "Die Niderngasse", "Poetry Repair Shop", "Midnight Edition" and Poetry Life & Times". He is a resident poet, and an Alpha poet at the Poet's Porch, and has had about six hundred poems published to date. He has been in the Writer's Digest top 100 three times, although he doesn't usually enter their contests any more, as their entry fees have gone out of sight. However, he has decided to send a single poem this time. He is currently the newsletter editor for the Des Moines Area Writers' Network. Click here for Jim's website His work also appears online at: authorsden.com http://www.thepoetsporch.com http://www.aceonline.com.au/~db/ http://www.valmagnuson.com/ on Describe_Adonis in the Yahoo groups, poetryrepairs.com and in a number of other places as well.

PAPILLON FLAMBE © Jim Dunlap At the edge of a concrete playground, A tableau unrolled before my eyes. A Monarch butterfly lay mutely still, Wing upraised, saluting the skies. On a tinder-dry, cardboard box It gently rocked in the cool, fall air; Felled by quick-falling temperatures, Like a jewel, abandoned there. Careless teenagers scampered by, Never glancing to right or left. One flicked a cigarette away -- A motion practiced and deft. The smoldering butt fell on the box And scorched the upraised wing -- Soon a murky column of smoke arose From a creeping, fiery ring. A careless, indifferent delinquent Had started a short-lived fire, And a Viking's exit to eternity With a 'royal' insect's funeral pyre. SERENDIPITY IN PANDORA'S BOX © Jim Dunlap If bad things would only disappear By pretending they're not there, We could banish doubt and fear. Some bad habits we all share Leave us precious little room to brag, Since intelligence grows sadly rare. Yes, cold reality's a drag, But we must confront the facts -- Or be left to hold the bag. Is hope in ideologies or tracts? What makes discord grow and breed? While man, with society, interacts No life truly can succeed Unless hope appears to sow the seed. CHRISTMAS IN THE HEART © Jim Dunlap I wake and pulling back the curtain, See a fairyland of drifted snow; And, with nostalgia, feel a certain Yen for Christmases of long ago. Remembering those happy hours Spent decorating Christmas trees, Snow castles, like crenellated towers, And shoppers darting round like bees; Past memories invade my thoughts -- With cherished faces, gone forever! While mugs of cider -- warming draughts -- Embellish each festive endeavor. I loved the most the Christmas lights, Holly, wreaths, and mistletoe; And see the past through fancy's flights In memories of long ago. But still the best that Christmas gives -- And thinking on it, you'll agree -- Is pointing out that each still lives In heart, and soul, and memory. THE VILLAGER, December, 1991 IN MEMORY OF A 'GOOD WORKMAN' © Jim Dunlap When Barbara Walters interviewed Sir Laurence Olivier -- Asked if there was a special way He'd like his life construed, He said he had always felt He was a workman first of all. Good work helped a man stand tall, And play the cards he's dealt. But she said, 'That sounds so prosaic.' He said, 'Shakespeare was a workman... God himself...and the postman.' The idea is not a bit archaic... And just so the world will know it, His first example was a poet.

RAVIE SHANKAR RAJAN I am a software engineer working for a MNC in Mumbai, India. In my free time I love writing poetry and have been doing so since my school days. Most of my poetry is based on my personal experiences and people whom I get to know in my everyday life. I also have interests in archaelogy, fossil study and traveling.

Escape from death © Ravie Shankar Rajan Clouds of darkness engulfed me, Gigantic brown waves creating whirlpools, Sucking me deeper and deeper into hell. The odious stench suffocating me, Hot scalding steam burning into me. No sign of shore, devoid of life, my legs felt useless, heavy like lead. The viscous liquid choking my senses, images appearing blurred, distorted, I began vomiting bile mixed with blood. Death began dancing before my petrified eyes, I am doomed to die, slowly, very horribly. Suddenly, a strange force pulled me out, I escaped unscathed from the jaws of death. Under the clear, blue skies, I heard a voice, “This damn fly spoiled my coffee”. Terror © Ravie Shankar Rajan Black stone cobbled streets, hairpin bend roads, saffron flowers blossoming in clusters, intoxicating smells of exotic spices, thickly crowded markets, boisterous people, colorful vegetable vendors, heaps of vegetables all around, ‘burkha’ clad women haggling prices, pink cheeked babies nested in willow baskets, roadside idlers sipping ‘kava’, cracking jokes, temple bells chiming from distant hills, old people offering prayers at the ‘dargah’, warm sun shining over the serene ‘Dal’ lake, gigantic houseboats towing lazily along the edge, peace and tranquility ruling supreme all over. A car stopped, masked men streamed out, Indiscriminate firing started, a reign of terror, shock and silence, then the screaming started, an unruly stampede, death dancing all around, children getting trampled, streets red with blood, women turned into widows, babies into orphans, cries of despair and pain, fear struck faces, ghastly mess of bodies and vegetables scattered everywhere, the shooting stops suddenly; the fanatics escape. Somewhere in the hills, the assassins get paid, Another victory to ‘holy jihad’, the men part ways. A man remains behind; a quiet chuckle escapes his lips, combination of religion and money always works well. Farewell from Earth © Ravie Shankar Rajan Countless generations passed by, Complicating the annals of Mother Nature, Each outsmarting the other, Setting new grounds, Conquering newer heights, Being more perfect and a little less human. The reddish sun sets once again, Tired and beaten, envying man’s audacity. A boy sat watching the night sky, Floods of emotions running through him. He remembered his archievements, His outstanding brilliance, The years spent in inhuman fitness training, The high diplomatic circles, power parties, Every flaw plugged, nothing left to chance. Heartwarming family memories overwhelmed him, A loving mother, a doting father, his dog Tuffy, The lovely flower valley where he used to play, His inseparable friends, his first crush. Lumps of feelings choked him, He wanted to leave everything, turn back. A sudden jerk broke his thoughts, The long awaited journey had begun. Mother Earth became smaller and smaller, An exciting new life awaits him on planet Mars.

REGIS AUFFRAY I came to Earth on August 13th, 1952 in Peace River, Alberta, Canada. I can give credit for that to my parents who had just come over from Britanny, France. I am of Celtic descent. Bretons are not "French". But I love all nationalities and genres of people. I know that "love" is the answer to all of this gem of a planet's problems. I just don't have a clue how to make it happen. I have issues of my own which probably hinder the process even though I don't want them to. My first language is French but I learned English when my family moved to British Columbia in 1963 when I was eleven years old. The first poem I remember writing was in grade 9 in English class. It rhymed and had the proper rhythm (I think). My English teacher thought it was good and encouraged me to continue to write even though he was supposed to be a science teacher. (Thank you, Mr. Stolee).I have been greatly influenced by the romantic poets and the symbolists (in French) but many others - Baudelaire, Verlaine, Rimbaud, Lamartine, Frost, Keats, Dickinson, and so many others who don't come to mind immediately right now because I've got a few other pressing issues. Please visit my pages on AuthorsDen, to read more of my work...

The Tree / L'arbre © Regis Auffray A giant by the water's edge forever it seemed had stood tall and proud Birds nested in its thick hair and slept the nights along its mighty arms Creatures of field and forest rested in its bosom and sheltered there from the storms Fish shadow-bathed in its silhouette hiding from the sun as the river sang on its way to the sea The man came and cut down the tree Sap ran like blood to the earth The man sat on the stump of the giant The man laughed The birds and the fish vanished as did the creatures from field and forest The river weeps L'Arbre (French translation) © Regis Auffray Un géant au bord de l'eau depuis toujours semblait grand et fier Les oiseaux nichaient dans sa chevelure et dormaient la nuit perchés le long de ses bras Les êtres des bois et des champs se reposaient au sein de son existence protégés du temps inclément Les poissons se baignaient dans sa silhouette protégés du soleil brûlant des midis inconscients La rivière chantait son chemin vers la mer L'homme est venu Il a coupé l'arbre La sève comme du sang a coulé au sol L'homme s'est assis satisfait sur le tronc du géant L'homme a ri Les oiseaux sont partis Les créatures des bois et des champs aussi La rivière pleure Death of August © Regis Auffray With the dying of August September rejoices It is her turn to dance and dance she does But the autumn wind lifts up her skirts and blows about her dappled colored gowns and as these tatter and as they fray leaving gold and crimson shreds upon the leaf carpeted floor and naked she becomes October gleefully leers Eternity © Regis Auffray I am a grain of sand in the desert of eternity I lie motionless among numberless souls like me warmed by the benevolence of the sun by day awed by the cold brilliance of the stars by night I wait for the breath of God to move the sands and sift me from holy hands back to my resting place once more to bask in the sun by day and smile at the stars by night I am a grain of sand in the desert and eternity is waiting for me to make up my mind Renaissance © Regis Auffray This day looks promising Daybreak dawns dismal In the dimming light of the crimson sun Flashes of lightning flare Against the ebony backdrop of the rumbling sky Soon the rush of rain upon the roof Calls to me Outside The electrified air The roar of thunder The wind The torrential rain The intoxicating scent of ozone Lighten and cleanse my sullied soul Till it is white Empty The hurricane had her eye on me I can see where I must go Thousands of fingers massage My aching muscles My naked body slick Slips into the waiting womb All is still now I seek further solace with my thumb Sucking I wait for the moment of rebirth

           

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