[Zita Zenda]

Dearest Sphere,

If by correspondence we would mean
communication, true association,
I would wonder why we haven’t seen
one single word on how we carry on.

Not who we are, as in what we eat,
but how we be while standing side by side,
while holding hands, while walking down the street,
while thinking what to say and what to hide.

Not who we play we are by force of habit,
as in, I am timid, truth be told…
but how we use our voice, how we declare it.
We’d make a declaration to be bold;

“How are you, really?” We would dare to ask.
“How are you being and what is your wish?”
Would we find ourselves up to the task?
Would we share more than our most-loved dish?

“Where is your presence and how is your path?”
Could we have a glowing aftermath?




------------------

Zita Z.

[Rose Kelleher]

An interesting proposal, Zita Z.,
replacing fluffy cant with honesty.
But I'll be honest, I prefer the fluff--
arm's length, in other words, is close enough.
Reality is heavy - give me Lite,
a little laugh to get me through the night.
So all in all, my answer must be no.
(The "glowing aftermath" sounds tempting, though!)


[This message has been edited by Rose Kelleher (edited June 03, 2004).]

[David Anthony]

Yes, tell the truth! Let me be first to go:
My real name's Seamus Heaney, doncha know.

[Janet Kenny]

If you are Seamus Heaney I’m the pope.
Wash your mouth with strong carbolic soap.
Only conmen talk about the truth.
We lie, in bed and up, from our first youth.
And what the hell is truth I’d like to know?
Rashomon’s characters all tried to show
themselves in the best light. Each person told
a story of their heroism. Lies
are truth unless we learn to analyse
the guilty gestures of the plausible liar.
We each narrate the story we desire.
Truth is a fiction bruited about
by theologian bullies who fear doubt
of dogma that they preach. They rage at free
spirits who regard with levity
the pompous self aggrandisement of those
who try to lead the people by the nose.


A bit of fluff for Rose, a kitten played
with dandelion seeds. The kitten strayed
entranced by thistledown till it was lost
in grass so long that all the paths it crossed
were hidden and the kitten was afraid
of everything it saw and so it made
a high-pitched squeaking mew which moved a mouse
to bring the kitten home into its house.
It fed the kitten on organic wheat
and all the dandelions it could eat.
The kitten and the mouse became attached
and any time another feline watched
the mouse the kitten boxed its ears and sent
it scampering. And thus they were content
in symbiotic bliss. The kitten grew
and dreamed that by mistake one night it slew
the mouse and so regretfully it left
and wandered through the world, a cat bereft
of love and happiness until a bird
consoled it with a friendly peck. Absurd
to think a cat befriended mouse and fowl.
The mouse alas was eaten by an owl.
The bird fell victim to a hunter’s gun.
The cat became the cat who walks alone.

So Rose, the fluff became a tale of growth.
You have the fluff and truth--a bit of both.

[This message has been edited by Janet Kenny (edited June 04, 2004).]

[Zita Zenda]

Rose, my darling, what a pretty name.
Thank you for your interest, and your claim,
though keeping at arm’s length should be your shame.
Reality enlights and cant’s inane.
When, really we want love, we aim to feign
that no one’s needed. Thus, we live in vain.


Janet’s bit of fluff, disguised as such,
reveals the hidden lesson turned to crutch:
Letting in attachment hurts too much.




[This message has been edited by zbaby (edited June 04, 2004).]

[Roger Slater]

To Janet Kenny and to Marion Shore,
I have just one word. It's French. Encore!

[Robt_Ward]

But some of us are who we seem to be:
no more, no less, and this truth leaves us free
to speak in here just as we speak out there.
I've never posted one word I'd not dare
to speak to you, or you, or anyone,
in the harsh light of the unforgiving sun.

I'm who I am; I make no bones of that.
I'm what I am; witty, a bit too fat,
afraid of little, perhaps too easily pleased,
and not inclined to anger when I'm teased.
I don't quite understand a lot of you,
who seem to see deception peeping through
the windows of these fora, and presume
to judge not what's been said, but said by whom.

A heavy topic, surely, and perhaps
not a subject I should lead you chaps
(and gals as well) into discussion of;
so let's all just get naked and make love!

(robt)

[This message has been edited by Robt_Ward (edited June 04, 2004).]

[Marion Shore]

Monsieur Roger--
Mon nom rimé
en français!
You made my day!

[Rose Kelleher]

Now there's an image - Sphereans X-rated! -
to treasure when I feel intimidated
by brilliant brains who populate the Sphere,
who point out what I've missed and say, "It's clear..."
and crank out metered, rhyming verse so well:
I'll just imagine y'all au naturel.

[Zita Zenda]

The truth is not within a kitten’s tale
but lies within ourselves, to no avail.
Only conmen say they speak the truth.
It takes so little to be your own sleuth
and slayer. Every time we lie we kill
ourselves.

I never meant to call you all a liar!
I didn’t want this topic to be dire...
But I’m with Robt! I’m not for leading by
the nose. I’m all for taking off my clothes!


[This message has been edited by zbaby (edited June 04, 2004).]