October 1998
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Poetry Page


Flight of birth draws my breath.
Beauty in these glades of death.
Drawing at my ever dreaming mind.
Drifting slowly, heavenly
Towards the end...

Sinking deep in bloody sheets.
Ecstasy draws the vile touch away.
Drowning in your ashen shadows.
Your blood...my dismay.

Wash it away.

Life licks at these bitter dreams

Mourning tears I shall never feel again.
Frigid is the earth.
I wished not for an end to this anguish.
Such beauty it is to weep
In memory of one so divine.

Slipping into this angels feathered wings.
But a taunting dream.
I feel the end of these resplendent things.
Ever in black sorrow,
Blinded to the oceans emptiness
So pale.

Wash it away.

By Matt Chamberlain

I Can't

Iíve racked my brain for things to say,
Iíve fished the land of comforting phrases
and Iíve had no luck.

Iíve searched for something to give you that will 
make it okay.
But itís not okay.
So no matter what I do,
where I look,
how the words flow from my mouth,
who I talk to,
when I find something to say.
Iím not sure why,
but I do know that I 
bring him back.

By Megan Jacobson


When I see her face, my heart flies
I can't get down from here
She leaves the room.
I plummit

By Charles Crandall


Mistaken curvitures for the havoc of a interwoven city
She steps back from herself within all her extremeties
With her body turned in a way she cannot inhale
That hatred looks before with some dying force
A silhouette dropping darkness, she scratches at her face
Torn away at distant bullets, deafening her every move
Civic of wind-washed shutters and gutter laden alleys
Where the pulse hardens to any descension of fear

By Stella Folds

 unparalleled beauty
 strapped to a crucifix
 she taunts him
 spits in his face
 tell him she loves him
 the first nail is driven
 blood trickles
 exhausted sweat and blood
 running down his cheeks
 ringing in his ears
 she kicks him
 where he lays
 a yelp sounds from his lips
 his face cringes in pain
 but he does not plea
 he does not beg
 he asks for more
 his stagnant tears shake
 from his wet blue eyes
 the magic gone
 his face her rag
 to ring as she sees fit
 The second nail is driven
 his body shudders
 from unthinkable agony
 as the nail rips through
 skin, muscle, bone
 He does not cry out
 he is empty
 she punches him in frustration
 suddenly enraged
 she screams
 the earthshattering alien sound
 of a mad woman pierces the air
 as she kicks
 and claws
 in a psychotic rage
 shattering his soul
 rupturing his heart
 a thousand tears
 a hundred lies
 in agony a raspy moan escapes his lips
 his face distorts
 his lips turn white
 unparalleled and dead
 he is a corpse
 to a crucifix
 a vacant hole
 where beauty once lay
 She turns to his dead body
 her heart racing
 her shaking hands
 dripping with the dead man's blood
 staining her quivering body
 she breaks down
 sobbing uncontrollably
 she shatters the moonlight with her cries
 as she makes love
 to his cold dead body
 strapped to a fallen crucifix
 her bloody handprints staining his face
 One last nail is driven
 deep into her stomach
 she is dying
 her stomach rotting away
 her bottomless pit of a soul
 and he will always be dead and cold
 and she will forever be dying
 no life
 for nothing
 but beauty's pride
 and a fallen grace

By Julie Wernau

Do you have poetry?

Send it on in! It can be romantic, heart-warming, humorous, or epic--we dont care! But if it makes the cut, you'll see it in the next issue of The Shrubbery. E-mail it to submit@theshrubbery.prohosting.com

Note: The Shrubbery now only prints 5 pieces of poetry per month, so don't feel bad if your stuff doesn't make it. Keep sending!!!

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