art music poetry

I in the Fire (word count – 100, lines – 20)

Eye in the pond
a nickel dropped down the well
explosion of ripples, a tenderlick of flame
reverberates ignites upon meeting itself
rises in definition, appeal to sublimity
original thought
eye in the fire

Dreams of dark fishes and tin tinkle wishes
liquid expansion of air, candle lit holding there
Would there be one to climb, shoulders of self to find
an angel’s warp see beyond the eye, sky of me
dare to ascend the pyre, desire the eye in the fire
We gon’ go down slow
We gon’ slip beneath the skin
natural as sin

Bio:
Tom {WordWulf} SternerHowe, a native son of Colorado, lives in Lafayette, Colorado with wife Karen, her two sons and his youngest son, Zedidiah. Family and riding his Harley Davidson fill up the hours left over from creative enterprises. He has been extensively published in independent literary magazines including Howling Dog Press/Omega, Skyline Literary Review and Flashquake. He is winner of the Marija Cerjak Award for Avant-Garde/Experimental Writing 2001, 2002 & 2003. His first novel, ‘Madman Chronicles: The Warrior’, is available at his website: http://pages.prodigy.net/sterner-howe. Music from the novel may be accessed at http://truefire.com/list.html?store=original_music&viewauthor=3554 or www.lulu.com/TomSternerHowe

Contact Information:
Tom (WordWulf) SternerHowe
1305 Centaur Circle
Lafayette, Colorado 80026
720-890-7217
sterner-howe@prodigy.net

***

I Danse Pagoda (word count – 68, line count – 18)

High as the mountain
reaches its climes
a thin wisp of breeze
gently woven tapestry
might be worn as a lithograph
hung in my brain
its message clear:
“There is no cost for peace/
no peace at any cost”
As scene behind closed eyes
hands clasped in friendship
round the wounds in our Earth
where slain soldiers lie
High as the mountain
reaches its climes

Bio:
Tom {WordWulf} SternerHowe, a native son of Colorado, lives in Lafayette, Colorado with wife Karen, her two sons and his youngest son, Zedidiah. Family and riding his Harley Davidson fill up the hours left over from creative enterprises. He has been extensively published in independent literary magazines including Howling Dog Press/Omega, Skyline Literary Review and Flashquake. He is winner of the Marija Cerjak Award for Avant-Garde/Experimental Writing 2001, 2002 & 2003. His first novel, ‘Madman Chronicles: The Warrior’, is available at his website: http://pages.prodigy.net/sterner-howe. Music from the novel may be accessed at http://truefire.com/list.html?store=original_music&viewauthor=3554 or www.lulu.com/TomSternerHowe

Contact Information:
Tom (WordWulf) SternerHowe
1305 Centaur Circle
Lafayette, Colorado 80026
720-890-7217
sterner-howe@prodigy.net

***

Feline Grace (words – 74, lines – 17)

I might have not believed
a cat could smile
before I knew yoiu
I certainly wouldn’t have believed
I would come to share
the intimate spaces of my life
with such a creature

I didn’t know my lap was empty
before you filled it
and my days
One cannot simply replace a friend like you
One can hardly say goodbye
so I will not
Your smile will live forever behind my eyes

Bio:
Tom {WordWulf} SternerHowe, a native son of Colorado, lives in Lafayette, Colorado with wife Karen, her two sons and his youngest son, Zedidiah. Family and riding his Harley Davidson fill up the hours left over from creative enterprises. He has been extensively published in independent literary magazines including Howling Dog Press/Omega, Skyline Literary Review and Flashquake. He is winner of the Marija Cerjak Award for Avant-Garde/Experimental Writing 2001, 2002 & 2003. His first novel, ‘Madman Chronicles: The Warrior’, is available at his website: http://pages.prodigy.net/sterner-howe. Music from the novel may be accessed at http://truefire.com/list.html?store=original_music&viewauthor=3554 or www.lulu.com/TomSternerHowe
***

PARTY IN 1607

there”s a party in 1607
reggie he checking it out
kicking back pipe in hand
there be reefer going around
20 scattered people gettin” drunk
and high wasted nights in the casba
reggie he talkin” to young pretty girl,
pretty girl she eyein” the tall native guy
reggie by window now,
couple cool joes shoot the shit
he speaking his best barbados accent,
argument in corner
blood on the floor,
it ain”t nothing he says,
ain”t nothing at all…

hip hop in background
reggie wishing for jazz
but the ladies they all around man,
they slick and whiskey young,
more arguments,
some laugh,
some feel the fear,
reggie collecting money for the drug parade
they huddle by the table,
they light the pipe like it”s a token to the gods,
reggie waves in a young thing of 19 or 20
she already livin” on pluto
among the clouds and the gastown memories,
glassy eyes she looks up,
reggie smiles,
it begins now…

another party in 1603
reggie there now
white boys from middle-class
slumming it for the thrill
reggie he bored
reggie he tired
white girls looking good
everybody flat and humorless
things too easy he thinkin”,
the whiskey comes out
then the grass and the coke
reggie getting along now
entire room in synch,
for awhile,
just awhile,
then the first argument,
it begins now…

we”re at my place,
1803,
few buddies sitting around
we got the whiskey and the grass
reggie talks to me continuously,
“man” he says “you”re place is an island in all this shit”,
“reggie, reggie” i say
“me thinkin”, me thinkin””
i got the sex-pistols on the ghetto
raunchy and anti-everything,
couple women by window
they loving the view,
i”m wondering about their legs,
their eyelashes,
the color of their underwear,
“pretty amazing view” she says,
i smile and introduce her to reggie,
it begins now…
***