In Passing
All Eyes are Watching

The Imperialists watch from a distance,
a distance not too far, but behind the barrier
of dying thorned branches. Branches ready to attack
if they intrude. One masked man attempts to crawl through,
through the spiked branches, into
the bed of roses to meet the flower.

All eyes were watching.

Eyes from the rocks,
eyes from the rulers,
eyes from the beasts breasts.

All he wants is the pretty woman, of whom she does not want.
She teases, he wishes.
Knowing that once he does, he's lost the pride of his country.
Entangled in the obscurity of their one-sided views that dig into his intestines.

The masked man's clothes were darkened by the earth, even at home.
As grass and dirt grew through stones of concrete as well.

Seeking Warmth
Kevin C. Shay

Your arms became snakes, and
they wrapped around me for warmth.
Your legs became pythons, attempting
to squeeze every last bit of heat,
so I succumbed, and gave what you were seeking.

Title
kevin c. shay

Thinking ... for a while, I'd like to start with a title,
a thought, and see where its waves take me.




CHAPBOOK RE-WRITES AND MORE POEMS

Dying Minnesota Relations

Melrose Sestina

Grandpa sat there in his favorite yellow chair
under the shade of the patio roof.
Uncle turned slabs of ribs on the grill.
Little cousins played under the summer sun
in a long yard that stretched to the banks of the river.
Aunts sat inside and shared wine and laughs.

The men drank their beer with Grandpa and shared laughs.
Grandma sat on the porch in her rocking chair.
She was always ready to move for Grandpa, swift like the river,
yet she still had the taste of burgundy on the roof
of her mouth. Beer in brother's mouth cooled him under the tangerine sun.
Uncle painted barbeque sauce on the ribs that smoked on the grill.

Grandpa sweated more than usual while seated next to the grill.
Smoking his Saratoga 120, to himself he laughs.
No one cares; they respect the General that fought many battles under the sun.
He has sat in many a different chair
in his life, under many a different roof
in his life, swum in many a different Pacific River

in his life. None as tranquil as the Sauk River
in his backyard, none as nice as the grill
in his backyard, under his collapsing patio roof,
perhaps the aged beams had their fair share of laughs,
as they sag much like the yellow chair.
Years of abuse have pounded the once proud shirtless sun.

A few of the cousins sit outside and tan under the sun
in their bikinis, on the banks of the river.
A few of the cousins sit outside and create a fire pit next to their chair
with cigarettes in hand. Eyes peer over to see where uncle is on the grill.
They create the most uproarious of laughs,
youthful and exuberant underneath the burning skies of God's roof.

A few others, of all ages play pool underneath the tile less roof
of the basement. The dim light bulb is their setting sun.
They pass around the bottle of Jack, and everyone laughs
when little Thomas creates a river
from his mouth. The whiskey burned him hotter than Uncle's grill.
He sits down in the rotating chair.

Everyone laughs as Grandpa falls through his favorite yellow-woven chair.
A stare as blank as the faded sun, uncle helps him up and he turns off the grill.
Candles are lit underneath the patio roof, everyone gets fat and all is quiet down by the river.







Birch Lake

The dead fish on the edge of the rock beach
decays ,and takes away from the inordinate
beauty.
The beauty of crystal clear glass
reflecting the evenings enormous orange
dying sun.


Big Birch Lake

Screams ran down the dock,
the kind that scream for ice cream,
yet know they will get it … a happy one.

Screams run through the lake bed
to the surface, the kind that scream for help, a playful help … one not in immediate danger.

Screams roar through the air for all
to hear, the kind that scream, hey,
look at me, I am a speed boat master.

And as the clouds begin to build and my uncle
declares it is sticky out, touching the ground I declare it is not sticky. As we all head inside, thunderstorms built from humidity scream.


Cross Lake

Floating on the lakes edge, looking at all
the nice houses, the woman discuss.

Floating on the lakes edge, fishing pole’s
dangling with beer in hand, the men hunt.

Floating on the lakes edge, waiting to reach shore, the kids wait to play.











All Along the Midwest with My Friends and Chicago Sun-Times



At a Music Festival in Kansas with My Best Friend

The clouds were blue, and the sky was white.
Whisks of blue cirrus popped through the white altocumulus.
They were beginning to show their faces ... some blue, some white.
A bunch of smurfs in their funny hats that were all entwined
as though they met at a kaleidoscope point to create a perfect octagon of cartoon hats.

It was time to make mile and half walk though.
We remembered the walk, up the hill...down the hill...up the even bigger hill.
The sun's intensity and the flat top trees made you feel like lions and rhinos would be over the top of the hill in this southern veldt. But there wasn't, instead
some kid dressed in a pink guerilla costume,
and an extra-small lucky charms guy
searching for his pot of gold. Very odd, to say the least.
I mean, there was no fucking rainbow.

We remembered going down this hill before,
I still wish they had a slip n slide all the way down it.
That would have been very refreshing,
Especially if there was a big pool at the end.
Actually, they should just have an inner-tube waterslide that you slide down, and at the bottom, it shoots you back up the hill. Now that would be...

You know there's a bus, right?
Oh, I like to walk though.

The walk was enjoyable. Conversations and laughter on what to do if we had a million dollars.
I'd build a giant water slide in my backyard. Wait,
I'd buy a house with a backyard. Wait,
I'd buy a house. Wait,
I'd buy an apartment. Wait,
if I had a million dollars I could buy a house with a big backyard that I could build a giant waterslide in!
Actually, I’d probably save and invest.

The wind began to blow at our backs
for the final descent up the sides of the Egyptian pyramid hill. We found the grassiest spot to sit on the hill,
mostly dirt. The wind continued to progress,
and you could see lightning flash
over the setting sun behind the stage where
the Flecktones created their own musical lightning.
Fast, flashy, yet beautiful to the eye and ear.
The smoothest crack of rolling thunder I had heard in a long time. The rain poured on us, and we melted into the ground. Kansas we’re not in Todo anymore.














Flood '96

Arlene learned to canoe in a lake of sewage.
Brian learned how to dive off the top of a baseball backstop.
Carrie learned how to beat her brother with a soccer ball, albeit the game was water polo.
Derrick watched and observed, then captured a foot long worm.
Eric lost to his younger sister with a soccer ball for the first time.
Francis was the first to the finished basement ... the water was above the outlets.
Geraldine had an extra day to complete her crossword puzzle.
Ivan helped bail water out of every house, all but terrible.
Jessie was the one that woke the neighborhood up...thank the Lord.
LaVon lost his virginity in the abandoned basement.
Michael shone through shyness, and became a leader.
Natalie listened and began to love, a baby was soon born by the name of
Olivia, brave and always willing to extend her branch.
Percy was out all night partying with his girlfriend
Rachelle, whom got mad and left. She passed out only to wake to lightning and hail in a field with
Scott, it was fun while it lasted before it filled with ten feet of sewage.
Tim realized this, and organized tetanus shots for all those he could.
Ursula tried to make sure that all would not use the same needles.
Vilma was devastated at the loss of her newborn’s birth house with newlywed
Xavier, pissed off at the world went to the bar and stayed out too late, crashed into
Yolanda, a young girl of sixteen trying to make it home before curfew, both died and all showed remorse, except
Zeke, who saw the destruction as a chance to make a quick buck ... he did.








Midwestern Equinox

The old man snored, then awoke with an icy stare.
Angry as hell at the nurse for twisting open the shades.
Another dull day is what he wanted. It was far ... far too bright outside.
The grey days were becoming blue, and kids screamed from the streets playfully.
All this did was remind him that no one cared.
So he snarled as they woke him up, gave him his pills and fed him his breakfast.
He refused too look outside at the leaves that now began to bloom.
Began to bloom greener than the thousands of dead presidents he kept all to himself.
Who would he give them to anyway?
The 5th graders that visited once a week?
No, he didn't want them there. They didn't want to be there.

Joe was always in a little bit of a better mood when he visited the old man these days.
He was arriving in shorts;
not pants, sweatshirt, gloves, a hat and his Cleveland Indians Starter jacket.
But today, the old man was not there. He finally made his peace and went to heaven.
Okay … he went to hell.
And no one cared that the old man that never cried had died.
They were actually all quite happy, especially Joe,
whom hated when the old man's dandruff fell to his knees from above
and was happiest when he could hear the crack of the bat
without standing in 3 feet of snow.

Tornadoes

They roar harder than trains, so often causing devastation darker than their alley.
Mobile homes get tossed a football fields’ length, but no one cares about Tennessee Jeb.
Drunken fools chase them in their vans and trucks,
And get tossed further than ten limousines, impaled by a stop sign, but no one cares about drunken Dave.
Rural Southern Missouri homes collapse on top them, 27 dead, but no one cares about them either.
White Kids in nice communities flee to the inside of their elementary school,
that gets flattened by an EF-5. Fox News covers it, suddenly everyone cares.







Shadows longer than the Sears

Pop!
A strange noise so early,
but not too unusual, so
I continued to sip on my tongue burning
coffee, careful not to burn myself.

The door slammed, startling to say the least,
especially on such a clear spring day.
panicked voices barked unclearly, and my mug
crashed to the carpet creating a stain never forgotten.

I stepped outside into a smoke-filled garage,
masking what was once clear.
Grass once full of life was now
blacker than a smoker's lung.

My helpless hand brought calm and
familiarity to you despite the icy stares of on-lookers curious to see what the commotion was about. Sirens and horns blasted, red and blue had never looked so comforting.

Hastily motioned away, I saw fear
in a my idol's eyes that I never though to exist, a man always composed now shaken like fall leaves, changing colors and wilting.

Being loaded into the back, you attempt to
call for me. I Imagine how dark it must be,
masked operators speaking, speaking in
a different language as you fade in and out.

Time seemed to stop as I watched you go,
helpless, being consoled by t
hose I do not know or want
anywhere around me.

Almost 3 years till I saw your face again, unwrapped from its mummified state.
and even then, it is still not the same, as a face once so handsome now frightens young ones.

I just hope someday you can see mine again, for now, the image of your son is nothing but a shadow, the voice, still that of your boy's. Some day ... some day
you will get to see your son as a man.













Urban Summer


Walk out the door,
To a different environment, and
Sun Shines,
On my way to the corner I
Grab a 50-cent paper,
For my brother

Man, you need weed,
Nah, I’m only 13.
Money for donuts,
Brother a coffee
Be back by 8,
Brother has to work.

Walk past abandonment,
Unmowed Lawns
5-foot fence,
Beware of Dog
Once hip and proud spots,
Now empty lots

Into the apartment,
Up four flights of
Creaky damp stairs,
Fearful to fall through, I
Open the door, an
Aroma of pancakes and stale beer

Brother eat donuts and drinks coffee,
I eat the donuts and lick the jelly.
Brother off to work,
It is almost ten, I
Try to pick up Bob Barker
And Bob Barker on CBS 2.

Back outside,
Getting Cloudy
Getting Humid,
Feels like a storm
Better hurry up,
Get my errands done.

I Walk under the Eisenhower,
Cries from the homeless
Enough money for transit,
It was so much less than
Bout half hour,
Till I get to my friends.

Get back in time for dinner,
My brother brought it from his restaurant
Cubs play at 7:05,
On CLTV
I get to watch the game, as
Brother goes out

Clean the place,
Hope Sammy homer’s and hops,
Watch darkness fall,
Ambulances begin to roar
Lock the doors,
Sit down with my Kool-Aid

Brother gets back,
Got to go to bed
Man, I'm 13,
Brother knows
Got 2 tickets though,
Game at 1:20.

Wake up,
Do everything the same
But meet my brother,
For the 1:20 game.
Life in the city,
Not all that bad


Lake Michigan

We hung out and drank,
On the north shore beach.
The sun never gave us enough time,
To enjoy the full day.
Volleyball, soccer, football and Frisbees tossed into the icy water. A close group of friends never to be forgotten, a group of memories that will always make you remember.


Wisconsin

I travel through you often,
And I do enjoy your cheese and northern woods, yet I continually dislike you and your,
pollution of my favorite Lake Michigan. You are the irresponsible brother of the Midwest.




Leaving School at Noon to Catch the 1:20 Game

These were the best days, with
the smell of Spring's fresh cut grass in the air
A walk to the train station and phony calls to attendance
always felt a little risky, but well worth it,
even if we did have to come in a little early for detention tomorrow.

We'd always ride the top floor of the train into the city,
There was more to see from our youthful eyes.
Old Stone buildings, and new brick ones.
Dilapitated brick buildings, and pristine stone ones.
Forest green backyards with majestic pines, and
dull gray backyards filled wit nothing but cheap rock.
Warehouses full of workers, others abandoned.
Train yards useful, yet breeding crime.
Sometimes we wished the train ride were longer,
but always had to end as we steppted out into the seawage smell
of a dimly lit 100 year old train station.

Sometimes we had money for McDonalds, others not, and
we would walk right to the blue line two blocks south.
After trasnferring to the red via the musically thriving underground subway
tunnel at Jefferson our excitement would grow.
Baseball talk blinded us to the outside world for the last 20 minutes.
Concluding with a walk to the ticket office for a ten-dollar upper deck ticket.

The prices seem so distant now,
even though it was not all that long ago.
With those prices gone,
so are the faces I once traveled with.
With those faces gone,
so is the frequent passionate baseball talk.
With the baseball talk gone,
so are those majestic train rides.
With the majestic train rides gone,
so is the rush of ditching with friends to
enjoy something that used to seem so sacred.

La Chica de Chile

Donde Fue?
La bonita Chica de Chile.

Ahhh, lost montanas .... los sierra nevadas.
Al este de Los Angeles.

Muy mal, me entaba dormir en la cama con tu,
en una tienda con tu,
en la hierba con tu,
nunca en una montana con tu

Tu Puta.