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Poetry || SubmissionsTwo poems by Janet I. BuckThe Scoring of Lambs "I will soon be going out to shape all the singing tomorrows." Gabriel Peri There are no songs in the estimashun. We've heard the same news week after week after week after blood. Bombs and Jerusalem mesh in a word. Same sad soup goes hot, then cold, then hot again. Alleys of eyes covered in oil, living the snag under the match. Where is the camphor, the abbey, the staff - leading the blind from bullets to peace. Scoring of lambs, its hideous shriek, common as hail rifling tin. Angels can't be liking this: this vapor attached to the hate. Bodies return to the cave of a home like turtles withdraw to helmets of shells. God must be wishing he hadn't created a womb and a rod brewing such poison in barrels of guns. Hadn't incited the massacre tools, made prayer black licorice of fences in place. The city again prepares for the dark - talisman of torch by burn. I question the glory of giving a life for a theory of heaven slicing the hand. Bare Fist Dinner with Friends, my calendar reads. A pap smear on Monday, Wednesday to shop. Friday to dust the cobwebs from beams, spiders roaming the silk of their mats. This is America's fertile ease. New York ash sits in my pen, clogging the tip with shades of the black. Time to tortured time, recalling negligees of smoke. The neat, neat square no longer as clean as it was. Choirs gone bad like a grape. A dance without anchors of feet. In Tel Aviv, a melon in markets could harbor a bomb. Bare fist fear is knuckle raw. Knees of prayer in red pastrami from the crouch - peppered and pickled with sights of the dead. Afghan soil, its winding caves, a petri dish for cells of hate spreading their crimson flames from continent to continent. Mass graves multiply their bins of dust. Too much grief, so little fix. The shining sea is cloudy now. A shoebox of pearls might live through the war if not for the ocean of blood staining the rosary's moon. Janet Buck is a frequent contributor to Ariga's e'zine. Here are some more of her poems at Ariga: White Linen Islands in the Deep Achilles' Heels Or visit her wen site at http://members.aol.com/jbuck22874/whatsnew.html for more of her work Today's Situation
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