Some of my work, copyrighted and already published

Copyright Sara L. Russell 1998

Wrapped in vanilla air
with fresh-washed hair
I approach you and your unsuspecting yawn
like an evening shadow over a lawn

Dressed for passionís kill
when the night is still
I come wrapped ready to be undone
a present with a future soon on the run

I am temptationís tongue
while the night is young
The future author of your past regret
though you do not even know me yet

Saviour or nemesis
to kill or kiss
close your eyes, blindly enter the dream
where love flows smooth and silken without seam.

Copyright Sara L. Russell 6/10/98

One day, at the beauty parlour,
Miss Betty Bea Vanilla
found herself in the waiting room
with a large, depressed gorilla.

"What are you in for?" she asked,
as if nothing were amiss.
The gorilla sighed as it replied:

Copyright Sara Russell 1997 Shortlisted by Capricorn International Poetry Competition 1997.

"What is a poem?" the question was posed.
We sat thinking as sun and wine combined
until someone said that they supposed
it was a pattern of words that rhymed;
but a wiser speaker shook her head
smiling sagely, as if she knew,
and turning to the speaker said
"That is simply, but not wholly, true."

"For when raw emotion, born of fate
or words we always meant to say
that only found our lips too late
find speech on paper: in this way
poems are born, like silent songs
and the poet leaps to centre stage
and emotion runs to where it belongs
as the colors of language sear the page."

A colourful silence swiftly fell.
We turned to her in some surprise:
she had more depth than we could tell
or ever read into her eyes.
"A toast to poetry" said I.
We stood up in the evening sun
reflecting on the amber sky
and the poetry hidden in everyone.

Click here for 'MALEDICTION' A fantasy horror poem illustrated with animated gifs! May take up to 4 minutes to download.

IN SEARCH OF ANGELS (copyright Sara Russell published in the anthology REALMS OF GLORY by Forward Press, early 90's).

Upon some past and distant day
I thought I heard love's music play
saw Dante's angels rise and fall
and Babel was crumbling through it all.
Communication was breaking down
in country, continent and town
and whither did the angels fly
when tongues of fire passed us by?

Sweet mercy's heralds on the wing
I thought I stopped to hear them sing
new colours gave they to us all
strange languages and ways withall.
I knew my brethren never more
nor what the diversity was for
save to set one man against the next
and have mankind forever vexed...

Strange ways we walk, strange tales we weave
the more our children to deceive
perpetuating moral lies
through generations of poisoned eyes
who only see that black is white
on a lesser scale, with no grace or might
and that dark or different walks alone
and language is slingshot to be thrown.

And whither did the angels fly
when tongues of fire passed us by
when divided waters joined again
when came the end to Noah's rain?
Can it be we are alone
so quick to cast judgmental stone
so slow to see, in each other's face
the beating wings of love and grace?

Notes: This poem is basically about the dual tragedies of racism and language barriers.

Copyright Sara Russell 1997.

The evening falls, a hush descends
heavy with tears: the clouded sky.
Soft-singing from the circle of friends
- a requiem, a lullaby,
and shuttered eyes see no more pain
crossed arms have no cross to bear,
and we will never see again
such beauty of soul in one so fair.

THE RECURRING NIGHTMARE (copyright Sara Russell 1997).

Deep in the night
shadows stand long
eclipse of light
I am not strong
and sleep is a pit
lying in wait
send me an angel
before it's too late

Deep in the black
before letting go
no turning back
time turns so slow
and sleep is an ocean
where ghosts fall and rise
send me an angel
to dry these tired eyes.

Over the Styx
Hades awaits
sleep is a feather
blown by dark fates
sleep is a fall
into the unknown.
Send me an angel
I feel so alone.

Click here if you dare for THE MUSIC OF BELIAL! Contains a MIDI file - may upset Macintosh computers

THE LOVING CAT Copyright Sara Russell. 1995. Currently with a Cat magazine publisher to be read.

Only to lie where you have been
to follow where you go
to chase, amid the leafy green
the leaves and twigs you throw.
I fall down fawning at your feet
you're everything I see
for you provide the things I eat
and you
to me.

NEW BROOM Copyright Sara Russell 1997. Currently with a publisher to be read.

After sun, rain.
After pleasure, pain.
And the woman sweeps with a new broom
for a new look in an old room
and the clock ticks and the hour glass
marks a new twist to an old farce...

And the words die
as they pass by:
woman past man with her dustpan
man with TV, looking deadpan,
and no words are ever spoken
passing smiles, now, only token...

Ah, my poor friend,
and the dreams end
and your voice cries on my telephone
and I feel your fear of being alone,
but I can only watch as the dust flies
as your wounded

Here's a short one in Dutch - not good enough at it yet to write a long one. Kindly corrected by Margaret, my Dutch tutor.

Het schitterende water
het boeinde Leidseplein
het goede en 't kwaade
neem ik allebei voor mijn.
Kanalen, kleine boten
Kumijne kaas met boterham...
Wanneer zal ik lopen
nog een keer in Amsterdam?

REVENGE OF THE POPPLE PEOPLE Copyright Sara Russell 1997. Currently being read by established publisher.

swift and sly
out of the corner of my eye
through the space beneath the door
they scuttle out across the floor.
Do not speak of those I see
keep it between you and me
don't you tell
for if you do
I'll be hauled away and they'll find you too!

On the stairs
in the hall
under the curtain, swift and small,
something moves behind the chair
I turn to look, there's nothing there,
but they ARE there, from when I wake
they know every move I make
they're hiding
where I can't quite see
they're laughing and the joke's on me...

A spider drops
on a silken strand
to run like a disembodied hand
horrible though it may be
it's as nothing next to those I see
with eight long legs and bloated shape
prickling the fine hairs at my nape
it will pause
when they appear
caught in a chilling web of fear...

swift and sly
out of the corner of my eye
slipping in and out of sight
they dog my step by day and night.
How I wish they'd go away
but I know they're here to stay
So don't you tell
for if you do

MOONWISH Copyright Sara Russell July 1997

In the moon's veil
where the clouds spin
swathes of mist to wrap the night in
to muffle out the cold, with diamond stars in every fold
I cast my wishes there:
light bait in deep-space air...

And I wish deep
in my REM-sleep
for a day of time suspended, where good times go unended
where Beautiful and Clever run hand-in-hand forever
and I won't have to know
when it's time for you to go.

RAGE OF PHAROES. Copyright Sara Russell 1996. Currently being read by a publisher.

For centuries we slept beneath the soil
amongst the treasures of our earthly days
we little knew how rough hands would despoil
our sepulchres, and downwards crudely gaze
into the dark recesses of each tomb
to see our poor decrepit nudity
and tear us from our rest as from the tomb
tainted by their rank impurity.

My king does swell the Styx with bitter tears
our sorrow calls the baleful eye of Ra
to watch and curse the days of all their years
those who steal our gold and cinnabar
our necklets wrought with turquoise at the rim
our golden cats with eyes of malachite
while ashes lie from temple lamps grown dim
like pools of blackened tears in death's deep night.

We invoke the fire of the sun
all the dead still deep within the earth:
Come tear them down before their life is run!
Burn them, leaving no means of rebirth!
Come, ill-fortune, twist and blight their days!
Come, serpents, through the sockets of their eyes!
That they may no longer crudely gaze
on our repose, our doors to Paradise.

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