Five Poems

By Abby Coleman

Damon (for Jake)

He seems quite ordinary...
on the outside
More mundane and typical
than not.
His demeanor is dull,
He hides his other self
His esoteric self
His erotic self
His higher self
from the world
He is secluded
Keeping far away
what you know to be
His eyes remain low,
away from
the painful looks of
that appear only
throughout his mind.
And when he inclines
to communicate verbally
his cramped voice
carries lightly...
But, GOD, to hear
the words he utters,
the lyrics he sings
His whole meaning.
Suddenly he is filled with
You feel it too, and on
he speaks.
As his artful lips
sculpt his flowing truths
His thin coverings
Crumble quietly.
And, before you
He stands confidently
Unaware of his effect
Not sure if you are
taking in every word
Instantly in a flash
of intense emotion
His appearance is reversed.
The details of his being PUSH.
He's not so pale
He's not as timid or lifeless.
But, his body
sweats loneliness.
The amber lines of hair
climbing his arm.
The sharp, protruding bones
of his collar
His confused phrases
go not of love.
He doesn't understand
He relies on assumption and
you forgive him
you feel the same
He glances up word,
smiles cotton white,
His release..
You shudder and pull back
And, almost as though he's
dared himself,
He tastes your lips,
hot, trembling, wet.
Then, just as before,
he sits alone
with you. Returning
He is your secret
As you are his
He does it to you
He does it for you
And he'll do it again..


Feeling lazy
Starring comfortably
at your face
Rivers of moonlight
washing through
my open window
landing kindly
on your ankle.
Its hotter than
August or July.
It floods my room
with heat.
Slow summer music
is playing far off and
It's peace itself.
You do not stir
under you fabrics.
I'm sticky delirious,
but the air doesn't hit me.
Its pointed at your
powdery figure.
I thirst and drink in
your coolness.
I lay back
in the bed
away from you,
sheets aside,
and listen to your world.
You miss it, but I
I soak it up.
I'm drenched in
your August.


He got up &
crossed the room.
He didn't enjoy
her stares.
His eyes were fixed
on another.

She's Nothing Special

You are blonde
With waving Summer
Sticky eyes.
Towering above
The all of us.
You have fun
Telling it with greens.
Jumping out on
Sunburnt leg's cool breeze.
Sometimes sad
Your mind Sing
Song of wild poets.
Earth winds you
I watch you go.
I pull you back.
You are sweet.
Morally you fell
With Values.
Fair, full of truth.
I know you'll win.


By the time I could look
through my worldly window
and see far beyond
an image so familiar,
my lines were folding outward.
the voices more persistent.
The others
As untraveled, unprepared and stupid
as I, felt no pumping.
their eyes closed
pinned shut by something taught,
the likeness of themselves,
and it ached
Their signs burned in hell
like their word on word
filled me overflowing
for who I saw out
the window
Now, I slam my hands
pulpy and bloody
to stop them
but the visions depth is too buried.

Abby Coleman, 17, is a high school senior in Boulder, Colorado. Abby loves theater, especially Shakespeare, plays cello, will make it in film!, listens to all sides, music music music, loves to hear the positive side for once. Abby can be mailed at guildenstern@usa.pipeline.com
©1996 Oasis Magazine. All Rights Reserved.