05/17/00: More poems!
by Jen, Highlander host

A New World - A Poem
Quotes taken respectfully from Loreena McKennitt's song "The Old Ways" and the Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode "I Robot, You Jane"

"The old ways are lost. You sang as you flew. And I wondered why." Julia Lambaraski is one of the few remaining members of her kind; A die hard fan of books.

She dedicated her life to the world where fantasy meets reality.

Mark Twain, Jules Vern, Ernest Hemmingway.

It's all the same to her.

She would rather find herself lost in a book than to do anything else.

Bill Gates, Steven Jobs.

"If you're not jacked in, you're not alive."

The harbingers of the new world order.

Trendsetters for the new millennia.

Books aren't important anymore.

They lose their credibility with age.

Worn out, discarded.

The Net. The end to civilization as we know it.

With every accomplishment the world has to offer, there are countless drawbacks and revisions for the future.

Nothing holds.

Everything changes.

Books were at their height for over 1,000 years.

Never again.

Not when we have something better, more reliable within our grasp.

Neighborhood Sandbox

Kids play in the park. Their joyous voices touching the ears of the adults around them.

The children play with each other not caring about if their playmate is different from them in sex, race, or creed.

There only care concerns making mud pies, or playing hopscotch.

These children have not been taught by their parents prejudices and animosities that were instilled in them when they were children.

Everyone happily getting along, not because anyone is forcing them to, but because of the simple fact of having more fun when others come to join.

There are no politics or who can build the bigger and better sand castle.

Again, that is something the parents lack in teaching of their offspring.

It's okay to have fun with others who are unlike yourself. You are the same in where it counts.

And that is what truly matters.

Incomplete Works

Papers piled on top of boxes and crates. On the shag carpeting, on top of the table top of the oak desk.

Every where there are piles of unfinished manuscripts, incomplete thoughts just waiting to be completed.

The one thing they lack is an able-minded writer to meet their needs. The papers lay in unorganized heaps without any sort of reader to entertain. They were meant for the eyes of anxious children and romantic hungry adults.

Never will the papers see the light of day.

They will yellow with age and be kissed by the wisps of dust that gather in the air with age.



Every Tuesday and Thursday, my prison awaits.

Cubic in shape, its large glass doors close me out to the world upon my enterance.

Its dull in color-like most prisons are-not being in color and texture like the world I left behind. I trudge up the long flights of stairs, dragging my feet and whatever I may be carrying at the time. The keepers or my prison are nice in ideals and operation, but even so, my time spend behind the grey walls drag on, bringing me to the near point of insanity.

At last! I'm Free!

...But my shackles of my cell are still binding.

The feeling of dread will not be lifted until the next night spent in my cell when all finished work can be turned in.

Watch for more creative work from Jen in an upcoming edition!