Willow Lake Press
The following are spoke word compositions. These works are fiction and bear no resemblance or likeness to anyone living or dead. All opinions and interpretations expressed here are entirely the authors. Copyrights are held by the respective authors.

The authors are: Sylvie Being (not her real name,) Elizabeth Hill, Gregory Springer, Spider Watkins.
Elizabeth Hill © 2000
Spacer That day
You could have said yes
And then became silent
As you imagined the maybe
Leaving room in your heart

And the ways of the lightness
As it entered our room
How the kettle would steam
And the floor fan would hum
Lights off in the bedroom
Dishes wait in the sink

A bush crisp with the heat
A tree ladened with blossoms
A bouncing bundle held close
In blue, yellow or pink

And later, grand ceremonies
With a tassle or white veil
Or tailored bow tie
On the side we would stand
Soon their own bouncing bundle
Would be loved by our joy

Until it's too soon
And the setting of sun
When under it's warmth
We would sit in rememberance
Of the days before twilight
Then our last goodnight kiss

But under that sun
A different path taken
I now sit and imagine
The maybe and wonder
When you could have said yes
And then in your silence
Began the new start
Of our unbroken life

Yes (I think now)
You could have said
Grass of Stars
Gregory Springer © 1998
Spacer She is like petals,
Round edges,
Full slim stalk,
Velvet color lacing into lavender.

She is like water,
Moist kisses,
Foam bubbles whirl,
Dipped cloth darkens.

She is like sun,
Dappled shadows, light,
Leaves firm rustle,
Grass color flowing into forest.

She is like weather,
Unknown tides,
Rise rivers, fall night,
Move Earth true and beckons.

My breath is out from me,
Shoulders up then slowly down,
Head tilt to one side,
A view of night star sky.

I lay in that grass of stars,
Blades tickle at my cheek,
Aromas wild with sense,
Dewing toward morning's light.

Sun beams wake my eyes,
I turn to hold and find empty,
Longing or another word will due,
Her breath so brief remains.

I rise from this grass of stars,
Kneeling then standing,
Then begin to walk,
Of what direction shall this take?

Suddenly, what?
It is in the wind, Her,
She calls true and beckons,
Onward and soon we find together.
The Glass Unicorn
Elizabeth Hill © 1998
Spacer I have a glass unicorn like the girl in the story. I sit in my chair in the late afternoon light. It was won for me by a boy I once knew at a carnival we attended in the spring.

The carnival worker issued a challenge and my handsome young boy shyly accepted. With luck, and what seemed like, a little bit of practice, he won for me my tiny glass horse.

The unicorn breaks this afternoon's light into a prism of wonderful colors. They spread across the front of my dress and turn the glass horse into gemstones.

Now the sun has moved past the sill of my high window and my gemstone horse is again only glass.

I return my tiny horse to it's place on the shelf. Knowing tomorrow gives another sun and another afternoon of wonderful hope.
Secret Smile
Spider Watkins © 1998
Spacer Damnit!

Why can't I ever get the girl.
I know.
It's my face.
(I look up into the bathroom mirror.)

My God.
How could anyone ever love
A face like mine.
(I sigh.)

Just some loser.

(I make an "L" shape with the thumb and the first finger of my right hand and press the back of my hand against my forehead. The mirror makes the "L" backwards so I switch and use my left hand. Now it's an "L".)

If only for a day
I could be someone else.

Walk with someone else's feet.
Shake with someone else's hand.
Smile with someone else's teeth.

But I would still be looking out of my eyes.
Could anyone tell?
(I have to think about this one.)
I could wear sunglasses!

I would have a smooth even tan.
My muscles would be firm.
I would walk shoulders back.
With my head up and a slight smile.

A smile to everyone I met.

I'd smile because I had a secret.
I was really someone else.

(I'd say)
"I am Somebody!"
"People DO give a damn about me."

(I'd say)
"I am Important!"
"People DO respect me."

Then I'd get the girl.
My own girlfriend.
All that day I'd have everything.

(I look at my face in the mirror. At my unhealthy complexion. My slumping, weak posture. And then my pudgy, soft belly. And now I'm looking at my feet.)

Sylvie Being © 1998
Spacer There is pollution in my nose
It's the stink of your thoughts
Slowly dripping from your tongue
Collecting on your shoes
As your eyes creepy-crawl the room
Your fingers through peppered hair
Your hand, jaunty, on your jutting hip
An icy drink getting my hand wet

Or worse

Your gaze falling on another
Barely able to contain it's lusty affectations
As if in comparison to me
As if you could even judge me
But why stop there
When you can ask me
Like so many others I presume
For a contact number
Some way to "Get a hold" of me
For a deal I wouldn't want to miss
In a room full of them
Where they are so full
I become the anomalous element


In the brackish water of their thoughts
I am untainted desire
Child-like curiosity
Even a positive mental outlook
My cleanliness is their pollution

I hate literary agents
The Window
Gregory Springer © 1998
Spacer A picture of life
Is hung on the wall
In golden blue hues
Of yellow and green

The long lines show life
And the short lines show living
They all blend together
To play out a scene

Of a sunny warm day
Or a white light lit room
In the seat of your car
Or in bed until noon

The sun on the bricks
Of a busy tall building
Is cool to the eye
And warm to the hand

The grass is a stream
Beneath spreading leafed trees
By black tops with lines
Where motor cars roam

A distance where power lines
String through the fields
Past the tower of water
And horizon of haze

Past an ocean of green
That fades into blue
Out the window I look
Thinking dreamily of you
Gregory Springer © 1998
Spacer Come lie by my side
While raindrops fall
And leaves are blown from the trees

Come lie by my side
Let this storm between us pass
My heart with yours and yours with me
Gently the Mask
Spider Watkins © 1998
Spacer Why

Oh why do you cry
And why
Why do you put me down
But still put up with me
Can't you see
This isn't love?

Tell me

Is it something better
For you
Than being alone
When your mother phone's
Asking who is the flame
And when is the wedding?


A stick of wood
In your fire
I am here
Beside other embers you hold dear
And your memories
Of faded romance


I know it's not me
That you love
And not them your heart feels
It's the impossible ideals
That you love
The way you want us to be

It's not me

That you love
But someone from a novel
Or a self-help book
Not me with my look
Instead you gently apply the mask
To the face that you kiss
My 'Volv-e
Sylvie Being © 1998
Spacer Relationships


Then dissolve

In an effort

To establish love

We start out

We meet

We talk


Then dissolve

With hope



With hope


Gregory Springer © 1998
Spacer Light, shadow
Light, shadow

In a blue sky growing orange
It dives through into our world
Spinning in mermaid's hair clouds
Bathing in a floating droplet
Bouncing off a passing jet
Vaulting then arching
Then illuminating fullness
In the round fluffy tops
Of softer places
In these skies

Nimble on tree tops
It swims through leaves and blossoms
Slipping down a branch onto a roof
Racing along an eave
Tumbling across a balcony rail
Pressing window and blinds
Reaching for you
It's long journy's end
To caress your skin
And sparkle in your eyes.

Light, shadow
Light, shadow

Settling Down
Gregory Springer © 1999
Spacer Sugar is poured
Into a glass
Of tart ice cold
The first stir, quick
Swirls and dances
Gently falling
Settling down
To rest and remain
Until the last few sips
Bring sweetness again
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