Christine E. Maylath

Littleton, CO, USA

Christine, who is English by birth and inclination (but has great affection for America, which, she says, has been very good to her), has only recently started writing poetry. She entered a poetry contest and was informed (to her stunned amazement) that her poem would be published in an upcoming anthology by The National Library of Poetry. She has a second poem due for publication in 1998. She has been influenced by the writings of Woody Allen and Arthur Miller. Christine says she finds writing poetry to be cathartic, as she is able to express her true thoughts and feelings without being looked at askance! She has been married for 34 years and has raised two children. She has a B.A. Degree in Speech Communications. She is a past member of Toast Masters International during which time she received numerous trophies and awards for her speeches.

"M"

I watch Him.
He dances with an intense ferocity,
And his body glistening with sweat
is a siren call to me;

And I am obsessed.

But he is just an image on the screen,
And I can no longer face the reality of knowing
I shall never feel his touch
never have his eyes stare into mine;

For I am obsessed.

Instead I welcome the oblivion of insanity
For within it I have found peace.
Now I can light up the screen and bring his image
to dance for me again, and again, and again;

For I am obsessed.

Emptiness

They have gone, along with their laughter
which permeated throughout the house.
Now there is only a piercing silence
as that of an unwanted church.
The do not know the void they have left,
and if they did
it would be of no significance to them.
I dare not tell them of the love I feel,
their irritation would be obvious.

The erosion of self-pity devours me
as I pace these empty rooms.

But wait!
Escape is near.
the insidious charm of television beckons.
I crawl upon the couch
and is hypnotic beam enshrouds me;

but the emptiness remains.

Diana

The tangled mass of metal is reflected in their camera lenses.

And a Princess lies dead.

The twisted hulk of cold steel is ominously silent
broken only by the sound of continuous clicking cameras
which devour her as she lies within;

And a Princess lies dead.

Finally the clicking stops,
and like the proverbial rats they scurry back into their holes
clutching tightly onto their cameras
as they eagerly await their next victim;

And a Princess lies dead.