SUE RHYNHART

The Berries I Never Picked
Believe not words they say, lowly gods' Pens power strikes lightning quick cross page But you stand callused hands, you soften sod Live bushes rise amongst sweet summer's sage Labor long, sweat'n'wet words perfectly Your dart like tongue such bends, bushes break Blood red like Picasso's woman worldly Fall flower, hair jet black, retards our slake Amused muse music planted, dreams in-jest Dynamic faith it takes, loving lines Refuting fiend. I dreamt of you; dark quest We trod until sweet death, never in time To find that child from past had writ he knew Secrets of berries found in mountain snow.

     Guard The Heart


for Simon Vinegoog
	I pour the wine



it makes no sense to stop --



		          dying



	everybody talks about dying



	instead of dandelions



	blooming between sidewalks



& awkward green grass.

For

Will em DeKooning



the shovel

pointed

       	round

the corner,

grave day. I

plucked  dan

        delions

an' fitted

clover

	round

the yellow

blossoms.

We laughed 

about the

waste of casket.        Are we not as waste-

ful?       The racoon lay sound, rumpled by

dog's teeth,      untouched by our pity.  An'

you my love wanted a wooden cross.   I

want not to be a woman titted and spiked

a lover's

sacrifice.

You found

    death on

your shovel

spun it in-

to the fresh

black hole.

With a splash

the flowers

fell and

	scoop

by scoop

       beautiful

   dirt fell.

SLEEP POEM
It is now that I go to sleep.



The bunny is in his coop with a carrot.



I feel sorry that he is caged but at least



he has a bunny-ramp and gets fed fresh fruit



and bread.  My son is learning about the holocaust



He wants my opinion.  I don't know enough.



I am Euro-American, specifically German.



We go to the library for more information.



We take out books and read them to each other.



I have never been fond of the human race or our



claims of humanness to others, animals or how we treat



the environment.  As it turns out our beastliness



has been unleashed over and over again through history.



It is my son that asks why?  A fear of another's prawns



smelted by fear based on greed and hatred.  Will it happen



again, my son asks.  I say if you sense it is happening



fight like hell, believe your heart and if you die know



that I am there on the other side holding your hand



both of us framed in morning light soft, to begin again.