The HyperTexts

dONNA m. dAVIS-pRUSIK

Ms. dONNA m. dAVIS-pRUSIK started writing creatively instead of practicing during Typing Class in High School. Hence flunking typing, eventually turning the accumulated error-ridden nonsense into poetry and some short stories.

She has been published in several area short-lived publications; has worked for an area newspaper; published in a local newspaper; participated in Radio and Television Broadcasting; volunteered for Metropolitan Organization To Counter Sexual Assault out of Kansas City Missouri; held two positions at two separate Community Theatres as Actor and Costumer; and is currently active as an Advocate for the Animal Justice League of America; and is involved in various other pursuits involving the outdoors, enveloping animals of all kinds but specifically, a love of horses.

Creativity comes to her in spite of three cats and a dog leaving hair everywhere. But her favorite thing to this day is relaxing and letting a keyboard take control of her thoughts. She calls it "Prostitution Of The Mind".  And Yes, she actually has a poem under that title.



HIDE AND SEEK

hide and seek is its name
the game I was taught to play
many years ago before I learned

R U N A W A Y
L I T T L E G I R L
R U N A W A Y

into the musty breathless barn
Uncle pulls me by the arm
the thrill of brother racing by
such a perfect place to hide
makes me laugh and giggle inside

but SILENCE I'm told
by Uncle's strong hand

arm raised I point toward the sun
into the yard where brother runs
searching wondering where sister could be
THERE is where I want to go
Uncle's finger to lips
---a signal so clear

QUIET CHILD
SO NO ONE HEARS
changes thrill
to fearful surprise

I've seen them once or twice
things called snakes
with lidless unblinking eyes
and flicking tongues
that mesmerize

but these are UNCLE'S EYES
UNCLE'S TONGUE
and UNCLE'S HANDS
in the darkness of the barn

hide and seek
it's not the same
it's not the game
I thought it was

please listen I beg
and don't forget
if touches feel wrong
remember this song

there is no secret
worth this shame
there is no game
worth this pain
----then----

R U N A W A Y
D E A R C H I L D
R U N A W A Y



The Chrysalis Surrenders

she stood with head held high
watching the sun struggle to rise
out of the relentless grasp of the sea
her wind-tousled hair
a land-locked cousin of the kelp
streamed away from questioning eyes
as her heart reached out desperately
toward fragments of sunshine
that tickled the receding night sky

why couldn't she remember
when dinosaurs reigned here
why couldn't she remember
the huge boulders that now
were no more than tiny grains of sand
covering the beach below her

once there were trees, grass and
fertile soil that nurtured life forms
much different than those existing now
the fish, land, and sea creatures
all the wondrous living things of the earth
that lie there, waiting, watching
able to float in and out
with whatever tide their bodies felt
able to follow their instincts
to a special place
locked somewhere within their memories
from centuries of pre-existence

in and out, waves rocked against the beach
like some monstrous unstoppable clock
everything still the same, but different
man comes and man goes
but the essence of nature itself
remains the same

what majesty was in the austere beauty
that stretched out before her
and in the realization that
such beautiful simplicity resulted in survival
everything appeared limitless in existence
as compared to one mere human life

leaning into the slight breeze
she filled her lungs with biting sea air
threw back her head to glimpse
the last remaining star in the sky
then returning her gaze
to the waves on the beach
lurching in and out - in and out
she let her soul dive into the sea
retaining the memory of a young woman
poised on a ledge
watching sea waves
pulse like an eternal heartbeat
against the shore



White-Eyed Cherokee Child

i remember my father's face as clearly
as the rain falling outside the window
i remember the stoic silence i read
from his heart shielded by his eyes -
mirrors of nothing more than more mirrors
reflecting back what you could not see

no truth lives here

admitting truth hurts worse than death
my native american ancestry pulls at my soul
yanking at my existence with fierceness
surviving scorn - tenacity of shame remembered
yet the white man in me pules and whines

the red man inside cannot get free

the caretaker, the avenger, the judge
the planner, the dreamer, the seeker ~
the movie geronimo makes my heart ache
in rhythm with the sound effects
mimicking prehistoric animals' calls

and we are

the progressively educated human
has survived centuries over many species
because they possess the most vicious
basic beliefs and survival trait of ~

me first - you second -
if I let you live

the same as it has been for millennia
conquer the body - you conquer the mind
conquer the mind - you conquer the soul
conquer the soul and the species sinks

into extinction

so i collect balls, pens, paper, ideas,
stones, books, flowers, fabric, sparkly things
paltry items of insignificant human value
symptoms of slavery - symbols of desire

and i think

and i write down confused thoughts
always hoping that one day my history
and all history will be the same
and the force of that emerging power will

set the red man inside free



HOLY WAR

Righteous man with your tie so straight
Boots neatly polished and perfectly laced
Righteous man with your T-shirt askew
Baseball cap backwards and designer tennis shoes
Righteous man with burnoose so white
Righteous man smoking crack all night
Righteous woman with a dot on your forehead
Righteous woman near-naked almost dead
Righteous woman face veiled in black
Righteous woman talking behind backs
Righteous one sacrifice yourself for your Lord

No matter how hard you try they won't go away
It's a Holy War and blind as they are
In their all-seeing wisdom of truth
Describe them, define them, bound by one goal
To convert every possible person's soul
If not convinced, genocide works well
To convert their obstinance to fodder for hell
All men are equal in the eyes of the Lord
This is a Holy War whose cost we cannot afford
...Best we remember before no one is left to forget...

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