My backyard fence was probably the most traversed place in my whole yard. To get to the fence, I had to squeeze through a narrow gap between a sharp evergreen and a pungent forsythia bush. As a child, this fence seemed like a great wall with an unknown force drawing me to the other side.
        Before my parents allowed me to climb over  my fence, I would sit under the yellow canopy of drooping forsythia branches and enjoy the sweet smelling flowers. I’d gaze through the chain link and imagine what great adventures I could have with the neighbor kids, if I could go over that fence. After school, both my neighbor and I would run home to our backyards to talk and pass sticks through the fence. To pass the time, we would spend hours trying to disentangle grape vines from the fence, stopping to snack on a few when they were ripe. We would weave crowns with the broken vines or wilted branches from the forsythia, and we would craft swords from fallen branches out of their maple tree. With these effects, we would wage grand battles through the fence until we were separated by the call for dinner. When I found a baseball in the school field, I could not wait to take it home to share with my neighbor. Together we wore the skin off that baseball playing catch, seeing who could throw it the highest or farthest, and trying to throw it through the diamonds between each link. The fence drew us together.
        My parents finally gave in to my ample requests and decided that I was officially "old enough to climb the fence." I rushed out of my house and darted between the evergreen and forsythia to tell my friend the great news. After getting consent from his parents, I clambered up the fence for the first time. The first time was a struggle. It was hard to get foot holds in the small openings. It seemed dizzyingly tall. Although it was one small step, I was thrilled when I set foot in the foreign land because I would finally be able to explore what I had observed through the fence and dreamed about for so long.
        His yard was full of wonders that mine did not have. He had a play set with two swings and a slide, a large plastic log cabin play house, and a deck, which was a novelty compared to the concrete slab my house had. I quickly looked past these things; why would I waste my time on a swing when I could run around and play games without a fence impeding me. When we played baseball, the section of the fence where our yards met was always home plate. At school all my other friends only talked about video games and television shows.  I tried the video games they talked about, but when I tried them I never understood the thrill of sitting on a couch and controlling an image. Being outside under my forsythia bush or running around with my neighbor appealed to me. It was where I felt the most natural and where I felt I could be myself.
        That section of fence behind the forsythia bush and evergreen tree impacts me still, even though I have moved away and have not laid eyes upon those yellow flowers in years. Whenever I am presented the option between watching a movie or going outside to walk or play catch, I will always opt for the latter. Something about a light breeze or a rustle of leaves or the song of a bird as it flies over helps relax me and ease away the day's tensions. I attribute this to the freedom I felt under the forsythia. Free from judging eyes, free from problems of the world, free from expectations.

The Fence

A wooden fence once surrounded my home
Which I had hoped would keep out all intruders-
It was the fence my father had built
Years before his passing

Alive always inside a world of my own
I had built myself a different sort of fence-
One made of spoken words and angry gestures
That would ward away intruders I believed were always out to harm me.

A wooden fence can simply be sawed or broken down
When one is motivated to do so
And locks to their gates can be opened with a key
Therefore a wooden fence most likely will not shut the world out.

My own fence has shut the real world out
My soul and spirit are protected.
My special fence keeps me sheltered from the world outside
And is built from barbed wire of my imagination.

My mother and my father have passed away years ago-
They shall never become part of my private world –
It was not my wish that they would have ever been, as
They were forever trying to break down that fence that guarded my castle in the sky.

Now I am living in a different place in time-
Far from the wooden fence surrounding what was once my family’s home
Life is safer and not as threatening now
But I still with caution carry with me that extraordinary fence of my dreams.

Someday I hope that I can find that phantasmal key
That key that would unlock the gate to that protective fence of mine-
So that I could step out side, if only for a brief moment-
And hopefully learn that the real world is not a place to fear.

I hope that one day I shall awaken to a rainbow on my horizon
And that fence I have hidden behind for all the days of my life
Shall vanish as did the wooden fence had after so many years-
And I can find new freedom while I give thanks that I no longer have to be afraid.

Claudia Krizay

Before you start reading this I feel I must tell you, this is long and very possibly, very very boring but, so very important to me and hopefully to my dedicated*


I sat back upon cracked heels
that represented, simply,
just a good place to sit
Somewhere close to the ground
where I could trail fingertips
in the dirt, drawing pictures
of deserted castles
and skeleton butterflies
with wings of fractutured glass
and fairies
with silken headdresses
of thorns
and Unicorns,
missing their horns
and other creatures
of similar ilk

Staring at the fence,
Fifty million years high
I sigh
because beyond the fence
in a babble of voices
they whisper of
Contentment
The underlying sentiment
of precocious antic dotes
spilling precious needs upon
any slight breeze
drifting like glowing dust motes
fills me with a resentment
that is voraciously ferocious
because they
spoke to each other
while all I had was dirt
beneath my fingernails
and partially deformed nightmares
that blew away
on the slightest exhale

As I cleaned the slate
with a flick of my wrist
Rain turned to mist
my dust board of memories
became a mud pile
I couldn't smile
I could hardly even frown
I was still as close as I could ever be
to the ground
I was now no longer kneeling
I was laying with one cheek
against my impression of Calliope,
who is carvorting silently
with rucked up skirts and lute in hand
but not longer in motion
just a muddied mess of dirt and tears
capturing all my naked fears
erased beneath a spirit
that hides in the dirt
on the other side of the fence

This is where he found me
All ragged and breathing stale air
All gasping for solace
trying to wrap myself in warmth
of the voices
from the other side of the fence
It was not blanket sized
more just a crocheted square
enough to cover my heart
which needed the warmth
I swear, I went cold so often
that the dirt that remained
under my fingernails
was the only thing
that kept my fingers warm

He crouched beside me
and said softly
What have we here?
Oh baby bird with broken wing
but whose song I did hear sing
Little Callista, mute from your screams
Broken from your nightmares
that started as dreams...
I saw you through the fence

As I stared into tapestry eyes
and followed the outstretched hand
that didn't try to touch me
sensing my fragility
He pointed to a pinprick space
devoid of concrete and mortar
Just inches from my dirtied face
in the Fifty million year high fence
he graced me with a weary look
I heard you ask once
while chasing skeleton butterflies
if they came from over fence...
Would you like a look?

He stood up over ten feet tall,
simply clasped his hand together
With eyebrow raised
and a twitch to lips
he invited me to stand
with a nod of his head
and a flick of eyes to the fence
I simply unwove all my dreams
and delicious unfantasies
stood, put a hand on his shoulder
a ***** foot in his palms
and he hoisted me

What I saw over the fence was
Magical, Mystical
a complete break to my reality

A simple garden of verdant green
the sublime shade of an unspoken tree
a single little girl
with ten thousand voices
spilling from her lips
from her I caught
just a small crocheted square
on the other side
but it still made no sense
what I saw,
hanging from the fence
until I looked back down
into taperstry eyes
that smiled
with a knowledge of Soloman
having pulled apart
and put back together
a struggling humanity
He simply grinned at me
and trumpeted
She is you, she writes Poetry
You are her and I, We, believe
in both of you.
As you can clearly see
there is nothing beyond the fence
that you cannot be

And he simply bent his knees
and lifted his hands
to the Sun
and toppled me over the fence
so I could, again
become one

A Black House and a White House,
       Lived on opposite ends and worlds,
Were merely divided by a Grey Fence.

The Black House made bricks of unknown,
                  So the Grey Fence was taller,
The White House made bricks of misjudgment,
            So the Grey Fence was wider.
The White House dug trenches of resentment,
                Then the Grey Fence had depth,
The Black House made bob-wires of pride,
                     So the Grey Fence had spikes.

The Black House and White House
Made improvements to the Grey Fence,
Until it was insurmountable, but hence
Came at the expense of the land of their houses.

They went back to living in their own worlds.
Settlers saw opportunity in the Grey Fence.
Doors, windows, furniture made it into house.

The Grey House was the tallest,
Wideness made it the biggest,
With trenches and bob-wires as protection,
The beaut besting between the three.

The White House got a sour sledgehammer,
The Black House an envious ripping bar,
The White House a jealous jackhammer,
The Black House a beguile bulldozer.

Both houses were going hammer and tongs,
Trying to demolish what they had built.
Minutes, hours, day after day and beyond
But the Hate, the Grey Fence, was rock solid.

There once was a little boy who had a bad temper. His father gave him a bag of nails and told him that every time he lost his temper, he must hammer a nail into the back of the fence. The first day the boy had driven 87 nails into the fence. Over the next few weeks, as he learned to control his anger, the number of nails hammered in daily gradually dwindled down. He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive nails into the fence. Finally the day came when the boy didn’t lose his temper at all. He told his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to hold his temper. The days passed and the young boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were gone. The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. He said, “You have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one. You can put a knife in a man and pull it out but it won’t matter how many times you say “I’m sorry”, the wound is still there. A verbal wound is just as bad as a physical one”.

I see your bags all packed for leavin’
And I’m sure you have a reason
But there ain’t no reason I could understand.

You tell me you need freedom
And I wish I could believe ya
But I think your ‘freedom’ means another man.

So if freedom’s just a cover
And you’re leavin’ for another
Here’s my advice – I hope it makes some sense

You should compare the life your choosin’
With the one that you’ll be losin’
Cuz the grass ain’t always greener on the far side of the fence.

No the grass ain’t always greener on the far side of the fence –
Sometimes it’s a confusing shade of brown
Compare the life your choosin’
With the one that you’ll be losin’
Life might not be better on the other side of town.


Yeah, he’s probably real good lookin’
Tells you he just loves your cookin’
Takes you clubbin’ and goes dancin’ all night long.

But at night when you are sleepin’
Midnight memories come creepin’
Do you shed a tear when you hear our favorite song”

Think hard before you cut the cord,
Don’t choose a life you can’t afford
Don’t ever want you having no regrets.

Consider what you’re doin’,
And all the lives you’ll ruin
The grass might not be greener on the far side of the fence.

No the grass ain’t always greener on the far side of the fence –
Sometimes it’s a confusing shade of brown
Consider what you’re doin’,
And all the lives you’ll ruin
Life might not be better on the other side of town.


Well I guess that I’ll stop the lecture now
Cuz you ain’t listenin’ anyhow
There's nothing more that I can say or do.

I’ll help you haul your bags outside
That Cadillac must be your ride
I hope the driver takes good care of you.

And baby you can keep my key
Consider it a gift from me
I’ll go on livin’ in the present tense.

Then when I’m done with my friend Jack,
Most likely I won’t want you back
Cuz' I like the color green I got on my side of the fence.

Yeah I like the color green I got on my side of the fence
No matter what I'm gonna hold my ground
Then when I’m done with my friend Jack,
Most likely I won’t want you back
I like the color green I got on my side of the town.
pwl 2014

.i can't stop being fascinated by the optics
of a relit rollie,
       esp. with one as a purse,
with dry tobacco...
                    watching the smoke escape
the room and begin its fathom
                            of the readied night.

we need more turkish barbers!
we need more turkish barbers!
        why would i trust anyone with
my beard and hair,
if he wasn't a turk?
                     they still are the most
adequate people for the job...
and i really can't stop internally giggling
at the fact that
i discovered a brothel many years prior
to having discovered a barber's parlour:
when was it ever a shop?!
    that yesterday when i left 4 quid
for a bet...
            maybe that's why i don't like
gambling,
      once a year does it for me,
those feelings of uncertainity,
while the race is staged...
          although this year wasn't so bad...
maybe 3 horses had to be put down
due to broken legs (seeing how they
sleep, standing up),
   and at least one jockey experiencing
the hooved stampede...
poor sweet *******...
                 i should have betted on
the favourite...
                i should have,
but you rarely do,
  you're always rooting for an outlier,
the odds changed from
7 - 2 from yesterday to 5 - 1...
      for the 4 quid spent,
  i would have got an extra quid back...
but, once again...
          it was never about the money...
the feelings associated
with losing don't really frighten me,
as simply make me feel
wearing a cotton sweater...
itchy as ****, and some...
                  ****, what were my choices
again?
       never mind,
i'll come back to them...
           i thought the weather forecast
implied: rain... overcast,
   so i based my judgement on that...
but lookie lookie: sunny as if it wasn't
england, but the south of france!

    up for review - ha ha... down
  on the first fence...
   folsom blue - 17th fence...
  general principle - ha ha... 19th fence
ramses de telilee - 28th fence
      ballyoptic - 26th fence...
   mala beach - 29th fence
          go conquer - 29th fence...
   lake view lad - 27th fence
jury duty - 19th fence
   vieux lion rouge - wow... 15th place
bless the wings - 13th place! devil's dozen!
step back - 25th fence.

   ah ha ha ha! maybe the bet should
have consisted of finding the horses
that "thought", **** it, i'm not jumping!
one thing to gallop on a horse
in the woods and in the fields
for both the thrill of the horse
and yourself, another for a competitive spot...

ha ha... i guess something good came
from this bet,
i managed to... "bet" on how many horses
would not follow the rules
of man...
     i guess it could be considered
hard to find a winner...
    but harder to find...
how many is that?
        10 horses that had the sort
of intelligence associated with...
           i'll plough the field...
    i'll work, i'll do all the pomp and circumstance
of a military parade...
       i do have a brain, you know,
**** this race, i'm pulling out...
       i could have betted on the winner...
the signs were there,
      esp. given last year
and this year's performance at
the cheltenham festival...
        all of the 4 quid...
  5 - 1...
                 20 quid richer,
a free bottle of whiskey...
       but why? when i have this doodle
instead?

watery eyes squinting against
the pink glamor of the setting sun,
casting marvelous streaks
of cherry cream soda foam
radiating from the heartfelt
warmth

dusk settling, a quiet raven
swinging in the swaying trees
and a fence line lining
the edge of evergreen forests
a white picket fence
cluttered with the ghosts
of memories

a pair of binoculars
held by a silent girl
olive and freckled
of the shower of tear drops
which cascaded from those nights
of aching compassion

facing the other side
solitude presence of one
walked of a thousand steps
back splayed by the salty foams
spat by the restlessness of the sea
an umbrella clasped in his grip

the rain drizzled, throwing
the pink sunsets into arrays
of sweet, sweet melodies
the girl of binocular
and boy of umbrella
a picket fence in between

a relief from destiny,
a rain check into reality
figures of speech echoing
slurring syllables
recounting marbles
that used to roll off
from their laughters
on lovely nights

a girl of binoculars
and boy of umbrellas
dreamt of once a meeting
of one such like this
the raven cries
fear not, deal not
what has there
to be done
when the pink
ceases to refill
your sweet dreams

and the girl smiled
the boy climbed over
the white picket fence
and held her hand,
holding the umbrella
to keep their warmth
sheltered deep within

the girl picked her binoculars
held it close to her pretty cheeks
above her lips,
navigating sights
knowing their memories
will far exceed than that
of the white picket fence