Original Poetry
All poems on this page are Copyright (C) 1993-1998 by Nate Cull but released to the Web for free distribution, without modification, as long as proper attribution is made and a link to this web page is included.

Letter to a Friend

I saw you on the street last night
Your face was dark and shrouded like a mask
You stared into the distance
Seeing what I didn't dare to even ask

I asked you if you had some dreams
Of what you someday wanted to become
Your answer chilled me to the bone
You said, I hope tomorrow never comes

I asked you what you'd seen in life
That made it such a terrifying place
You shrugged and said, I'm not afraid
Of dying; it's the living I can't face

I said that there is always hope
That love can conquer all the fears we know
You laughed and said, When I am dead
Look at the world and see I told you so

You said, It's not worth trying
That we can't change the way it's always been
That love is weak and hate is strong
That we're not children now, so why pretend

You said that since the dawn of time
The world was ruled by fear and force of arms
That truth is all subjective
And beauty nothing more than fatal charm

I said, You must be joking
There's more to life than ever meets the eye
You said, You may believe that now
But in the end, you'll wonder why you tried

I felt the words hit like a knife
They cut me to the core of all I knew
But somehow as my world collapsed
I heard a voice inside say, I love you

I turned and looked into your eyes
Surprised myself by strength I'd never known
I said, One day you'll change your mind
And when you do, you'll never be alone

I said, I don't pretend to know
Or understand the pain you carry round
But I believe it's worth it all
And in your dungeon, treasure's to be found

You listened for a moment
And I thought I saw a fire in your eyes
It died as quickly as it came
You turned away and said, Don't tell me lies

I saw you in my dreams last night
Your face was shining brightly like the sun
I asked you, Is life good to you
You laughed and said, It's only just begun

Little Plastic People

Little plastic people
Sitting on the shelf
Here's to love and money
Happiness and health

for the little plastic people
little plastic people
with coloured faces

You can read their stories
In little plastic books
Ask the plastic surgeon
Where they got their plastic looks

they're all little plastic people
little plastic people
on coloured pages

Babes in toyland all are we
Lost in spontaneity
You can look but can you see
Do you want to play with me?

Little plastic people
Walking down the road
To a cellophane horizon
And a painted sunset glow

we're all little plastic people
little plastic people
with faded genes

See the plastic soldiers
Coming on the run
Circling in crooked lines
With little plastic guns

don't the little plastic people
little plastic people
ever dream

Babes in toyland...

Little plastic people
Sitting in the store
Here's to what you're dreaming of
What you're looking for

you're all little plastic people
such little plastic people
don't look now

Babes in toyland...

Mirror, Mirror

Mirror, mirror, on the wall
What made Humpty Dumpty fall?
Mirror, mirror, why does he
Seem to look so much like me?

Mirror, mirror, did you know
Chicken Little's frightened so
Mirror, mirror, so am I
There's something dark about the sky

Mirror, mirror, in the wood
They're searching for Red Riding Hood
Mirror, mirror, don't name names
But Grandma isn't who she claims

Mirror, mirror, can we fix
A house of straw, a house of sticks?
Mirror, mirror, I'm not sure,
But I think wolves are at the door

Mirror, mirror, dark and cold
Show me what the future holds
Mirror, mirror, bleak as night
What are those clouds across your sight?

Mirror, mirror, in my hand
Show me the way to Wonderland
Mirror, mirror, looking glass
Tell me that this storm will pass

Mirror, mirror, trembling pane
Tell me there is hope again -

Oh, mirror - crack'd from side to side -

was that a smile
                          before you cried?

Morning Crossword

. . . . . y . . . . . e . . . .
. . C a z . . o . i . c . . d .
. . c R o s s . e d e n . n . .
. . c e O o . l . e . e a . . .
c a r s . S . . . a . l o s t .
. . . . . . S . z . . i . . . .
. p . . . o s W o r d s . . . .
. . l . m . . h O w . . . . . .
. . . e . . . e r R o r . . . .
. . o . h . r r o a D s . . . .
. n . u . a W e ? . i S i t . .
e . g . n s . . . . . . . h . .
. . . h . . . . . . . . . E n d ?

Space Ache

Why were we whispered here
amid this star-flung night?

To forge a brittle crown
from crusted steel

and gash its embers
on these godless rocks

that mock us in our cradle grave,
beneath the cold blue clouds?

Or is there still a ferryman
to part the river Styx

find worlds uncharted,
heart-embraced,

and bring us, exodused,
in timeless flight

to spirit, singingly,
beyond the sky?

Starstruck

Last night

I stood clifftop-high
on a precipice stage

stared spotlit
into the sun

trembling, then stepped softly
beyond safe silence

felt myself lifted
on eerie wings

and gliding, freely home
to newfound shores

of worth

Oh if all dreams
were this simple

all nights
this complete

all demons
charmed with a lyric

all stars
mine to wish upon

and every wandering minstrel
found

Last night
I dreamed
I was alive

Strange Kind of Hero

He said, Don't fight for me
with swords and slugs
and Kevlar vests

The weapons in your hands
are life, and stainless
blood

And cry not
when the sun goes down
into that long, skull-shadowed
twilight -

The revolution
laughs,
and breathes,
and dances in the dawn

Street Song

Beyond the tangled city canyon
a bird flies free

clouds overhead sweep blue skies
and rain falling, slowly gently down

washes paint-flecked cement
into overflowing gutters

A child laughs from a tenement window
as dark-shaded limosines crawl by

his friends skipping rope
form an impromptu roadblock

In a derelict warehouse
a teenage girl practices ballerina steps

playing Brahms on her ghetto blaster
louder than distant gunshots

Sometimes she imagines
her father was an astronaut

and wonders
if he could see her dance today

and the sun sparkles
on cloud-bright rain puddles

as a bird flies free
overhead

/* Sweet Null Datasets  */
/* a digital sonnet ver 1.0 */

<#include 'roses.h'>

poem()
{
   for (time = now; time < eternity; time++)

      if ( i == forget (you) || i == forget (now) )

         i = not (i);

      else
      {
         until (sky == fallen && dark (sun + moon + sky)
         {
             i = love (you);
         }
      }

}

Travel and Rest

The road winds out beyond the clouded hills,
poised, a moment, lightly as in thought
or listening to the blur of rushing life,
then shoulders up its pack and passes on.
Amid its banks, familiar spectators,
the tall trees shimmer in a haze of dust,
to break the tarsealed silence with a stir
of wind-borne conversation, idle chat,
oft-remembered tales of the quiet dead,
and half-felt murmurs left comfortably unsaid.

The mighty river speeds its way upstream,
one curved continuum of gilded steel,
like some great worm, encasing all it gnaws
with concrete calcified extensions
and in the slow migration, growing tense,
excited by a primal sense of urgency,
of long denied adventures without name;
it searches, pulsing in the change of years,
for what it cannot fathom, but hopeful yet
to find one day the dawning journey's end.

The road winds on, and in the starry dusk
a soft sweet calm, like memory, appears;
things come alert, traffic stills
and from the hills a slow white mist
folds its way into the filling night.
Stone walls glisten, for all the tears unshed
and listen as the swelling silence
drifts in faerie footfall down the lines
of trestles, underpasses, broken-handed time
and breathes its own graffiti gently on the mind.

Vanishing Point

Train tracks
dipped in gold fire
converge into the
autumn sunset

behind me
the twilight city
holds its breath;
muted traffic passes

and I'm left
leaning on this bridge
between two worlds

alone

the world goes on but
I wish I could walk
down those tracks
and find that
vanishing
point
...
.

Wishful Thinking

We left the cinema, that day,
the sky so blue you could see your own reflection
in Copernicus Crater; and somewhere out there,
a jet arched across that vivid
plate-glass imagination,

hot wind tossing tussocks on the
hillside where we sat and counted
sheep, and stars, saw the city lights
flash out like some mysterious
alien citadel on a lonely planet;

just you and me and Orion's Sword
for company; and I think you said that
one day we'd dance on the moon together,
like Michael Jackson only with less makeup,

and then you laughed when I told you
that music doesn't travel in space.