FOREWORD

The literary compositions in this book are the works of members of The Literary Arts Forum, a growing writers group based in Sulphur, Oklahoma, in the Arbuckle Mountain region. The Forum meets each month to share our writings, which include poetry, fiction and non-fiction.

The charter purpose of The Literary Arts Forum was to create a free and open atmosphere in which writers, both published and non-published, young and old, male and female, could come and share their experiences and perspectives on common issues that range from the mundane and simple to the universally complex and perplexing. In the process, we share our very own selves, and in doing so, we each obtain the therapeutic understanding and compassion necessary to cope with the hard and troubling times of our lives. Our loads become easier when we realize that someone, somewhere, has traveled the path before us. We take comfort in the impressions of their footprints, and, being strengthened by the fact that we are not alone, we are then able to pass our own marks to those coming up behind us, thereby weaving ourselves onto the never-ending chain of the human experience.

These are our views of life: our dreams, our hopes, our world as we experience it, each in our own way. There is a rich diversity among our group, and those differences, instead of being the catalyst of separation, have perfected us as a corporate entity, and we understand what it means to be in harmony, even while maintaining the authenticity of our own unique positions and points of view.

In these pages, we hope that you will find a smile, a tear, a connection, or perhaps the realization that, on the most fundamental, basic level, we are all the same.



A Quiet Place
By Cheri Wright

A quiet place is hard to find
Both in my world and in my mind
With people, places, dreams and needs
My minds a whirl with daily deeds
Voices without and voices within
Constant demands they never end
I admit I chose this daily grind
But a quiet place is hard to find

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A Thankful Heart
By Opal Caleb

Lord, give me a thankful heart.
I have a home, cooled in summer,
Warmed in winter.
There havent been very many
Times when Ive had to go hungry
For lack of food.
I dont like going barefoot, so Im glad
You supply the means for me
To buy shoes to wear.
Ive never been arrested for indecent
Exposure, so you must also supply
The funds for clothing.

Lord, give me a thankful heart.
There are actually areas of the world
Where people dont have near what I have
To pay an extra bill of my own making.
I should be thankful I have a job.
There are people who actually cant find work.
And what about those families who wont eat tonight?
Lord, show me how I can be of help to someone else and
Please give me a thankful heart.

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A Lullaby
By Siedra Caleb

Sleep my child,
My little one.
May you sleep
Through the night.

Sleep my child,
My dearest one.
May naught
Disturb you.

Be not scared,
Be not afraid.
I am right here.

When shadows try
To scare your sleep,
Ill be right here
To send them away.

See my child,
The night is calm.
The moon smiles
On you.

See my child,
All is well.
Now shut
Your eyes.

When morning comes,
The sun will shine
On your face.

When the summer breeze
Starts blowing,
May it be gentle,
May it be warm.

Child of mine,
All is well.
Now please
Go to sleep.

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Art Show
By Jean Carr

The crowd, well, thats an exaggeration, lets say
A handful of viewers other than the Artists Federation,
Stands around with a collective dubious expression,
Considering whether to opt for disdain or admiration.

Oh, my, ventures one, who painted that hallucination?
Someone on pot; you know the Endowment of the Arts
Has been the ruination
Of real art, mark my words.

Now heres real art, opines an old grey head.
Horses grazing on the hillside, though some are under-fed.
Now once I had a friend back in Junior High, could out-paint Remington.
Dont see art like that any more, cept on the pickups he does for the Ford dealer.

A woman in spiked heels and a turbaned head
Stands before a sunset of red and orange stripes,
Her hand clapped over her heart, her breath almost spent.
Oh, it speaks to me, it speaks to me, she says,
Speaking to everyone in the room.

Other bits of conversations drift in and out
Between the exhibits and the punch bowl
Well, heres one like the cat painted when it fell
Into that can of open paint on the kitchen floor.

And the judge chose THIS ONE!??
Couldve painted that myself, and Ive
Never tried before.

I love the vase of pink and blue roses with
A little girl with angelwings floating in the background.
Looks just like Mary.
And a grandmother dabs at her eyes.

They mill around admiring, criticizing, bored, interested,
Each taking into themselves that which they had brought
Except for two or threea young person here,
An old one there, quietly rapt, whispering,
Oh, I see, I see.

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Evolve
By Laura Coberley

You want me to stay the same.
You tell me not to go too far in search of change.
Youre afraid Ill lose myself along the way.
We are what we allow ourselves to be, but to stay the same is to be a fallen tree.
A tree that cant grow deeper roots and cant breath life into new leaves.
Your leaves are dying, cant you see?
Evolve, be exactly what you want to be.
The dew has set on another day.
Dont try to stop the evolution, for it will happen anyway.